Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Isolde woke to a gray morning; the possibility of an incoming storm a not-so-subtle threat as thick clouds gathered overhead and cool winds whipped against the manor as if trying to tear it down.
It was the type of morning that might have caused a sullen mood to descend upon Isolde, as she always preferred clear skies and the warm sun.
However, as she walked to her window and saw approaching rainclouds that were sure to keep her indoors all day long, she smiled in a way that might not have been expected but was entirely too predictable.
Today promises to be a good day… and the next… and the one after that.
Her plan had worked perfectly, and last night was proof of the fact.
She had known that Cassian did not truly wish to return to what he had once been, that deep within he yearned to be free of the shackles that restrained him so that he might dare to be happy and live and love as he deserved.
And she had known that if she persisted, if she showed him the way, that he would accept that about himself.
Once, his life was a tragedy, of that she would not deny. But such tragedies did not have to define one forever. In fact, Isolde believed that the best way to overcome sorrow was to face it down with a smile, proof that such things were always possible.
Cassian’s memories were returning slowly.
He was remembering each day why he was one who used to be feared, spoken of in hushed whispers in case he might hear.
And while those memories clearly brought with them pain, Isolde would be there to help him overcome that pain, move on from it, and grow as a result.
Better still, after last night, she knew that he wanted her help. He was willing. He was agreeable. He had what it took to be the man that she knew he could be… no, the man who he is. Who he has always been.
So, she smiled as she looked at the gray skies, excited to see what the day might bring.
Sadly, it was as she turned from the window, as she readied for the day that would come, that the smile dropped from her face. And that had everything to do with Mr. Pembroke, who strode into her room with an expression of utmost worry and fear.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.”
“Mr. Pembroke…” Isolde hesitated, taking immediate note of his dour expression and how withdrawn his posture was. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
He came to a stop and sighed. “A messenger arrived this morning for you, Your Grace. It was not a letter, otherwise I would not have dared read it.”
“From whom?” Her stomach dropped. “What did it say?”
“It was from your sister,” he explained, speaking slowly and carefully. “Apparently… and I do wish to make clear that the details were scarce… the messenger was told to inform you that your father’s health has taken a turn for the worse and—”
Isolde was already halfway across the room.
“Your Grace!” Mr. Pembroke called after her. “Where are you—”
“Where do you think?” she cried over her shoulder, her mind turning with worry as the worst of thoughts washed over her.
This is all my fault!
Isolde had married Cassian precisely because she needed to find a way to save her family.
Their ailing parish was a part of it, the hope that she might convince Cassian to aid it in any way that he could.
But her father’s health had also been a motivating factor, a sickness that was insidious in the way that it was slowly draining the life from him.
For the past few years, Isolde had held out hope that her father would get better. In fact, she had believed that once the problems facing their parish were fixed, his health might return; that the two were linked and one would solve the other.
Frustratingly, her marriage to Cassian had not been nearly so simple, and these last few weeks had forced Isolde to hold off on asking for help until she was able to convince Cassian that she was not the worst of people. She had still intended to ask him, but not until they were in a better place.
Now, as was proven, she had waited too long…
“Please, Your Grace!” Mr. Pembroke chased her down the hallways. “There is a storm coming! If you wait, I will inform His Grace and—”
“There is no time!” Isolde was still dressed in her evening slip. She had not bathed. She had not eaten. But she cared not. She had one thing on her mind, and that was reaching her father before it was too late.
“He is sure to wake soon,” Mr. Pembroke told her. “No doubt when he does—”
“You can tell him yourself where I have gone,” Isolde explained as she rushed down the stairs. “But I will not wait. And you cannot stop me.”
Mr. Pembroke rushed in front of her and blocked her path. “Nor will I try…” He held his hands out to try and slow her. “But please, at least allow me to fetch you a riding cloak. You cannot possibly go out as you are.”
She clicked her tongue, her worry rising by the second. But a quick glance down at herself, another at the window which showed the encroaching storm, and even Isolde was not such a fool as to ride from the estate dressed so poorly.
“I will meet you in the stables,” she told him. “But hurry, Mr. Pembroke. If you are not there in five minutes, I will leave. Know that I will.”
Mr. Pembroke still looked bereft with concern, but he turned and rushed up the stairs. As soon as he was gone, Isolde turned and hurried through the manor and in the direction of the stables.
She had failed in helping her father. She had become distracted by her own situation. She had not done her duty, and that realization was crushing.
But one thing that she could and would do was be there for him. And there was nothing in the world, no storm too great, that would stop her.
Cassian woke to the sound of someone knocking.
He thought it was a dream at first; the sound was distant, and he kept his eyes closed while praying it would leave him alone.
Warm and comfortable in bed, he’d had the type of sleep that he did not want to wake from.
In fact, it was the type of sleep that told of a piqued mood, the comfort found not so much a result of the bed itself but of how his life was going.
Last evening had been a revelation, of sorts. For so long he had fought within himself, not sure what he wanted, determined to do what he believed to be easy, even if it hurt those he cared for… those he wished that he did not care for.
But his conversation with Isolde had changed all that and finally he was willing to concede that caring for others, that being true to himself and his feelings, was not something to be feared. The pain, the suffering, those were bearable so long as he had someone in his life who was there for him.
So, he lay with his eyes closed, smiling gently, ignoring the sound of knocking because he did not want such feelings to end…
“Your Grace…” The door popped open and he recognized Mr. Pembroke’s voice. “Please, I am so sorry to wake you, but it is imperative that I do.”
“Someone better be dying, Mr. Pembroke,” he groaned as he rolled over. “And if they are not, you have just volunteered to take their place.”
“I would never ordinarily wake you, Your Grace.” Mr. Pembroke’s footsteps crashed against the floor as he hurried into the room. “But this is urgent, and I know you will want to be told.”
“Told what?” Slowly, Cassian rolled over and forced open an eye.
The room was dark, more than it should have been. Morning had come, but the light that crept through the closed curtains was dull and gray. A storm was coming… and a moment of listening alerted Cassian to the blowing of winds.
Mr. Pembroke stood over him, his face pale, his eyes pleading.
“A messenger arrived at the estate not ten minutes ago,” he began, speaking quickly. “It was sent from Her Grace’s family’s cottage, her sister. It told of their father, whose illness has gotten worse.”
“It has?” Cassian sat up. “Does Isolde know?”
“That is why I am here, Your Grace.” Mr. Pembroke fidgeted with his hands, and he could not look Cassian directly in the eye. “I told Her Grace of the message, and without waiting for further instruction, she rushed to the stables and took a horse. She left just five minutes ago—”
“What?” Cassian was up and out of his bed before Mr. Pembroke finished speaking. “She rode out alone?”
“I tried to stop her, Your Grace,” Mr. Pembroke hurried to explain. “I tried to ask that we wait for you to wake, but she would not listen. I hardly managed to convince her to wear a cloak before she took off. She is…” He grimaced. “She is incorrigible.”
Cassian chuckled bitterly. “She is that…”
He thought quickly, deciding that such news was not nearly so tragic as it might be.
Isolde cared deeply for her father, the type of love that he envied, as well as respected.
What was more, Cassian knew he ought not to get in the way.
If anything, he should encourage it. After all, that she cared so deeply was one of the reasons that he loved her so.
“I will go after her…” He nodded slowly.
“But Isolde should also be with her father, and I would not get in the way. A bath first, perhaps breakfast. Then I will ride out, hopefully arriving after she’s had some time with him.
” Another nod of confirmation. “Yes, I do not wish to suffocate her or punish her for doing what is right.”
“Your Grace…” Mr. Pembroke’s eyes widened. “That is not all.”
“What?” Cassian asked. “What else is—”
His question was cut short as a clap of thunder shattered the sky and shook the room. It brought with it a darkness that was not just seen from the fading light but felt inside of Cassian like a hand squeezing his heart.
“There is a storm,” Mr. Pembroke said. “I tried to warn her. I tried to stop her but… but…” He could not finish his thought.