Chapter 14 #3
She stood up and stepped toward him, struggling to find her voice. “I’ve done nothing but be a friend, and that was simple enough with Margaret. I feel like I’ve known her my whole life. It’s difficult to believe it’s only been a few months.”
Isabel paused, debating whether to say something further. She might never have a better opportunity, and she wanted him to understand about Margaret. “I think the end to the feud has helped her enormously,” she added hesitantly.
Rory tensed as he did at any mention of the feud. “What do you mean?”
Isabel took a deep breath, deciding it was worth the risk to state her opinion, even if it ruined his good mood.
She looked down at her feet, not wanting his reaction to stop what she had to say.
“I think the feud and the quest for revenge has made it impossible for Margaret to put the past behind her. I know she feels responsible for the death and destruction done in her name.” Isabel’s clenched hands betrayed her anxiety at mentioning the forbidden subject of her uncle.
After a moment of unbearable silence, she dared to peek at his face. But instead of the anger she’d expected, Rory appeared thoughtful.
“And the feud was a constant reminder of Sleat’s cruelty,” he finished. “But it was not only Margaret who was shamed, the honor of the clan demanded retribution.”
Isabel nodded. “You were attending to your duty as chief, Margaret knows that”—her voice lowered—“and so does Alex.”
“What does Alex have to do with this?” When she appeared reluctant to say anything further, he added, “Speak freely, Isabel, I would like to hear what you have to say.”
There was no easy way to say this, so she just blurted it out. “Alex needs to feel that he is important to you and the clan.”
“Of course he’s important. He is my tanaiste.” She felt the full measure of his attention on her. “Go on,” he urged.
“I know you think that he is important, but I don’t think Alex does. What duties have you delegated to him?”
Rory was silent for a moment. “Not many,” he admitted. Isabel waited for him to finish the thought. “And by my not doing so, he believes that I do not think he is capable.”
Isabel nodded. “If you do not give him more responsibility, he will never be able to resolve his defeat at the hands of the MacDonalds.”
Rory leaned back, assessing her with an appreciative gaze. “If Alex has discussed his loss at Binquihillin and the death of our cousins, you truly must have earned his confidence. I know he blames himself, but I do not. I would have done the same in his stead.”
“But if you do not allow him the responsibilities worthy of your tanaiste, are you not telling him by your actions that you do not trust him? That you do blame him?” she asked quietly.
Rory drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am chief, I do not delegate my duties and responsibilities.”
Isabel tried not to be distracted by the impressive display of muscle straining against saffron linen. “I know that you would not be so arrogant as to believe that you must personally attend to all the matters of the clan and that you are the only one qualified to make decisions.”
He quirked his mouth, seemingly amused by her sarcastic set-down. But he appeared to at least consider what she said. “I will think on it.” Apparently, turnabout was fair play. “And what of you, Isabel? What of your family?”
It was Isabel’s turn to bristle defensively. “What of it?”
“Tell me why the mere mention of your family causes pain to flicker in your eyes,” he urged, this time gently.
She looked away, embarrassed that her loneliness was so obvious.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said carefully.
“You know that my mother died when I was young, my father had his duty to the clan, and my brothers … well, they had their own pursuits. Pursuits that were not appropriate for a young girl.” She saw something resembling sympathy in his eyes, and she quickly tried to explain, lest he get the wrong impression.
“My father was not cruel. Just busy. And I always had Bessie looking after me.”
His soft voice drew her eyes back to his.
“Your father is not unusual, Isabel. Most men do not concern themselves with the raising of their girl children. ’Tis the way of the world.
As chief of a clan facing constant attacks, no doubt your father did not have much time for you or your brothers. He had his duty to the clan.”
“You are not that way,” she pointed out. “I see how you care for your family, including your sisters.”
Rory smiled. “I didn’t say I agreed with it, I said ’twas the way of the world. My father was much as yours.”
“But you had your brothers and sisters.”
“Didn’t you?”
She thought for a second. “For a while, but as I got older they changed. My mother was a lady. My father thought that I should be one, which meant that I was no longer able to spend as much time with three older brothers.”
His fingers reached out to cup her chin, tilting it upward until their eyes met. “Perhaps they did not realize how lonely you were, perhaps they did not know any other way. I watched your family with you. To me it looked more awkwardness than lack of regard.”
His words startled her. Was he right? Was it simply that the men in her family didn’t know how to deal with a young girl?
Could she have misinterpreted her family’s feelings so greatly?
Memories, snippets of conversations, shuffled through her mind.
Reframed with Rory’s perspective, it felt right.
Isabel allowed a glimmer of hope to build in her chest.
He looked at her as though he wanted to say more, but instead he chose to let the subject drop. They merely stared at each other, each afraid to move and break the spell of connection that had sprouted between them.
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked breathlessly, more moved by the moment than she thought possible.
“Yes. I would ask a boon of you. As Margaret has been so busy with her duties and her new practice schedule, I was wondering whether you might find the time to help me organize the Highland gathering that will be held at Dunvegan in the spring.”
He was including her. She thought her heart would burst with happiness. “Of course, I would love to help. What can I do?”
Rory returned her smile. “First, we will need to prepare a list of the clans that will be asked to participate and send a messenger with an invitation.”
Isabel was already making a mental list of the surrounding clans: MacCrimmons, Mackinnons, MacLeans, Argyll and the Campbells, Ramsays, MacDonalds.
MacDonalds. Her brows shot together with the sudden realization.
Her heart sank with dread. If her family were here, she would be forced to provide a report of her progress—or lack thereof.
“Does that mean my family will be invited?”
“Of course, Glengarry and even Sleat must be invited. Our recent handfast has made allies of former enemies. Is that not what the king has ordered?” He looked at her with a challenge in his eye.
Given his good mood, Isabel decided not to point out that Rory had once questioned that very premise.
Another thought occurred to her, this one even more treacherous and unwelcome than the last. “What about the Mackenzies?”
“All the local clans, Isabel.” He placed his hand over hers in a gesture of reassurance. “All feuds will be set aside for the duration of the gathering.”
“But what if they try to retaliate?”
“They would not dare break the sacred obligation of Highland hospitality. They’ll come and seek to best the MacLeods on the field of games. We can expect an attack from the Mackenzie, but not at the gathering.”
His confidence calmed her anxiety. “What types of games should we organize?”
“The usual challenges: the tossing of the caber, throwing the hammer, archery, stone throwing, wrestling, swimming, leaping, and hill running. Most of the games will be held in the village or in the forest. Of course, the swimming will be in the loch. We’ll also need to provide for accommodations both here and in the village, as well as coordinate the food and drink for the feast. Are you sure you’ll have time to help? ”
“Very sure. I’ll get started immediately preparing a list of guests for your approval. Then I can begin drafting the invitations. Whom shall I send to deliver them?”
Before he could answer, a knock came upon the door. He bade them entry, and Isabel was surprised to see Colin.
Displeased, Rory frowned at the interruption.
Colin explained, “A missive has arrived for the lady.”
Finally a letter from my father, she thought. But her relief was short-lived.
“From your uncle, my lady,” Colin said, handing her the folded parchment with the waxed seal. A seal that she recognized immediately: Per Mare per Terras, the badge of Sleat.
She turned to Rory in time to notice the almost imperceptible sharpening of his gaze. “How convenient. If you prepare the invitation for your uncle, you can give it to his messenger personally.”
The false sense of tranquillity she had been experiencing for the last few weeks was instantly shattered by one innocuous folded piece of parchment. Isabel knew what she held in her hands.
Her reminder had come.