The only crack in Grayburn’s indifference came the day before Isla’s wedding. A footman from Dunmore had appeared on the doorstep of Castle Balfour, a box in his hand. Tavish had watched as Isla opened it with trembling fingers. Inside, she found a stunning sapphire-and-gold parure—necklace, ear bobs, and a hair comb.
Isla had lifted Grayburn’s short note, shaking her head.
I can no longer stomach the sight of these—a gift from my father to your mother—and so I pass them to you. May your marriage be more fortuitous than that of my parents.
—G
Tavish had lifted an eyebrow at Grayburn’s snippy tone.
Isla had beamed with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t care why he sent me this,” she said to Tavish. “I love that I have something more of my mother to pass to our children. Our own history to write.”
The morning of their wedding dawned clear and bright.
Every able-bodied person within a ten-mile radius packed the kirk to witness the miraculous marriage. Tavish’s brothers and sisters had been particularly enthusiastic, much to Lord Northcairn’s disgust.
Lord Matthias escorted his sister down the aisle to a waiting Tavish—Ross and Fletch at his side as best men.
Isla had never looked more lovely, Tavish thought. Her wedding gown—cream satin with an overlay of gold-shot netting—draped her elegant figure, and the white lilies of her bouquet perfumed the church. But it was the profound love in her blue gaze that had Tavish choking back tears. They both openly wept as they recited their vows. There wasn’t a dry eye in the congregation.
Stepping from the church in a shower of rice, they had raced to the waiting carriage. Tavish would forever remember gathering his wife close and kissing her to cheers and the peals of church bells.
Tavish and Isla had immediately set out for Malton Hill. Matthias had made good on his promise to secure Isla’s inheritance. Per their mother’s will, Grayburn had ceded Malton Hill as well as a tidy sum left to Isla. Tavish had happily signed their marriage contracts, guaranteeing the property for Isla’s own use.
As the son of an earl, Tavish knew the basics of land management and could have stepped into the role of lord of the manor, but he wanted Isla to have the primary governance of her people.
As ever, he wished his wife to have the life she chose for herself.
A grunt sounded from behind. Wee Fletch twisted in Tavish’s arms, looking over his shoulder.
Turning around, they both watched as Matthias finished loading a Baker rifle, carefully pouring priming powder into the touch hole. It was tricky going with just one functional arm, but Matthias was determined to master the task.
Though quiet and retiring, Matthias had a will of steel, Tavish had come to realize. The man refused to let his disability dissuade him from his goals—in this instance, learning how to load and fire a rifle.
“Good work!” Tavish called, shifting Wee Fletch in his arms.
Three weeks past, Matthias had arrived for a lengthy visit. Isla had been ecstatic to see him, flying into her brother’s embrace.
Matthias had proved a dear friend to both of them. He visited regularly and doted on Wee Fletch. Just last night, Matthias had spent over an hour attempting to teach Wee Fletch to sayUncle Mattwith some success.
Today, however, Tavish was continuing to teach Matthias how to aim and shoot a rifle. He could have left Wee Fletch in the care of his nanny in the nursery, but Tavish adored watching his son explore the world.
“Dat?” Wee Fletch pointed toward Matthias.
“Yes, that’s your Uncle Matt. Watch. He’s going to fire the rifle.”
“Boom!” The toddler’s eyes went wide.
“Yes, boom.” Tavish looked to Matthias. “Ready?”
Matthias nodded, looking down the field toward the paper target attached to a board. “I’m going to perfect my form.”
“Ye absolutely will. Practice does make perfect when it comes to target shooting.”
Matthias sat on the ground, adopting the supine firing position the Rifles used—back reclined, rifle butt against his shoulder, and the barrel propped on one foot. The pose enabled him to steady the gun without having to use two hands.
“Remember,” Tavish encouraged. “Breathe in to focus and steady your aim, breathe out to fire.”
