“Aye, it would. But the trial won’t begin for months yet, and because the sordid details were published in the lawsuit filing, all of London now knows that Mariah is a fallen woman.”
An icy chill chased Isla’s spine. She knew the outcome before Tavish said it.
“My poor sister is utterly ruined. Not a rumored or hearsay sort of ruination. But thoroughly destroyed. Mariah has no reputation to speak of. She will no longer be received nor ever marry.”
Isla pressed a hand to her stomach. The shock of it. The horror.
And Gray had played a central role.
No gentleman would do such a thing to a lady, no matter how provoked. It was the rankest behavior on Lord Stafford’s part . . . and Gray’s, too. Without her brother spewing vicious lies, Isla doubted Lord Stafford would have reneged.
Emotions bucked and roiled in her chest—betrayal, disappointment, helplessness. How could Gray have done this?
She closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from screaming.
“Ye should let it out.”
Isla snapped her gaze to Tavish’s.
“All that ye be feeling.” His gaze burned into hers. “As I’ve said before, ye should let it out.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “How? Slash Gray with a dagger while he sleeps?”
He cocked his head, as if examining the thought before casting it aside with a quick shake. “Nae. Something less bloody that won’t see ye hanged.”
He stood and offered her his hand.
Isla took it without hesitation.
Tavish led her out the door and into the forest beyond. Within minutes, they reached the cairn itself. It towered overhead, slate stones darkened with rain. The downpour had tempered to a light sprinkle, but the wind lashed the ends of Isla’s pelisse and snapped Tavish’s kilt and bent the Scots pine.
“Come on. We have to go to the top.”
Their hands clasped for balance, they scrambled up the slippery stones—feet sliding with every other step, wind chafing Isla’s cheeks. It took several minutes before they reached the summit.
“Now.” Tavish dropped her hand. “We bellow our rage.”
Bending at the waist, he drew in a long breath and then roared into the wind. The sound whipped around Isla, racing down the hill and blending with the clamor of the tree branches. The sound was primal and angry and felt so very vital.
Mouth opening wide, Tavish bellowed one more time, a guttural shout of fury. The wind clapped back with blasts of arctic air.
He turned to her, gray eyes wide, red hair plastered to his head and dripping water into his eyes. He appeared elemental. A handsomekelpiedetermined to lure her to her doom.
“Your turn,” he said, a wild grin on his lips.
Isla surveyed the landscape, the tops of the pines disappearing into the rising mist and cutting off any further views of Dunmore to the south or Castle Balfour to the north.
“Scream, lass! Pull the air deep into your gut and then let it fly . . . all your rage and frustration at the damnable injustices of life.”
As ever, Isla thrilled at his swearing. Tavish never saw her as something to be coddled. In his eyes, she was a fledgling eagle, ready to take flight.
And so she bent forward, sucked in all the air her body could hold, and roared into the wind. The sound scoured her lungs and scraped her throat and sent sharp prickles of energy along her skin.
“Brilliant!” Tavish shouted. “Again!”
Isla screamed, dragging the fury and helplessness and heartache from her lungs and flinging it into the tempest—all the emotions that wanted to flatten her, to snuff out her will to resist.
Yet as the rain beat down and the sky flashed silver and the very elements raged,You are nothing! . . .
