Hehad never dreaded a sight more.
Devastation ravaged his chest.
Isolde did not yet know of his betrayal of her trust. The coward in him simply hadn’t been able to confess his sins.
Sir Rafehadto have heard the tale.
Isolde would likely know the whole of it before morning.
Tell her. Tell her now.
But his tongue stubbornly refused to loosen, to let pass the words stuck in his throat.
And then it was too late, as they were climbing into the tender to be rowed to a rocky beach just north of the castle.
Once inside, Sir Rafe and his wife, Lady Gordon, greeted them at the end of an oak-lined entry hall.
Tristan watched as his wife warmly embraced their hosts, the affectionate familiarity between them obvious.
His own welcome was decidedly more stiff and formal.
Rafe studied Tristan intently as they shook hands, his gaze moving between Tristan and Isolde, most likely assessing the depth of Isolde’s blissful ignorance of her husband’s deception.
Tristan could feel hisKendallself surface. A need to retreat inward, to shield himself from injury. To withdraw like a turtle into its shell, to a place where the weight of his brother’s stare and the discomfort of Tristan’s own perfidy could not reach.
Clenching his fists, he held the urge at bay. Reverting to his old ways would only make the situation worse and add weight to Isolde’s confirmation that he had not changed.
He knew this.
And yet, it was difficult.
Difficult to nod and respond genially to Rafe’s questions.
Yes, they had greatly enjoyed exploring the sea stacks at John O’Groats.
No, they had not taken time to examine the ancient steps at Old Wick.
Tristan and Isolde followed their hosts up a flight of stairs to what was once the Great Hall of the medieval castle. Now, the space served as a drawing-room of sorts. To the left, a series of three tall windows provided a dramatic panorama of the ocean.
“Mamma?” Isolde gasped at Tristan’s side. “Papa!”
Lord and Lady Hadley stood in front of the fireplace, heads turned expectantly toward the doorway.
Isolde flew from Tristan’s side and into the open arms of her parents.
Lady Hadley promptly burst into tears, clutching her daughter close.
Tristan’s stomach, already tied in knots, plummeted. A hollow tingling pricked his fingertips.
Why was Hadley here? With Lords still debating a trial date, shouldn’t the earl be in London, consulting with solicitors?
Sir Rafe excused himself from Tristan’s side.
Lady Gordon crossed to her friends, stopping at Lady Hadley’s shoulder.
Leaving Tristan remaining just inside the doorway.
Alone.
