Chapter 18 #2
She shook her head slowly. No, she had not thought he would. Had not dreamed he would do such a thing. Had never imagined he’d even want to—or thought it could possibly be. And if she had suspected he meant to do something like this, she’d have never come to him last night.
“Philip—” she began, but he moved to the bed beside her.
“Alan will not be happy…at first, but what we did canna be undone—he’ll see that we did not do it lightly. And he respects and trusts me. He’ll come to see that this is good—”
“It can be undone…It must be undone…I cannot marry you.”
The way he looked at her—puzzled by her words, ripped at her heart. She had thought for certain he understood what this was, that he had no wish to ever wed, and that even if he did, it could never be Isobel MacDonell. She’d truly thought he understood.
“What?” he finally said.
“I must marry Lord Kincreag. My father is dying, and it’s what he wishes. I have to honor his dying wishes. I couldn’t live with myself if he died disappointed with me.”
He looked away from her, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Listen to me—my sisters and I are witches—and he is an earl. Not just any earl, either, but one in the king’s favor.
The only thing the king hates more than Highlanders are witches.
We need Kincreag—the protection his name and title will afford us.
If it were only me, I would marry you, but it’s not, there are others I must consider. My union to Kincreag is important.”
The gaze he turned on her was like an icy blade. “What we did cannot be undone. Why did you come to me last night?”
The tears she’d kept banked began to fall. “Because I love you, because I wanted one fine memory to hold close.”
He looked so angry; she was desperate to make him understand. The last thing she’d ever wanted was to hurt him.
“You must understand,” she begged, catching his arm when he tried to stand.
“You cannot offer the same protection the earl of Kincreag can—you won’t even accept your own inheritance.
My father will not see this as good, and he will be disgusted with me—think me a whore for throwing marriage to the earl away simply to lie with a man. ”
“It cannot be undone,” he repeated forcefully, his gaze hard.
“It can,” Isobel said softly. “You must know virginity can easily be faked.”
He stood, ripping his arm from her hands. “Get out.”
Isobel squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the look of bafflement and fury on his face. Suddenly what she had done no longer seemed like a good idea—but a selfish, hurtful one.
She went to him. “Forgive me—I should not have come…but I never imagined you would want to marry me, I vow it.”
He looked at her, his dark gaze traveling over her body. Then he closed his eyes and turned his head. “I canna even look at you. I pray you, leave before I do something I will regret.”
But she could not. Indignant anger began to warm her. How could he not understand? How could he have thought anything different?
“Philip? You’re being unfair.”
“I’m a bloody fool to have believed your words of love.”
“I meant them! I still do, but when has marriage ever been about love or desire?”
He exhaled, a bitter, rueful smile curving his lips. “When indeed? That’s what lovers are for, aye? Well, dinna think I’ll be hanging around Castle Kincreag to satisfy your needs, my lady.”
“You think I would cuckold my husband?”
He whirled around, grabbing her arms and shaking her slightly. Her eyes widened in alarm and she put her hands up to ward him off.
“What do ye think we did last night? You are betrothed—as good as married. You’re right—I did not think for a minute you’d cuckold him—which is why I thought you’d come to me to save ye from a miserable marriage.”
“I do not need to be saved or protected—that wasn’t why I came. I just wanted to be with you, one last time.”
He released her abruptly, as if she’d burned him. “My mistake, my lady,” he said, his voice pouring over her like acid. “One I will not make again, I assure you.”
Isobel could not respond, her throat was clogged with tears and hurt anger. He glared down at her for a moment before turning away wearily.
“Go—before someone discovers you’ve been here. I’ll burn the sheets.”
He strode to the bed and began yanking them savagely off the mattress. Isobel saw the blood on them—evidence of what they’d done. She picked up the arisaid he’d given her from the floor and wrapped it around herself. He crammed the sheets in the fireplace and grabbed the tinderbox.
When he saw she still stood there, he said, his voice cold, “Good-bye, Countess.”
She flew to the door, flung it open, and ran straight into Stephen. He caught her arms and opened his mouth to speak, but froze, his pale blue eyes traveling over her in shock.
“Isobel…?” he said, scandalized.
She wrenched her arms away and hurried down the deserted corridors to her chambers.
Her sisters were still in bed, and she slid beneath the covers beside Gillian, burying her face in a pillow to muffle her sobs.
How could her plans have gone so awry? Philip hated her now, and her beautiful memory was ruined by how it had ended.
How could she ever bear Lord Kincreag as her husband, knowing Philip wanted her, and she had turned him away?
Knowing he now despised her. The despair and hollow regret washed over her again and again until she felt weak and empty.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Gillian gazing down at her, sleep-tousled and muzzy, but her brow creased in concern.
“Tell me who hurt you, and I’ll have Hagan flog him.”
Isobel laughed softly, but it quickly dissolved into more tears. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over—he hates me.”
Gillian drew Isobel into her arms and spoke soothing words until Isobel was coherent again. When she lifted her head Rose was sitting up, watching with an auburn brow arched.
“I see you took my advice last night.”
“Promise me you’ll tell no one I was gone? If anyone asks, I was here all night.”
Gillian and Rose exchanged worried glances.
“What?” Isobel breathed, fear gripping her.
“Well,” Gillian said, “Uncle Roderick came here last night to fetch Rose to see to his wife.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “If she farts, he’s in a lather, thinking it’s a miscarriage.”
“Anyway,” Gillian continued, giving Rose a stern look, “he noted you were gone. But we swore him to secrecy, and you know Uncle Roderick will never tell.”
Isobel nodded, slightly relieved. She knew her uncle would not betray her, but still, it made her nervous that more people knew of her perfidy. Stephen knew, too, and though she knew she could trust him, she still felt ashamed, wondering what he thought of her now, what Philip would tell him.
“It will be fine,” Gillian soothed. “No one will ever know. Now lie down and rest. You look tired.”
“She looks like hell,” Rose said. “Have ye been up all night?” Her gaze moved over Isobel’s hair critically. “Jesus God—it’ll take hours to get a comb through yer hair. Did ye do it on yer head?” She raised her brows suddenly in appreciation. “Was it good?”
Isobel groaned and fell back onto the pillow, closing her eyes. “I cannot speak of it.” She held her hand up.
Gillian caught it and stroked the back of it. “Then do not,” she whispered. “I’ll make Rose shut her mouth so you can sleep. Don’t worry about your hair now, it looks fine.”
Isobel nodded and tried to force herself to sleep. That’s what she needed, she told herself, a few hours of peace, then she could put all of this in perspective.
Unfortunately, she feared she would never know a moment’s peace again.