A rush of emotion surged in Tavish’s chest. “Thank ye, Ross.”
Ross didn’t reply directly, just turned to his side, away from Tavish.
“Don’t even think of giving me a wee cuddle,” he said over his shoulder. “Save it for that bonnie wife of yours.”
Tavish chuckled. “Goodnight, Ross.”
Castle Balfour glowedin the fading sunlight.
Tavish was unsure if he was happy to be home or dreading the coming confrontation.
Would his family be any more welcoming of the belated news of his nuptials than Gray had been?
Truthfully, events could go either way.
Isla rode behind him, her hands clasped around his waist, her head drooping in weariness between his shoulder blades. In some ways, their travel south had been a depressing repeat of their journey after tying the knot of their handfasting. The same road. The same horse, even. But this time, instead of the intoxicating hope of their longed-for future together, Tavish shouldered the leaden weight of Isla’s despair.
Tavish pulled Goliath to a stop before the castle’s front doors, dismounting and turning to help Isla down. She slid off the horse with a soft groan, her feet wobbling as they hit the gravel. His poor lass was unaccustomed to riding for such long periods. Tavish clutched her to him for a brief moment, ignoring the enormous eyes of the groom who had come to take Goliath away and likely recognized Lady Isla in the process. Every servant in a twenty-mile radius would have a report of this within days. Who knew what the local gossip mill would make of it.
It remained to be seen if Tavish and Isla could keep the truth of their marriage and eventual divorce hidden. Though without Grayburn’s ducal assistance, news of their divorce would land in the scandal sheets almost immediately.
More to the point, without Grayburn’s support, what would become of Isla? Tavish would never force her to remain in their marriage, but neither would he cast her out into the world.
Bloody hell, but this was a mess.
“Come,” Tavish wrapped an arm around her, turning for the stairs to the front door.
It opened with aclack.
“Tavish!” called Elsie.
“Finally!” yelled Edmund.
The twins raced down the stairs, only to come to a stumbling halt once they realized Tavish had his arm around a lady.
For her part, Isla pushed away from him, a hand tentatively going to her crumpled bonnet before attempting to smooth her pelisse, the fine garment heavily wrinkled from their journey.
Tavish took her hand and wrapped it through his elbow.
“Who’s this?” Edmund frowned, looking at Isla.
Elsie elbowed him. Hard.
“Ow! What’s that for?” he scowled at his twin.
Elsie rolled her eyes. “Lady Isla,” she curtsied, pretty as a picture.
Bless Mariah. She had obviously been instilling manners in one of the twins.
“Lady who?” Edmund said, far too loudly.
Elsie leaned into her twin’s ear to whisper. Tavish heardGrayburnandsisterandrecognize her from church services. To his credit, Edmund’s eyes widened as she spoke, his gaze darting between Tavish and Isla before landing on the place where Isla clutched Tavish’s elbow.
“Why does Tavish have a black eye?” Edmund asked.
Elsie shrugged.
“Oh, gracious! There ye two wee hellions be,” Mariah said, coming to the door. “Why are ye yapping at Tavish—”
