“I really wish there was room for love in yer heart, Lachlan. If not, I have no place here.”
“Cannae ye see? I’m doing this oot of love, Innes!”
“No, ye are about to spill blood. Dinnae ye dare say it’s for love,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Are ye questioning my feelings for ye now?”
“I’m questioning yer motives, Lachlan. I know how our marriage started, but I thought ye had changed…”
She could tell from the look on his face that her words hurt him. She could do nothing to change his mind now.
“This conversation ends here.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving her with no choice but to obey.
She watched him go, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to make sense of it all. She knew that he was only trying to protect her, but she could not live this way, torn between her brother and her husband. She cared for them both, and she would not be able to stand it if she caused such trouble between them.
Rushing to her chambers, she gathered papers and a pen and set about drafting a letter to Arthur in the hopes that it would reach him before any of Lachlan’s plans did. She had no idea what to say, nor if she would even be able to smuggle the letter out of the Keep in time to get it to him, but she needed to spill her thoughts somewhere.
But how could she put it into words that his own wife might have been the one causing all this trouble? She doubted he would believe her anyway. He had gone so far to ensure that he could take Isobel as his wife, would he trust for a second that she would work against him? Or would he think that his own sister had been corrupted by the influence of Lachlan and his clan?
She could feel tears nagging at her eyes, and she dashed them away quickly, willing herself to stay focused on what needed to be done.
She scribbled down page after page and tossed them away, casting them into the fire that one of the maids came to set for her while she was in her chambers—though she got the feeling that it was rather more so someone could check that she had not tried to make a run for it. Nothing seemed to be enough, and she could feel the weight of the world closing in around her, the truth of it all mixing with the fiction till she couldn’t tell one from the other.
It was past dinnertime when a knock sounded on the door, and she lifted her head from the papers to offer an answer.
“I’m not hungry.”
“My Lady?”
A maid’s voice came, but she did not recognize it right away. There was a strain to her voice that caught her attention, as though this was about more than bringing her food.
“Come in.”
The maid darted around the door, her eyes sliding around the room. Was she expecting someone to catch her in the act? Innes stared at her for a moment, bemused. What on earth could have happened to cause even more trouble since the last time she had stepped out of her chambers?
And then, she noticed something clasped in the girl’s hand—a piece of paper. No, a letter. She held it out to Innes, chewing her lip so hard it seemed a miracle the skin did not split.
“A man came by the Keep earlier today,” she explained hurriedly. “And he told me that a curse would be put on my head if I didnae make sure that this letter found its way to you.”
“A curse?”
The maid shoved the letter into her hand, like she wanted nothing more to do with the thing.
“Please, just dinnae tell anyone that I came here or gave this to you.”
“I won’t,” Innes assured her. “You have my word.”
As soon as she had heard that, the maid seemed satisfied and darted for the door once more, leaving Innes alone with the letter. It was sealed with unmarked wax, and the paper did not look like any she recognized, marked with any particular grain one way or another. She tore it open with shaking hands, and, as she skimmed across the page, the words cut through her veins like ice.
Meet me at the village tavern tonight. Alone. Your brother’s name depends on it. Speak to no one.
She read it again and again, as though the words might change shape if she looked at them long enough, though she knew that was mad.
Who had sent this?
She turned the paper over in her hand, searching for anything that might give her some kind of clue, but nothing stood out. Whoever had sent this to her, they had not wanted her to know who they were, and she wasn’t sure if that was because they were a friend or a foe.
