She stretched, relishing the warmth on her skin. Today, she would find some joy and merry-making, even if she had to do it herself; perhaps she would even go on an adventure.
After all, a lass c'n only be twenty-one once in her life!
Isla smiled in spite of herself, feeling for all the world as though she was still a child. The thought of womanhood was daunting, though she'd already surpassed that milestone. She knew that she should be thinking of marriage, but whenever she tried, her mind always took her to the moors, the forests, the lochs of the land.
She sat up straight, pushing her long black hair out of her face. Her legs ached from her long swim and ride through the meadows she'd undertaken yesterday, but she loved the feeling of her body enjoying nature. She pulled one of her favorite bright red gowns over her petticoat and pulled her tartan shawl about her, fastening it with her favorite silver brooch.
Isla ran her fingers through her hair excitedly, eager to join her two sisters. She wondered vaguely if her father had anything planned for her today but did not get her hopes up. It would not be the first time that he had disappointed her, nor did she doubt it would be the last. She told herself that it did not matter if her father treated her birthday like it was every other day.
She would enjoy it nonetheless.
Isla was about to push her bedchamber door open completely and wander the castle to find her sisters when she thought she heard someone speaking in hushed tones. It wasn't uncommon to hear people outside of her door, but it was the way the two were speaking that gave her pause. One voice was gruff, angry, and she recognized it immediately.
It was her father. What was he so angry about?
Her father had a temper that could not be matched, but this time there was an edge to his voice that made the nervousness in his voice apparent as well. Isla had heard her father angry many times but never had she sensed fear in his voice. It was strangely out of character for him, and so it tugged on her curiosity, even making her feel a little of his anxiety.
She held her breath, not daring to move the creaky door another inch, and waited to hear more.
The voices came again, quiet but harsh and urgent. Isla felt her trembling fingers, doing their best to keep steady. The person who her father was speaking to answered him in a meek tone; it was one of the castle’s old maids. She could tell by the unmistakable quavering of her voice.
It sounded as though they were just around the other corner of the stone hall. If the sound did not carry so well around corners, she doubted that she would have been able to hear them. Isla held her breath, watching their shadows play on the wall from around the corner. Her father’s shadow was looming and furious while the old maid cowered, hunched at his side.
But what was he talking about?
"I cannae afford her kenning the truth!" her father's voice whispered gruffly in the hall. "Already there is talk aroun' the castle, and it cannae be spread any further than 'tis now."
Truth? What truth? And what talk was there aroun' the castle?
Isla felt her breath get caught somewhere in her chest.
"Aye, Laird Duncan," warbled the old maid. "I agree, m'Laird. I meself 'ave heard numerous maids gossipin' like geese aroun' about your daughter. Somethin' needs to be done, action taken, an' soon before the lass finds out."
About 'his daughter'? Which one?
Isla dared not open the door any wider, though she desperately wanted to.The door’s incessant creaking would give her away immediately, and then she would never know what they were discussing.
Not only that, but if her father caught her eavesdropping...
She did not like to think about how his temper would flare. Instead, she pushed the door until it was nearly open, only a sliver, and peered through the crack.
She heard the tell-tale sound of boots stomping across the stone; they were long steps full of frustration and anger followed by quicker, anxious ones.
They were approaching her door; her father likely assumed that she was already out in the meadows, as she was every day. Isla thanked the heavens that she had chosen this morning to indulge herself in a lie-in.
"We'll have to arrange a betrothal as soon as possible then," her father huffed. "Prefer'bly to a Laird across the highlands, perhaps Laird Thompson's son will do. We'll send word soon; I want this done without another word said about Isla."
Her stomach dropped to her bare feet, and she felt her blood run as cold as an icy loch on a winter's morning. She could barely breathe, and her thoughts were pulled in directions that she could not even fathom.
Me? What does Father mean? And why does he want to send me so far from my home?
Her older sister, Elayne, hadn't even been arranged a marriage yet. It puzzled Isla as to why she should be married off first and why so quickly? Their father had always spoken about Elayne and Isla's twin sister, Annabella, being sent to castles nearby so that he could keep an eye on them. Never once had he mentioned Isla's name during those conversations.
So why now?
It did not make any sense at all. And yet...
Isla thought back to her long, black hair and her bright blue eyes, running a finger through the locks. She sighed, melancholy in the fact that she would never compare to Annabella's and Elayne's beauty.
