The two of them got to work cleaning the game, and before long, they were roasting over the flame that Aymer built up. Her stomach rumbled, and she was grateful when she was given a portion of the bird. Isla looked up, but it had not been Iain who had handed it to her.
"There ye go, lass," Jacob said, smiling. "That oughta make ye feel a little better, eh?"
Isla nodded, thankful for the meal, at least, and tried to put thoughts of Iain out of her mind. She wondered then what he might be thinking; he had eaten quickly and had brought out his own flask. He was taking long swallows when he put the bottle to his lips.
Is he tryin' tae get himself drunk?
It was a likely thought; he looked aggrieved in a way that Isla hated. If she could, she would wipe that look away and flood his face with tender kisses.
If he would let her.
She knew in her heart he would never trust her again. He was too wild and fierce, untamed and free; he did not take well to being fooled. In the Laird's eyes, she perhaps had committed the greatest crime against him without even truly meaning to.
He said nothing to the men, though she thought he would immediately. It surprised her, but she supposed perhaps he would keep her secret; for what reason, though, she could only guess. At the keep, he had made himself quite clear: if she lied to him, it would be the end of her.
And yet, her lie was revealed, and here she still sat, eating partridge with the Laird and his men.
He was impossible to understand, but still, she tried. If he would but talk to her, let her explain further, she was sure that he would come to understand and even forgive her. He had to know that she was just a frightened maiden far from home.
The village and the letter were the only chance left she had to make him understand. If he saw that she was at least speaking truly about that, he may turn his mind... and then what?
What do I really expect tae happen after this? What do I want tae happen?
Isla could not even say. Her father would never allow a marriage with Iain, nor did Iain seem to be able to stand her presence at the moment. That dream was shattered, she knew, and she should hope for it no longer. The Laird had never mentioned it before, and now that he was aware of who her father was, she was certain he would not now.
She tried to quell the despair that had begun to build up once again, feeling the tears starting to burn at the corners of her eyes. She struggled for a moment, debating whether or not she should wipe them away and call attention to herself. They began to fall regardless, however, and once she began to cry, she could not stop.
The men pretended not to notice her, the Laird among them. They finished eating and helped Aymer back onto his horse, and she took the opportunity to swipe her hand across her eyes quickly. When she turned, Iain was looking at her with large brown eyes.
"We should go," he said. "We'll be able tae reach yer village tomorrow, more'n likely. Then at least one o' us will be able tae have the answers we so desire."
The words were almost a whisper and were meant for her alone; the men were too busy loading themselves upon their horses to be able to hear him.
"Yes, m'Laird," she said softly, ducking her head. "I suppose I should be thankful."
He looked hurt by the formality, but she hadn't meant it in such a way. She, in fact, meant to do the opposite by not saying his name directly. Her heart sank even further into the depths.
He hefted himself upon his stallion, and she climbed up herself, without even waiting for him to offer her his hand. Isla felt Iain tense when she wrapped her arms around him again, and he nudged the horse, spurring it onward. The creature huffed and began walking forward.
They continued on for the rest of the day in a terrible silence that Isla felt choking her. Each wordless minute had been more unbearable than the last. The Laird did not utter a single word for hours, nor did his men who were able to read his mood clearly.
The only comfort she took was being able to hold onto him while riding. This would be the only time she would be permitted to touch him, and once their journey had finally found its end, she would never feel the comfort of his touch again.
Isla felt the horse slowing and was regretful when the Laird stopped them to make camp. It meant she would have to let him go for the night, one less opportunity to have him close to her. She released the hold she had on his waist when they stopped, and he separated himself from her quickly.
Her heart dropped like a stone into a loch. She swung her leg over the horse's side, massaging the sore knots in her muscles, and then stood, waiting for direction. The men fell about making camp, lighting a fire, and untying the rucksacks from the horses.
"I'm goin' tae scout the area," Iain said. "I dinnae want tae see anyone else on their own. Ye three keep an eye on the lass; make sure she doesnae run off."
"Aye, m'Laird," Aymer said. "Never fear."
And so his distrust was back completely; it was just as she thought. They were completely back to where they started.
Isla did not know when she fell for the Laird, only that the emotions he kicked up inside of her had not always been there. She felt a longing so strong to press herself against him and feel his arms around her, but he did not even once look her way. He turned and strode away from their camp, his blade in hand.
Isla sighed, pressing her face into her hands, for she had never felt so alone.
* * *
