Then he admonished himself. It wasn’t on a cliff, exactly. The castle sat on a raised jut of land that felt to his London eyes like the tallest mountain. He grinned at the thought of his children running around the place, defending it from imaginary pirates and rescuing damsels from dragons.
He reached from Iseabail’s hand, wanting to share the moment with her. But when he caught her fingers, all he felt was her coolness. Her fingers were icy, her body absolutely still. And when he turned to look at her, her expression was remote.
“Iseabail?”
She turned to him. “I don’t…” She swallowed. “What do I do now?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I’ve promised the clan food, but according to Talia, the kitchens are a mess and the rooms filthy. I’ve no idea who still works here. Orlaith upset a great many folk before my uncle—” She choked on that word and took a moment to reset. “Before she was run off. The men will want drink, but they need to be watched. I don’t know who I can trust to carry away those who cannot hold their liquor. And what of lamp oil and bed linen? I’ll not sleep in—”
She was panicking, her mind racing ahead to problems that weren’t here yet. And so he silenced her in the way she responded to best. He turned to face her eye to eye, and he stroked his thumb across her lips.
“Reuben, I canna—”
“Those are tasks you must do. What do you want to do?”
“What?”
“You are mistress here now—”
“Mayhap. It’s not settled, you know. They could still run me out—”
“Hush,” he said as he pressed his mouth to hers. She accepted his kiss—for a moment—then she pulled back.
“It’s everything I wanted,” she said. “But I cannot run the clan myself. It needs my mother and father. It needs a man who knows how to manage the market and train the men. Fergus is respected, but he’s a farmer. He’s never wanted to count coins. Talia does it for them, and she’s pregnant again. Ach, and that’s a danger to—”
He kissed her again, this time more forcefully. She didn’t fight him as he thrust his tongue into her. Better yet, her shoulders relaxed a bit, then a bit more before her body softened against him. And only then did he raise his head.
“They’re not going to cast you aside. They just killed your uncle on your behalf.”
“Not my behalf. He murdered—”
“Stop thinking in excuses. That’s your uncle’s style. He lied to you as he spoke in dazzling ways to confuse people all while making excuses for himself. Iseabail, your people chose you.”
She looked him in the eye, her body tightening as she fought through her fears. “There is so much to feel, I canna think.”
Her brogue was coming in thick with her distress, but he understood her. “Will you listen to my advice?”
She frowned at him as if he were daft. “All of this is because of you! Of course, I will listen.”
He smiled. “All of this is because of you,” he said. “Years of caring for them, years of being kind despite all the witchcraft nonsense. I merely saw the pattern.” He grinned as he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “It’s what I’m best at.”
She smiled, though the expression was strained. “What does the pattern say now?”
“Take command of the castle. You ran it for years, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then do that first. Start with the meal. Everyone is happy with a full stomach.”
Her brows rose. “Not everyone. And not if the food is bad.”
“Start there.”
She nodded as she turned to face the castle again. “What will you do?” she asked, as if it were an afterthought.
He squeezed her hand. “I shall be looking for more patterns.”
