Isabel smiled. “You would have found your way soon enough. You have too much spirit to have lain dormant for long.” She closed the book she had been working on. “And speaking of dormant, I’m about to burst. I must get out of here.”
Margaret’s brow wrinkled with mild concern. “You know, Isabel, even if Alex agrees, Rory will be furious to discover we have left the castle even for a hunt. He expressly warned Alex not to let us out of the keep for fear that one of us might be kidnapped by the Mackenzies and held for ransom. Or worse.”
Isabel tossed her hair and moved to the window, gazing at the sea. “The Mackenzies wouldn’t dare an attack this late in the season, not when their escape could be cut off by storms. We will be well guarded and stay close to the castle. And since Rory is not here, he can hardly expect us to seek his permission, can he?”
Isabel couldn’t hide her irritation. It was almost November, and Rory had been gone for nearly two months. Leaving her with only the memory of that confusing, heart-stopping kiss. A memory she’d tried to hold on to, but that with each passing day grew more faint. She’d wanted to believe that after the disaster of the night before, he’d been trying to reach out to her. And that belief had been bolstered when she’d returned to their room and foundThe Faerie Queenepropped up in the middle of the bed. Her mercurial heart had leapt, thinking it was surely a truce offering or maybe even his way of apologizing. She’d hoped for something more. But although Rory had sent brief missives to Alex and Margaret, Isabel had heard not a word.
Now, she didn’t know what to think.
And more frustrating was that Isabel realized she missed him.
She’d spent much of the two months devouring firstThe Faerie Queeneand later other books she’d discovered in Rory’s vast library, working on the accounts as she and Margaret did now, and getting to know Margaret and Alex better.
She and Margaret had spent countless hours as they were now, working, chatting, and laughing. Once Isabel had exhausted the stories of her time at court, which the enthralled Margaret couldn’t get enough of whether scandalous or mundane, they took turns regaling each other with anecdotes from their childhood.
Isabel had especially enjoyed stories of the youthful Rory, the carefree lad who had roamed the Isle before the role of serious chief was thrust upon him so unexpectedly following the death of his brother. She also realized that even though she had not explicitly told her, Margaret had probably deduced among the silly stories of her childish escapades what her own situation had been like.
With Margaret she’d found the first real friend she’d ever had. And a sister.
Margaret was studying her intently. “What is it?” Isabel covered her cheeks with her hands. “Do I have ink on my face?”
“He doesn’t know what to say, Isabel,” she said quietly.
Isabel’s eyes jumped to her friend’s face. Had her thoughts been so transparent? Margaret did see too much. Her back straightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You hide your disappointment well, but I see how much it hurts you when each day passes and you do not hear from my brother.”
“You see all that, do you,” Isabel said wryly.
“Rory cares for you more than he wants to admit. There’s a softness in his gaze when he looks at you that I’ve never seen before.”
Isabel tried to cover her hope, but Margaret gathered her hands and forced her to meet her gaze. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Isabel.”
“He intends to send me back,” she said hollowly.
“I know. The feud will only be over when your uncle is destroyed and the MacLeods hold Trotternish. The only way for that to happen is with the Earl of Argyll’s sway with the king. An alliance with Argyll’s cousin Elizabeth Campbell will provide that sway.”
Isabel turned her eyes away. It hurt too much to see Margaret’s sympathy. “Does he care for her very much?” Her voice sounded very small.
“He barely knows her. It will be a horrible match. The lass has not the fortitude you do to stand toe-to-toe with my imposing brother. Elizabeth Campbell is a sweet but timid little thing. Rory will terrify her.” Margaret sighed. “But it matters not. Rory will always do his duty, even at the expense of his own happiness.”
Isabel knew Margaret was right. She’d thought quite a bit about Rory in his absence. More than she wanted to. The night before he left, she’d caught a glimpse of the passionate man behind the revered chief. But his position as chief would always dominate. His clan called him “Rory Mor”—Rory the Great. The title fit. Even if she succeeded in making him fall in love with her, he would send her back if his duty demanded it.
“You’re not angry with me, are you?” Margaret asked.
“How could I be angry with you for speaking the truth?” Isabel managed a wry smile. She tried to pretend that her friend’s words did not bother her, but Margaret was not fooled.
Isabel moved back to the table and began closing the ledgers that she had been working on, carefully returning the parchments to their place on the bookshelf. She was grateful for the distraction of the accounts. Even with Michaelmas behind her, there was much to be done. Managing the rents from Rory’s lands, the livestock, and the household accounts took a large portion of her days. She fought back an unwelcome twinge of guilt. She’d been so busy, she’d not found much time to search for the flag or a secret passage out of the castle.
With Rory gone, it should have proved an opportune time. But she was no closer to achieving her goal, and nearly three months had gone by since she’d arrived. Time enough for her to form strong friendships and attachments that made the thought of betraying the MacLeods unbearable. It wasn’t just the lives of her clan that were at stake, but the lives of the MacLeods. If she failed, her clan would be left landless and at the mercy of the heartless Mackenzies. But if she succeeded, it would be at the expense of the MacLeods. If only she could think of a way to help her clan that did not involve harming the MacLeods. Perhaps it was time to write to her father.
She looked back to Margaret. “Well, are you going to break out of this keep with me or must I go alone?”
Margaret’s moment of seriousness fled, and she turned to Isabel with a wide grin. “If you are game, I am willing to brave the tempest.”
Isabel watched the impish yet confident expression traverse the fey features of her new sister. What only weeks ago would have terrified Margaret now seemed an exciting adventure. At least she’d done one good thing in coming here.
With a last brave hoorah, she turned to wave to Margaret, who was still sitting at the table, smiling. “It’s settled, then, I’m off to find Alex. Wish me luck!”
