Chapter 19
In less than an hour, Philip and Stephen were ready to leave.
Philip had burned the sheets and swept out the fireplace—disposing of the evidence over the castle walls, into the loch below.
As if it had never happened. That was what she wanted.
For himself, he could not pretend it didn’t happen and so he would have to stay away from Glen Laire and anywhere else she might be.
After an abortive attempt to scold Philip for bedding Kincreag’s betrothed, Stephen was wisely keeping quiet. He waited in the great hall as Philip strode across the castle to Alan’s chambers.
Philip hammered on the door until Hagan opened it. Hagan’s black brows were lowered dangerously until he saw who it was. “Sir Philip? He is still asleep.”
“Then wake him. I’m leaving, and I do not wish to go without speaking to him, but I will.”
Irritated, Hagan opened the door wider to admit them. Philip strode in, only to stop when he noticed the earl of Kincreag slumped beside Alan’s bed, asleep. Philip looked at Hagan questioningly, and the big Irishman motioned him close.
“He offered to keep watch so I could get some sleep.”
“Keep watch?”
Hagan shook his head with a mixture of weariness and despair. “Sometimes…things happen at night.”
“Things?”
“He has dreams…nightmares I cannot wake him from. And when he finally wakes, he is covered with bruises as if someone beat him—and yet no one is here but me. I cannot explain it. But I will not leave him unattended at night. I fear what would happen if someone is not watching over him.”
Hagan’s description of Alan’s illness was unsettling, and Philip felt a new twinge of guilt over what he’d done last night.
Isobel was Alan’s daughter; he should have controlled himself and respected that.
Hagan woke the earl and said something to him in a low voice.
Kincreag stood, rubbing a hand over his face.
Hagan woke Alan. The earl leaned down, whispering to Alan, and they gripped hands.
Philip still stood near the door, and when Kincreag turned to go, he kept his gaze steady on Philip until he stood before him.
They were of the same height—Kincreag perhaps a bit taller.
Philip did not like him, despite his obvious devotion to Alan.
He didn’t think he could ever like the man who married Isobel, but especially not this one.
“Thank you for bringing Mistress MacDonell home safely,” Kincreag said. “Alan assures me you executed your duty with honor, despite the lady’s lack of female companionship.”
Philip nodded stiffly. With honor. He felt ill. A liar and a cheat.
“If there’s anything you need…”
Philip shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
Kincreag stared at him a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly, then gave him a crisp nod and left.
Philip wanted to follow and threaten him to be kind to Isobel or he’d have Philip to answer to.
But he restrained himself. She didn’t need him to protect her—she’d told him so herself.
She’d needed something else entirely from him.
He gritted his teeth against the furious pain and humiliation that assailed him when he thought of this morning.
What a bloody fool he’d been to think for a moment that she had considered him good enough.
“Philip?” Alan called.
Philip went forward, taking the chair Kincreag had vacated. “I’m leaving. I’ve come to say farewell.”
Alan frowned. “So soon? You just arrived.”
Philip looked down at his hands, fisted against his thighs. “I must.”
Alan sighed. “You’ll be back?”
Philip shook his head slightly, his jaw clenched. “I know not.”
“Always running, you are. When will it end?”
Philip ground his teeth at the reminder of his instability.
Alan was silent for a long while. “What is wrong? You are vexed.”
Philip stared hard at his hands. He would not have Alan know it was over one of his daughters.
He’d never before believed Alan was a witch, but now, after seeing what Isobel could do, he wondered.
Women from miles around came to the chieftain to find out if the child they carried was a son or daughter.
Such things had amused Philip before, but now they worried him.
He hoped that was the extent of Alan’s magic.
“It’s my sister,” Philip said. “Isobel used her magic to find Effie.”
“I see.” Alan’s voice was distant.
Philip looked up.
Alan’s mouth was flattened in his beard, his eyes staring at the far wall in annoyance. “She will not refrain from using magic will she?”
Philip shook his head. “No…I’m sorry. I know you have warned her—I have also. She knows her own mind and will not be swayed from it.”
“Aye. Like her mother she is. We can do naught but pray for her.” Alan looked back to Philip.
“So your sister is found. It has been a very long time—I assumed she was dead. This must mean great things for you at last. Will you finally go home and accept that you are heir apparent? Your father will think the angels have smiled upon him.”
Philip laughed softly. “Aye.”
“Damn, damn, and damn again,” Alan muttered. “Ah, well. It’s too late now.”
“What is?”
Alan opened his palm on the thick pile of furs. “I wanted you for Gillian. I even thought to talk you into accepting your inheritance, but when I summoned you, I could see in your face you’d chew off your arm afore you’d marry. But now that you’ve found your sister…?”
Alan’s gray deerhound sniffed around Philip’s feet.
Philip scratched the dog’s ears, staring down at it, a dangerous flush suffusing his neck.
He knew what Alan asked—now that he’d found Effie, would he settle down?
Oh, he’d wanted nothing more just a few short hours ago.
But he would not give Isobel’s secret away.
“Effie has been unfinished business for a long time. Now that the end is in sight, I likely will take my place, and that means taking a wife…eventually.”
Alan fell silent and when Philip finally had the courage to look up he saw his friend was deep in thought.
“Jacques is a good friend of mine, but if I tell him I want to keep Gillian close, perhaps he will agree to break the betrothal off amicably. He has daughters, he must know what it is to lose them. And with Gillian at Sgor Dubh, she would be close to her sisters—and me, too. I would hate for her to be so far from her sisters when this illness finally takes me.”
Philip fought to keep his face expressionless.
Part of him was sick with horror. Alan did think him good enough—but dammit—he was choosing the wrong daughter!
He didn’t want Gillian. It clawed at him, the desire to suggest Isobel.
But part of him wanted to take Gillian anyway—just to hurt Isobel as she’d hurt him that morn.
It was she who didn’t think him good enough to protect her family. Alan clearly thought him capable.
He smiled at Philip, looking less ill, happy even. He pushed himself up and Philip leaned forward, adjusting the pile of pillows around him so he could sit.
“Ye’ll have Gilly, aye? She’s a beauty, that one.
” He gripped Philip’s arm. “It’s what I’d always hoped for, lad, to bind you to me with blood and make us family.
For your sons to be my grandsons. I’ll have the papers drawn up and sent to Sgor Dubh for you to sign when you get back with your sister. ”
Philip did not know how to refuse Alan. He felt a trap closing on him.
He stared down at his hands, searching his mind for a graceful way out of this.
He didn’t wish to alienate Alan—especially when his friend was so near the end.
But when Alan died, Philip wanted nothing more to do with the MacDonells.
He would never be able to bear seeing or even hearing about Isobel—and to marry to her sister? Jesus God. He would not consider it.
Finally, he said, “Let me think on it.”
When he looked up, Alan stared at him, disappointed. “You do not want Gillian? She doesn’t please you?”
“That’s not it…she’s lovely…it’s just that this is very fast. I have not even found my sister yet—or spoken with my father.
Just let me think on it, I pray you.” Coward.
He would find himself married if he didn’t just tell Alan no.
He understood Isobel’s reluctance to disappoint her father—he shared it.
His heart was heavy, not wanting to understand why she’d done what she had. It was easier to think poorly of her.
Alan’s gaze narrowed on Philip, then he smiled smugly. “You do that, lad. I’ll get to work on those papers.” He winked. “Just in case.”
Philip tried not to smile sickly as he stood. He quickly said his good-byes and strode out of there as if Satan were on his heels. Stephen was waiting for him just outside the door and followed silently.
Philip was headed straight for the stairs that led down to the quay when he saw Gillian sitting before the fire, sewing. He put out a hand to Stephen. “Wait here.”
Gillian had seen him leave her father’s room and was watching them. Her welcoming smile turned to a small frown as Philip approached.
“Sir Philip?” she said, setting her sewing aside. “You look as if you’re ready to depart. Isobel will be disappointed if you don’t bid her farewell.”
“Er…we’ve said our good-byes.”
“Oh.” Her dark brows raised slightly. “I see.”
He sat on the hearth near her. “I wish to have a word with you.” He looked down at the ring on his finger. “A few words actually. First—your father wishes us to wed.”
When he looked up Gillian’s eyes were wide.
“Really? That’s wonderful! Now I won’t have to go to France!” She blushed and looked down. “Of course, marrying you rather than an old man would be pleasant, too.”
Oh God. Philip wanted the ground to open. This was not why he’d mentioned it to her. “Gillian, I cannot marry you. But I haven’t told your father that.”