He pulled her against his chest, bending to kiss her mouth.
On a sigh, Isla melted into him.
And any coherent thoughts Tavish might have had vanished as sure as hoarfrost in the sun.
30
The next few days were the happiest of Isla’s life.
She was well and truly Mrs. Balfour now, and she hadn’t a moment’s regret. Just seeing the wedding ring on her finger could set her cheeks to blushing.
Tavish . . . well . . .
He was precisely the attentive, affectionate husband her younger self had supposed he would be.
They lazed about in bed and took turns reading one another’s favorite passages from books.
They revisited the swimming hole along the River Northcairn and had such an astonishing encounter there, Isla flushed scarlet at the memory.
They spoke of their future and tried to make a plan out of the uncertainty.
“Perhaps Matthias would like to be an investor in our whisky scheme?” Isla asked over breakfast.
Everything had becomeourandweandus.
“Do yenot think he will be incensed by our marriage?” Tavish took a bite of porridge.
“Unlikely. Matthias is more . . . understanding than Gray.”
“Well, we will need funds, so it wouldn’t hurt to—”
A knock sounded on the large wooden door below.
“Ah. That must be a groom from Castle Balfour with the morning post.” Tavish threw down his napkin and disappeared down the stairs.
He reappeared a few minutes later, sorting through a stack of letters in his hand.
The bottommost letter made him frown.
“Tavish? What is it?”
“A letter to me franked by Grayburn.”
Tavish opened the letter, only to have a separate note tumble out. He scanned the lines of the letter.
“Grayburn knows ye be staying here with me at Cairnfell. He has discreet sources, he says. I am to give ye this.” He handed the note to her.
Isla took it with a lift of her eyebrow.
Gray’s lines were brief and to the point.
Isla,
I require your presence at Dunmore immediately. Tavish Balfour is not welcome.
Gray
P.S. You will be pleased with what I have to say.
