Isla followed him back to the men, feeling as though it did not truly matter now what the letter's sender revealed to her. The joy in her heart simply could not be smothered. She told herself that as long as she had Iain at her side, she would be happy, regardless of what was to happen.
* * *
Iain had to hand it to the men; they had actually come up with something useful in the tavern, and not one of them had the smell of drink clinging to them.
Each one wore a triumphant smile upon their face, grinning as though they'd single-handedly won a war for their Laird.
"It wasnae hard to discover who wrote the letter," Jacob said. "Though truly it was luck on our side. We spoke to the barman who was a sort o' chatty fellow and showed 'im the letter. We discovered tha' his daughter has been taken care o' an old man at his home; he's desperately sick, though he claims to have been a healer at one time. He told us tha' the man had scrawled this letter some time ago an' asked it tae be sent to a neighboring castle."
"That must be the man we're searching for!" Isla cried, turning to Iain. Her face was radiant, beaming with joy, and Iain found himself smiling without meaning to at her expression.
"Aye," he agreed. "Tha' it must. Weel, where is this cottage tha' ye spoke of?"
"This way, m'Laird," Gamelin said. "The man told us tae head straight down this dirt path. His home is near the largest oak in the village; he said that we cannae miss it."
The group of them mounted their horses, and Iain pulled Isla up, helping her to adjust herself behind him. He nudged the horse with his heels, and they trotted down the path, kicking up dirt behind them. He could feel the way that Isla's arms tightened around him and sensed she was becoming anxious about the letter. Her hands were squeezing themselves tightly around his waist, her nails digging into her skin. He held the horses' reins with one hand and placed his other hand on top of her own. Instantly, he felt her relax, and he smiled. When he turned around to look at her, she surprised him by placing a kiss hastily upon his lips.
"'T’will all be fine in the end," he said. "Dinnae ye worry. We'll discover what we came here tae find out and then..."
But he trailed off here. He had no idea what would happen afterward. She caught the meaning behind his lack of words and tightened her grip again. This time, even Iain's touch could not calm her.
They traveled down the dirt path and stopped at an enormous oak with vast, reaching branches that hung nearly all the way to the ground. The thing was ancient and impressive; next to it sat a little cottage that only seemed to illustrate how big the tree next to it was in comparison.
Iain looked at Isla; he could feel her shaking with anticipation and nervousness. He steeled himself, telling himself that no matter what they discovered, Isla was all that mattered.
The river stone house looked empty and quiet. Iain helped Isla down, instructing the men to stay with the horses. He and Isla approached the door warily; he could see the fear that was barely hiding itself away in her eyes when she looked at the cottage. Iain heard her take a deep breath in, and he knew she was amping herself up to knock on the door. Iain spared her the anxiety of the act and rapped his knuckles upon the wooden door himself.
At first, there was no sound at all. They waited, listening, but still, there was nothing. Iain was just about to knock again, harder this time when he stopped. Someone was stirring in the house, and then there came the fumbling sound of the door opening. In front of him stood a maiden, barely older than Isla, with bright red curls tumbling down from the crown of her head. She opened the door a crack, eyeing them suspiciously.
"Who are ye?" she asked. "What do ye want?"
"Please, ye must listen," Isla said. "I received a letter at home tellin' me tae seek out this village. We've asked around at the tavern—"
"Ye spoke tae my father?" the young woman asked, opening the door a little wider. "Let me see the letter."
Isla produced the letter, handing it over to her; Iain saw the paper trembling as she held it out with anxious fingers. The young woman only needed a moment to glance at it without reading it and opened the door completely, standing aside to allow them entry.
"Come in, come in," she said. "We've been expectin' ye."
Iain nodded to Isla when she turned to look at him, and she stepped inside first. He followed, feeling somehow nervous for her as though he could feel the emotions that were pouring out of her. He could tell she was straining from holding back her trepidation, but her bravery overpowered it. Iain felt a small bolt of pride hit him; it seemed she was a woman who could overcome her fears, no matter the cost. She had proven it time and time again.
The inside of the cottage was as meager as the outside seemed. There was little furniture but enough for the place to feel cozy. A bright flame blazed in the fireplace, and next to it was a bundle of quilts; when Iain looked closer, he realized that deep within the blankets, a man was huddled within them.
"Aiden," the young lady said gently to the man by the fire. "I think she's here."
Iain saw the man turn, and from this angle, he could see his face a little better in the firelight. The man was ancient, with deep age lines cut into his cheeks and forehead. What little hair the man had left was stringy and white, his beard long and curling. He looked ill, as the men had stated, and Iain noticed the man himself was trembling, though it looked to be from a chill. It was not cold; there was no need for a fire.
"She's here?" he asked the young woman. She only nodded gently at him and went to fetch him water.
Iain looked at Isla; she was shaking, but she approached the old man, sinking down in front of him on bended knees. Iain saw her squint and lean closer, trying to get a better look at him.
"Aiden?" she asked after a moment. "Is that... Is that ye? My old tutor?"
The old man pulled the quilts away from his face, revealing himself further, and then his lips pulled back in a weak smile. Isla was shocked to see the man, that much he could tell. Her eyes had widened until he could see the whites of them clearly, and her lips had parted in a gasp that he could not hear.
"Isla, my lass," Aiden said. "Yer here; I'm so glad tha' ye were able tae make it before my final breath."
Iain let out a breath of relief; they had finally arrived, and it seemed like they could not have come at a better time. Aiden looked gravely ill. Isla herself seemed like she was working through a string of thoughts in her mind, her brows cinched together. She was staring at the man as if she saw a ghost.
