Chapter 12
Philip did not come for her. Isobel spent several hours in his room, trying to wrap her arisaid about her shoulders in the manner of the women she’d seen in the courtyard earlier.
She thought of Mairi’s. It had extended from shoulders to ankles.
No wonder Isobel’s had looked ridiculous—it was far too short to be worn so, but she could still wear it as a wrap.
She’d seen some women do that, though their arisaids had been wider and longer.
But no matter how she fussed with it, she couldn’t seem to make it look as the Highland women’s.
When finally she’d shoved it back in her satchel in disgust, she’d decided to go through Philip’s room—gloves on. She was drained from touching Effie’s things and needed to rest. She knew she should lie down until dinner, but though her body was tired, her mind was not.
The scene in Effie’s room played over and over again in her head, and still she could find no way to make it right.
She knew from touching Effie’s things that Mairi’s feelings toward Philip were poisoned.
It was not mere dislike, or even hate, it was far more complex than that.
She wanted him to suffer. And even more disturbing was that Isobel understood it.
Who could blame her? It was clear Mairi had loved her daughter, that the loss of Effie had destroyed her life, and Philip claimed to be responsible for it all.
But Isobel’s feelings for Philip ran deep—deeper than she cared to examine—and she couldn’t bear that he continued to punish himself for something that could not be changed.
She knew him well enough to understand that whatever happened, it had not been intentional and that he’d paid for it—was still paying.
But who was Isobel MacDonell to fix anything, even if she could?
She was nothing to Philip—his charge. Once he delivered her to Lochlaire, he would go on with his life and she with hers.
She would marry Nicholas Lyon and have a whole new set of problems. She should not involve herself in Effie’s disappearance. But she couldn’t help herself.
She was digging through a chest filled with nothing more than warm woolen blankets and animal skins when Stephen arrived to take her to dinner.
“Where’s Philip?” she asked, disappointed.
“He’s been closed up with his father for hours now. There’s been some shouting—the servants are frightened. I dinna think we’ll be staying here long.”
“Is it always like this?” Isobel asked.
“Worse, sometimes.”
She looked Stephen up and down. He wore a belted plaid, his legs bare from the knees down, his feet bare. His long blond hair hung loose about his shoulders, and his beard was becoming thick. He looked a proper barbarian.
“I thought you weren’t a Highlander?” she teased.
“I’m not—but the lassies here sure like it when I put one of these things on.”
Isobel laughed. “You stopped eating long enough to notice?”
“Och, I can do both.” The sound of a clanging bell drifted through the window. “That’s dinner.”
“Stephen, wait.”
He raised an inquisitive brow and came further into the room.
“You must tell me what happened to Philip’s sister.”
“He lost her.”
“I know that—but how?”
Stephen’s brows drew into a troubled frown. “So ye didna learn aught today?”
Isobel shook her head.
“I dinna understand. She has a whole room full of things.”
Isobel sighed and sat on the wooden chest. “Remember when I touched your father’s book?
The first things I saw were of you, but beneath all that I discovered your father.
But your father had owned that book for a very long time and kept it close to him.
Effie’s things…well, they’ve been Mairi’s for longer than Effie was even alive.
And Mairi’s feelings are so strong, they overshadow anything else. ”
Stephen crossed his arms over his chest. “How did Philip take it?”
Isobel just shook her head. She would not discuss what happened with anyone. “I must know, Stephen. Tell me.”
Stephen was thoughtful, no doubt wondering how much trouble this would get him in. But his natural loquacity won out. “If Effie were alive, she’d be my age, so I wasna even here when it happened. My uncle sent me to be fostered here five years ago.”
“Five years ago? That seems a long time.”
Stephen shrugged. “Aye, I should’ve gone home by now, ’tis the truth, but I do well with Philip, and so I’m his man.
My uncle isn’t happy about it, but he does like Philip, so he doesna complain too loudly.
Anyway—about Effie. Philip doesna talk about this, though I ken he thinks about it a lot. All I’ve heard has come from others.”
“You said once before that Mairi told you things. What did she tell you?”
Stephen raised his brows and looked away as if it weren’t something he wanted to share. “It’s not as if she ever sat me down and told me the story. It was other things, things she said. I pieced it together from there, and asked Fergus to fill in the holes.”
“Stephen!” Isobel cried impatiently. “Just tell me!”
He came to the bench and gestured for her to scoot over. When he was sitting beside her he frowned at the wall. Isobel was ready to bludgeon him when he finally spoke.
“They were in Edinburgh for some reason, I dinna know why, and Mairi was shopping. There aren’t lots of shops out this way, I’m sure ye noticed, so if ye like books and comfits and such, ye best get them when yer in Edinburgh or Stirling or—”
“I understand, Stephen.”
He nodded. “Anyway, from what I’ve heard, Effie could be a…
difficult bairn. Mairi was in the apothecary—Philip was following her about, I dinna know why, as I cannot see them off about town together, but it seems they got on well back then—she’s his mother, after all.
Effie was grabbing bottles off the shelves and touching things—just being a bairn—but Mairi wasna so tolerant of childish behavior and told Philip to take her somewhere else so she could shop in peace.
“So he did. Things were going fine, until a lass caught Philip’s eye, and he set to work on her. All thoughts of his wee sister apparently fled and when he did recall her, she was nowhere to be found.”
Stephen shook his head. “It was a quarter day, so the streets were packed with servants itching to spend their money. A bad time to lose a child. Fergus says Philip didn’t sleep for days—wouldn’t leave Edinburgh, even when Dougal had given the child up for dead.
He walked the streets, calling for her.”
“He was seventeen?”
“Aye.” He gave her a sideways look. “She was six—old enough to know better than to run away, or leave with someone she didna know—to my way of thinking. He’s too hard on himself.
” Then he raised a shoulder, as if conceding a point.
“But Fergus also tells me Effie did try to get his attention—no one knows for what purpose—because he became irritated with her for bothering him and spoke harshly.”
“What does Mairi say?” Isobel asked softly.
Stephen stood. “I wouldna repeat some of the things that woman said to anyone…and doubt Philip would want me to.” Before Isobel could press him further, he was heading for the door. “Come on, I’m starving.”
The hall was warm and fragrant from fresh, herbed rushes, roast meat, and the press of bodies.
Stephen led her to the head table. Philip was already there, beside his father and opposite his stepmother.
Colin sat beside Mairi, and there was an empty space on the bench beside Philip.
Stephen led her to it and after she’d slid in, he squeezed in beside her, pressing her close to Philip’s side.
But he didn’t seem to notice. He was drinking something from a square wooden tankard.
His plate was empty. Platters filled the center of the table, but Isobel didn’t have a plate.
Everyone was engaged in loud conversation—in Gaelic—no one taking notice of her dilemma.
Stephen didn’t have a plate either, but he simply ate directly from the platters.
Isobel tapped Philip’s arm, then gestured to the empty table in front of her. He shoved his plate at her.
“I don’t want to take your plate,” she said hastily. “We can share.”
“I’m not hungry.” He grabbed a bottle and refilled his tankard with amber liquid. Whisky. It seemed he was drinking his dinner. Isobel looked up to see Mairi watching him with narrowed eyes and thinned lips.
She turned her sharp gaze on Isobel. “So, you are MacDonell of Glen Laire’s daughter? Colin tells me you’re promised to the earl of Kincreag.”
Isobel’s cheeks burned, remembering the scene Mairi had interrupted—and knowing she was remembering it, too.
“Yes.”
Mairi smiled, her gazing darting to Philip. “Amazing Philip found time to stop by before taking you to your father and betrothed. Surely Lord Kincreag is eager to proceed with the nuptials. He is still without an heir.”
Isobel glanced at Philip for help.
He was looking at his stepmother oddly. “I don’t know why I came. I shouldn’t have. I’m…sorry.”
“Colin says it was for a horse. Do you remember now?”
“Aye,” Philip said tightly, and stared into his tankard.
Mairi cut a piece of meat. “When I heard you’d arrived, I thought perhaps you had welcome news.”
The muscles in Philip’s jaw bulged. “It’s been a long time. It’s not likely I’ll ever have welcome news.”
Mairi put her knife down purposefully. “That is what you keep telling me. But then I see how much it really means to you, don’t I, when you desecrate her memory as you did today. I don’t believe you’re looking at all anymore. Perhaps you’ve never looked.”
Philip’s gaze was locked on his tankard. His chest rose and fell with emotion, but he spoke not a word in his own defense.