Isobel’s limbs went weak with relief as he rose to go.
At the door, he turned. “Send a message,” he said, giving her a wink, “if you cannot wait so long.”
Chapter Two
As soon as Graham was out the door, she raced to it and slid the bar across. Rage pulsed through her now, blurring her vision. She paced the room, clenching her fists until her nails cut into her palms. What could she do? Surely there must be some way to challenge the theft of her property. But how would she go about it? Who could help her?
The only person she trusted was her brother. But Geoffrey was in Normandy with the king’s army. She covered her face in her hands, not wanting to think now how worried she was about him. Her sweet, dreamy brother was no soldier. Sending him off to fight was one more thing she would not forgive her father.
Her father. In this alone he would be her ally. He would care if she lost her property.
In the end, she sent for him, for she had no one else to ask.
An hour later, her maid poked her head through the solar door. “M’lady, Sir Edward awaits you in the hall.”
Her father must have set out as soon as he received her message.
Isobel hurried down the stairs to the hall. At the entrance she halted, caught off guard by the wave of loss that hit her at the sight of the familiar bullish frame. Her father stood half turned from her, surveying the imposing hall with a smile of satisfaction on his face. After all these years, it should not hurt this much to see him.
With a growing tightness in her chest, she remembered how she used to think he caused the sun to shine. She was the favored child, the adored daughter he took with him everywhere. If it had been otherwise, she would not have felt so betrayed.
What a foolish girl she was. She had believed her father delayed betrothing her because he could not find a man he deemed worthy. Galahads are hard to come by.
Then he sold her like cattle. To a man like Hume.
She recalled how her legs shook and her breath came in gasping hiccups as she climbed down from Hume’s high bed to wash that first night. Behind the screen, she lit a candle and poured water into the basin. As she wiped the blood smeared along the inside of her thigh, it struck her: her father knew what Hume would do to her. He knew, and yet he gave her to the man anyway.
“Isobel, ’tis good to see you!” Her father’s booming voice jarred her back to the present.
When he came toward her as though he would embrace her, she stopped him with a lift of her hand.
“ ’Tis a shame,” he said, “it took your husband’s death for you to receive me in your home.”
Isobel resented both the criticism and the hurt in his voice. “Come, we must speak in private.”
With no further greeting, she turned and led him up the stairs to the solar. Here, too, he looked about with a proprietary air, admiring the rich tapestries and costly glass window.
“Who would have thought the old man would live so long?” he said, his good cheer restored. “But now this fine castle and all the Hume lands are yours! I told you marriage was a woman’s path to power.”
Before Isobel could step back, he took hold of her arms. “With what Hume has left you,” he said, his eyes alight, “who knows how high you may reach next time?”
Isobel could only stare at him in horror. Could her father truly believe she would let him plan a second marriage for her?
“I know ’twas not easy,” he said, his voice softer. “But now you shall reap the reward for your sacrifice.”
“My ‘sacrifice,’ as you call it, has been for naught—at least, naught for me!” Isobel was so choked with emotion, she could barely get the words out. “Hume gave you what you wanted the day the marriage was consummated, but he’s left me with nothing.”
“He what?”
As she looked into her father’s face, her rage returned full force. “My lord husband gave away all the lands I was to inherit.” She wanted to pound her fists against her father’s chest like the willful child she once was. “You promised I would have my independence once he died. You promised me!”
His fingers dug painfully into her arms. “You are mistaken. Hume had no children; his lands must come to you.”
“He has given it all to Bartholomew Graham!” she shouted at him. “My home. My lands. Every last parcel.”
“The devil take him!” her father exploded. “What reason could Hume have?”
Isobel covered her face with her hands. “Graham tricked the old fool into believing he was his son.”
