Chapter 24 #2
Isobel told him how she’d gone to Effie’s house looking for him and how his sister had sent her away. “But I did manage to get this. She’d dropped her towel and closed it in the door. So I cut this off.”
Philip pushed himself up on his elbow so they faced each other, his eyes fixed on the towel.
“Damn,” he said softly, then met her eyes, waiting.
Isobel held the towel in both hands and focused on the small pregnant woman on Rose Street.
What was she afraid of? She saw Effie, knees pushed back, straining and crying out as a midwife urged her to push.
Isobel felt the deep cramping pain about her middle as Effie worked her baby out.
Yes, she was afraid of childbirth, but that wasn’t what Isobel was looking for.
Why does the thought of Philip distress you?
The image of Effie giving birth was gone, replaced by her bedchamber in Sgor Dubh.
Effie was a child, five or six, and Isobel sensed it was a short time before her disappearance.
She played with the doll Isobel had held such a short time ago.
Mairi came in and began sniffing the air.
It led her to Effie, who watched her mother anxiously.
Mairi grabbed Effie, jerking her to her feet and snatching up her hands to smell them.
“Fish,” she said, her lips curling. “What have I told you about this?”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” Effie began, but Mairi dragged her to the basin. She poured water in and began scrubbing Effie’s hands savagely. Effie said nothing for a time, but as it went on, she began to cry softly.
“It hurts.”
“Shut up,” Mairi said, absorbed in her task. “My daughter cannot be stinking like a common fishwife. This water just isn’t hot enough. I can still smell it.”
She dragged Effie down to the kitchens and ordered the cook to boil water. Effie cried, straining to escape her mother, but Mairi held her daughter’s wrist in a vise-like grip.
“We’ll get that smell out, just you see.”
Isobel pushed it away, not wanting to see any more. She was back in the candlelit bed, Philip watching her intently. Isobel set the towel aside with trembling hands. Suddenly everything made sense.
Philip looked from the discarded towel to Isobel. “What did you see?”
“You didn’t lose your sister, Philip. She ran away.”
Philip stared at her blankly for a long moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. “What?”
“She didn’t intend to—not that day at least, though she’d been entertaining the idea for some time.
She dreamed of it, actually, being away, somewhere she could eat what she wanted, to play and be dirty.
Somewhere no one expected her to be the perfect child.
She dreamed of having a mother who looked at her with approval and love rather than disappointment. ”
Philip just shook his head. None of this made sense. He hadn’t been aware that Effie had felt that way. “Lots of children have such fantasies. Hell, I know I did—but they dinna really run away!”
Isobel sighed. “I know, and Effie might never have either.”
“I’m listening.”
She took up the towel again. “That day in Edinburgh, while in the apothecary, she stole a piece of marchpane. She was not a thief, so please don’t think poorly of her, but her mother would not let her have candy and comfits, and she so wanted one.
But she knew if her mother found out, she would be severely punished.
She became scared. Mairi was a nightmare when she was angry—and she was often angry with Effie.
Once, after she’d gone fishing with you, Mairi made her wash her hands until they were raw. ”
Philip was speechless. He’d been so much older than his sister.
He’d not been aware that these things occurred.
But he did recall now that she had refused to fish with him for a time.
Of course, he’d had other things on his mind—lassies and friends, fighting and hunting, learning to be a chieftain, and didn’t always notice her.
His heart was sick. He rolled onto his back and stared at the low ceiling. “So she ran away.”
“Well…not exactly. She did run, but soon enough came to her senses and realized she had naught but a piece of marchpane. She became frightened and tried to find you—but by then she was well and lost.” Isobel paused, her eyes faraway.
“Your sister grew up happy, with people who loved her. A kind woman who’d lost her husband and daughter in a fire found her.
She meant to find Effie’s family, but she fell in love with your sister and from some of the things Effie told her came to believe her home life had been a very unhappy one.
So she told Effie her mother had given her away.
Effie believed her. After all, Mairi had always looked at her with disappointment and punished her harshly—it made sense to Effie that her mother had finally gotten sick of her and given her away.
She was very sad for a time—and yes, she missed you and Sgor Dubh—and even Mairi—the only mother she’d known…
but soon she grew to love her new family, for they treated her very well.
And then she just…forgot. Her new mother took her away and married a wealthy barrister—a man who accepted Effie as his own.
She was well loved, Philip. The day she ran away was the best day of her life. ”
“She just forgot.” Philip laughed humorlessly. “I canna believe this.”
“She never blamed you.”
“Why didn’t she come to me for help?”
“I don’t know. She was a small child—her mother ruled her whole life, seemed all-powerful.
I don’t think six-year-olds think very logically.
And you were young, occupied with whatever things young men think on—lassies and war, most likely.
Perhaps she thought you wouldn’t believe her.
Mairi made her think she was a very bad child. ”
“I should have seen. I should have stopped it.”
Isobel leaned over him, planting her palms on either side of his head.
Her hair spilled down around them, a curtain of burnished red-gold curls.
“Stop it. You said you wanted to know, to understand. Now you do. You did not lose her—she ran away. Stop searching for something else to blame yourself for. You were just a lad.”
He thought of all the years he’d spent searching for a sister who did not want to be found—a sister who was better off lost. And thanked God he’d never found her.
Thanked God for Isobel and her gift. He knew, had she not told him all this, he wouldn’t have given up on Effie and one day might have forced her to acknowledge him, or worse, told Mairi her daughter was alive.
“But that’s not all,” Isobel said softly, her eyes intense, a secret smile on her face.
“What?” Philip asked, his chest tight, afraid to hear any more.
“Your sudden appearance has caused Effie no small amount of distress. She is remembering a great deal about her childhood. Some of it is giving her nightmares.”
“Wonderful,” Philip said acerbically.
“And some of it makes her very sad and wistful.” Isobel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“She is sorry for how she treated you—but she’s not yet ready to behave any differently.
” Isobel paused, looking deeply into his eyes.
“But if you wait, Philip, she will be ready, one day.” She looked down at the towel, and said, “I’ll tell you when. ”
Philip closed his burning eyes as emotion washed over him. His slid his hand beneath the fall of warm, heavy curls to the soft nape of Isobel’s neck, and drew her against him, holding her tightly.
“Do ye know how bonny you are?” he whispered, his voice uneven.
He pulled back to look at her face. He stroked at the velvety skin, drawing her closer to his mouth. He saw her small, impish grin just before he kissed her.
Philip and Isobel were married before a pastor in Wyndyburgh so Stephen could be present—though both knew their fathers would be displeased. Then they traveled to Lochlaire to return Gillian and face Alan.
Philip was apprehensive. He was reluctant to face Alan’s disappointment.
After all, Philip wasn’t an earl. And though he was confident that he could protect and care for Isobel better than anyone else, it troubled him that Alan might not agree.
He also didn’t relish a confrontation with Kincreag.
Jilted men could be quite ugly. But Kincreag had quit Lochlaire, and though Alan assured them that the earl would not seek retribution for the insult, he was not at all sure Kincreag was still interested in marrying a MacDonell lass.
But as for Alan’s disappointment, Philip didn’t have to worry. The moment Alan saw Isobel he forgot anyone else was in the room.
“What in the bloody hell were you thinking?” he cried, trying to rise up off the bed, his face red and mottled. “You could have been killed—oh, aye—Gillian told me all aboot it. Nearly gave me apoplexy, it did. How would that have been, aye? Giving yer poor father’s heart such a fright?”
Rose was hovering around Alan, trying to get him to sit back and calm down, but he was having none of it.
“Thank God for this laddie and his quick thinking. Pleading the belly. Splendid idea!” He clasped Philip’s hand and looked up at him with damp eyes.
“I owe you a great deal…Gillian told me everything.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
Gillian had been with Alan first, and had already told him the whole story.
When Alan opened his eyes, he fixed them both with a severe expression.
“I do not have the sight, so I cannot help you if you don’t talk to me.
If one of you had just told me ye fancied each other, all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided. ”
When they both started sputtering at once, Alan held up his hand to quiet them. “I know, I know—everyone thinks I’ll pass away if I hear the milk has gone sour, but truly, I’m stronger than that.”