She thought he would speak right away, but he took another moment of pause. It almost looked as though he wanted to take his words back, but there was no stopping now. Isla was transfixed, waiting.
"Two years ago, I was happily wed," he said. "Married tae a lass that I thought woke the sun with how she shined. I had a child on the way and had just gotten used tae the responsibilities as Laird. I thought that everythin' was goin'... Well, tae be honest, everythin' was absolutely perfect."
Isla stared at him, her hands wringing together. She could not imagine where he was going with this, but she was too enthralled with the story to interrupt.
"Everythin' had fallen intae place. I had lost my father, and that had left a void inside o' me, but Seona had done her verra best to keep me afloat, and she did it well. The two of us were happy, more than happy; we were in bliss. However, like all things, it didnae last; nothing is meant tae carry on forever, but I didnae think that it would end quite so soon and so suddenly."
"What happened?" Isla found herself asking.
The Laird took a moment in between his words; to Isla, it seemed as though he was reining in his emotion, ensuring that he did not overstep himself. Perhaps he was trying not to seem weak in this moment of vulnerability.
"Seona, my wife, died durin' childbirth," he said, his voice barely over a whisper. "The child... My daughter had died sometime in the womb. She was not even able tae take her first breath."
Isla herself had stopped breathing; it made so much sense. His anger, his rage, all of it had stemmed from a place of grief. And she had thought it all had come from the death of his father.
No, the Laird was battling something much fiercer than the loss of one family member. Nearly his entire family had been taken from him; all he had left to lean back on was his mother.
It was no wonder he seemed to heed his mother’s words so fervently. Fiona MacThomas had been swift in Isla’s release when Isla had been so close to despair.
"But tha's not what I wanted tae tell ye," he said earnestly. "After the death of Seona and our daughter, I was... I suffered through a period of grief like ye could never know. I was tormented in the day with thoughts of my family, of the images of their faces, still in death. The only respite I received was in sleep. Almost every night, I would fall intae a dream, the same dream each night. I would see a lass, and she would call me by my name, seemin' tae know me. I was more than enchanted with the lass; every time I would see her in the dream, the stress 'n the sorrow would melt away from me. She calmed me, brought me peace like I hadnae felt since my wife's death. The lass was the only woman who I felt any sort o' connection tae, and I had never seen her before in the light o' day, not once."
His eyes fell to the fire, and Isla watched as the flames danced within the amber orbs; she was so used to the fierce look that they normally housed, but this was more open than she'd ever seen him.
"She was askin' for my help," he said, continuing. "Begging me to help her, but to do what, I cannae say. She never answered any of my questions, never seemed tae recognize me from one dream tae the next. It baffles and confounds me, but I cannae unravel what in the hell it means. That dream had plagued me for years, but when I saw ye, it only got worse."
"Worse?" Isla asked. "Because of me? How could it have gotten worse in the one night I spent in your keep?"
"She looks like ye," he said, eyes still on the flames. "The woman in my dreams. Just like ye, in fact. So much so that I was shocked the first moment I saw ye. I'd never seen the woman in the light o' day before; it chilled me immediately. I didnae know what tae do, what tae say, so I raged because I could think o' nothin' else. All of my thoughts fled me in tha' moment."
Isla's mouth formed a silent "Oh!" of surprise. She did not want to press him, afraid he would stop talking if she spoke, but the conversation had shaken her to her very core. She searched Iain's face, looking for signs of a lie, but there were none. He was telling the truth or believed himself to be.
The dream woman had looked like her? How could such a thing be possible?
"But," she said, when she allowed herself to speak, "why do ye think that dream came tae ye in the first place? And why did I... did the woman ask for yer help? I cannae understand..."
She had never had a dream of him before; she had not even known what he would look like when she was brought to the MacThomas keep, and yet it was true she had formed a sort of bond with him somehow.
Especially now, after this admission, she felt herself soften towards him. Another layer of the emotional armor she wore around her heart fell away. Perhaps it was dangerous to trust him, but she could not help herself. He had opened himself up to her, told her something that only one other person knew about him.
Now she just wanted to figure out what it could possibly mean.
* * *
She must think him absolutely insane.
He felt that sinking suspicion as soon as he uttered the words, but it had been without merit. The young woman actually seemed as though she were invested in his words, as though she were actually listening and not judging him for his belief in the dream.
In fact, she had seemed as though she actually believed him herself. He could not imagine that she could understand, but somehow it looked like she did.
It was hard to believe, but if she thought he was telling the truth, then perhaps she could help him discover the meaning of the dream.
If there is a meaning.
The words were intrusive and uncalled for, and he did not entertain them. He took another long swallow of wine to wash away the thought entirely. There had to be a reason that the young woman ended up in his dungeons. Hope sprung up in his chest; would she be able to help him unravel the mystery of the dream?
"She looked like me?" she asked, her voice thin. "But... how can tha' be? Surely there must be some kind of mistake."
"No," he breathed out. "The lass in my dreams an' ye are the same woman; I'm sure o' it. Yer voices are not just similar; they're the exact same. I noticed that... that ye have the same little mark next tae yer left eye there as does the woman in my dream. I'm convinced tha' ye and she are the same."
