“Can ye have everything ready in two days?” he asked.
Ismay reached up to touch her shoulder, bare for the first time in four years.
“I am certain I can,” Marjorie let him know.
“Very well then, I will take my leave after a walk with my quiet bride.”
Ismay clenched her teeth. She wasn’t his wife yet.
When he stood up and offered his arm, she reluctantly took it. She must not arouse their suspicions of her intentions.
During their stroll, the chief closed his much larger hand over hers, still set in the crook of his elbow, and didn’t let her go. He chose their time in her mother’s garden to tell her what he expected of her as his wife. She would be obedient, dutiful, submissive. She would always present herself as acceptable, and she must have a strong body in order to bear all his children. She was surprised he didn’t mention her inheritance bequeathed by her father. Is that why Marjorie hated her? Her mother could have everything as long as she left Ismay alone and didn’t try to marry her off.
Her feet burned to run. Every step taken at his side felt as if she were stepping over nails.
Finally, he announced that he would leave and bent to kiss her farewell.
She took a step back. “I hope ye dinna mind a shy wife.” She cast him a coy smile that almost made her double over.
His snarl faded and a smile of naked male intent replaced it. “I dinna mind,” he told her. “But I willna be patient if she continues to be shy.”
When he left, Ismay fought the urge to kick him in the backsideon the way out.
Without waiting for Marjorie to call for her, Ismay hurried up the stairs to her room. She packed a small bag with a pair of hose and things her father had given her, gifts for his beloved daughter; ribbons for decorating her hair or dresses, a small, polished mirror that must have been quite costly for him, a carved wooden comb, and various jeweled pins and brooches. She would not use them to sell, they were far too precious to her. For coin, she would take something less meaningful. She hid her bag in a trunk against the wall.
She couldn’t be happier that the chief had left. By the time word would reach him that she’d gone, she would be on a ferry heading toward Kiliwhimin. She skipped her evening meal, claiming to be feeling ill. When her mother sent Murran, her chambermaid to check up on her, Ismay lay under her blankets in bed.
Knowing Marjorie would send someone, Ismay had knelt before the roaring hearth until her skin felt burned, then she had rubbed some water from her basin over her face and leaped into her bed moments before the door opened and Murran stepped inside.
“Oh, lady, ye are burning with fever. I best tell yer mother right away!”
“Nae!” Ismay sat up and grabbed Murran’s wrist. “Dinna worry her. It has been a trying day. I just need some rest.”
“Aye, of course, lady.” Murran looked at Ismay’s shorn hair and sniffed. “I asked yer mother if I could go to Beauly with ye. I canna fathom how difficult ’twill be living with an ogre like him.”
Ismay smiled and slipped her hand around the chambermaid’s hand. Murran had always been kind to her. Ismay would miss her. She couldn’t bid the maid farewell or let her know she was leaving. Though she liked Murran, she didn’t trust anyone. People who had treated her kindly while she lived with the MacDonald chief were some of the first to pick up stones when her death sentence was to be carried out.
“There now, Murran,” Ismay said gently. “I will be alright. Dinnafret. Yer kin are here. I could never ask ye to part with them.”
“But lady, ye are like my own kin.”
Ismay pulled Murran’s knuckles to her cheek. She said nothing but closed her eyes, aching to cry but not allowing herself the luxury.
Later, alone in her bed, she wept. She wept for her father, who had saved her life and her soul. She wept for herself and her uncertain future. Wherever her path led, it would be difficult. She would be a runaway bride, a woman alone in a world ruled by men. She didn’t know how to survive on her own, to hunt, or to fight. But dying out there alone was still better than living with another chief.
She reached her fingers to her hair. It was a good thing he cut off her hair. Now, pretending to be a boy while she traveled would be less difficult.
She left her bed and hurried to pack a bonnet that once belonged to her father. After waiting another hour, she climbed out the window and descended the thick vine trellis against the stone wall.
And ran for her life. She ran for days—weeks, until she reached the ferry in Dores. She only stopped to drink from a stream or cook what she trapped, like a chipmunk or a deer mouse. She was starving, but she kept going. Twice, some older men tried to take her and force her into servitude. They hadn’t tried to touch her. Her disguise worked well. She escaped them and ran. Younger than the men, she managed to lose them quickly.
She had thought she could steal a horse somewhere and make quicker time, but there were none to be had. So, she traveled on foot, which was considerably slower, affording her no extra time to relax or rest comfortably. Chief MacRae, and even her mother would have their men out searching for her by now. She could not stop yet.
In the weeks it took her to reach the ferry, she felt as if she’d aged a decade. She had been chased by a bear—a most harrowing event, but less terrifying than when a man in Traslorr chased her. There was also a woman, as frightening as the bear when, after leavingher freshly baked peach pie on her window-ledge to cool, she lost it to Ismay’s hunger.
Ismay had been robbed and then smacked around when the thief discovered she had nothing to take. With her hair tucked under her bonnet, the thief thought she was a lad and thankfully did not check for her riches under her clothes.
All the running was a blessing in disguise. It kept her warm on the cool nights.
