A curse upon Isobel for even giving his loyal wife a doubt.
Isobel had not been surprisedwhen she finally bled.
In fact, she had been relieved, even triumphant.Once again, she had compelled her body to support her own desires.She had secretly bumped her belly into furniture and prayed for deliverance from her misfortune.She had exerted herself overmuch and had been impressed that a babe could be so hard to dislodge even when so young.
She hated pregnancy, the uneasy stomach, the bulge in her figure, and the physical discomfort that resulted from the growing burden.She had felt clumsy and unattractive while carrying Gavin, though she had known it was her duty to do so.Her distaste had been naught compared to the actual delivery of her son, which had been a hell of seeming eternity.Isobel was determined to never again endure such torment.
Stewart should have been content with one son.Gavin was such a robust boy that there was no chance of him being lost to illness.Isobel had done her duty, in her view, but in this matter, as in all others, Stewart was greedy for more.Isobel could not keep her legal husband from her bed or deny him the marital debt, but she had no intention of destroying her life—and risking it—by bearing child after child after child.
She had thought she might bear one more, but the return of Fergus had dismissed that notion.
And time was of the essence.It could not be long before a man like Fergus found a willing and suitable bride, yet Isobel could not appeal to him with Stewart’s babe in her belly.Her previously successful tactics had not worked quickly enough, but Isobel had not been daunted.
In desperation, she had consumed herbs that were said to oust babes from the womb.This felt daring and bold and a part of her feared that she went too far, but all ended as Isobel desired.When this child abandoned her womb, just like the last, she wept for the sake of appearances but within her heart, Isobel was glad.
So very glad.
Stewart was significantly less so.
He raged at the injustice.He was foul of temper with every soul at Dunnisbrae and impossible to please in any matter.He shouted at her and might have struck her, if he had not so desperately desired another son.
His greed was Isobel’s salvation.
It was only days before he joined her abed and his efforts began anew.Each night, as he thrust atop her in pursuit of his pleasure, Isobel hated him a little more.Each morning, when she awakened to the feel of his hand between her thighs, she kept her eyes closed and despised him.Stewart thought she had not noticed the pretty maid return to labor in the hall, the one Isobel had not seen in years, the one so willing to do whatever Stewart demanded of her.Isobel had seen and hated Stewart even more for welcoming a whore.
She knew she might not have loathed Stewart quite so much if Fergus had not returned.If Fergus had not been so handsome, or so affluent, she might have accepted the truth of her marriage more readily.She knew Fergus to be gentle but firm, a fair man and a good lover.Isobel knew that her life would be vastly improved with Fergus as spouse instead of Stewart.
Especially if she ensured she never ever conceived again.
She would never forget the shape and smell of that herb, to be sure.
Isobel’s plan was made.She would leave Stewart and throw herself at the mercy of Fergus.She would tell him a tale, one that he would believe, and she would have her way.She lingered only a week at Dunnisbrae after the loss of her child, only a week to ensure that she could endure the ride to Killairic.
She feared discovery with every moment, but Stewart, livid about the loss of another child, was not attentive to nuance.All the same, Isobel scarcely slept the night before her planned departure.She reviewed her preparations endlessly, certain that Stewart would somehow foil her scheme.
But, on that chosen morning, Stewart did precisely as she had anticipated.He awakened with his usual morning erection.He rolled over and used her for his pleasure, grunting like a rutting pig, indifferent as to whether she was even awake herself.Her anger simmered along with her sense that justice would be served.His hands ran over her, and Isobel hated that this was the extent of his appreciation for her.She had brought him a holding and given him a son, but Stewart always wanted more.
Isobel’s hatred sharpened.Even as her husband labored for his release, she reached beneath the bed and retrieved one of the needles Fergus had given to her, hiding it in her hand.Stewart found his pleasure with a shout, then collapsed on his back, panting as his eyes closed again.
It was yet early.The villagers were only beginning to stir.He usually slept an hour, maybe more, after relieving himself.
This day would be different.
Isobel rolled over and looked down at her husband, at the silver in his beard and his hair, at the lines on his face and the harsh line of his mouth.She saw him for the hard warrior he was, the older man whom she would survive.There was no tenderness in her heart in this moment for this man.She saw only what he had cost her, what he had taken, how he had used her for his own gain.
She saw only that he was less of a man than Fergus and hated him for that.
Stewart’s hand slipped from her hip as he dozed and his mouth slackened.She waited, watching, heart racing, until his breath slowed.
He would never forget this day, to be sure.
Isobel licked her lips and steeled her resolve.
She lifted the needle with its sharp point.
And she drove it into his eye with all of her might.
She would have done the same to the other, but Stewart roared in pain and seized her wrist.She bit him so that he released her, then pulled out the needle.He snatched at her but she kicked him in the groin, stumbling from the bed.He lunged after her and swore, one hand upon his bleeding eye and the other at his crotch.
