Isa pushed open the door, stepping down into the dimly lit room. At the far end, Annie sat in front of a low-burning fireplace, looking small and lonely, swathed in a mound of woolens.
“Annie? How are you feeling?”
The old woman turned her head slowly, her eyes lighting in recognition. “Isabella? Is that you, lass? Come closer and let Auld Annie have a look at you.”
Isa hurried over, dropping to her knees at Annie’s feet to clasp the old woman’s hand. This was the one person she’d been able to turn to when she was growing up. The one person who’d been here from the time she was born and yet passed no judgment on her. The only person who’d ever seemed to care what happened to her.
“What ails you, Annie? Jamie said you were so ill they wouldn’t allow him in to bother you.”
Annie made an irritated clucking sound with her tongue that Isa remembered from her own childhood.
“I suppose that explains why I’ve no had a visit from him in so long. Him or anyone else, save the lasses who bring my meals.”
“It’s by Roland’s orders no one’s allowed in to see you.” Orders that Isa was at a complete loss to understand. “Why would he want to keep you isolated?”
Annie ducked her head, refusing to meet Isa’s eyes. “I canna imagine why.”
“I can.”
At the sound of Robbie’s deep voice, Isa jumped to her feet, whirling around to place Annie at her back before confronting him.
“What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“Aye.” He stood like a guard by the door, his hand resting casually on his sword. “It’s no as though I’m likely to let you roam unprotected through these halls, is it?”
“Yer no my...” Isa stopped herself, the wordkeeperabout to roll off her tongue. It would do no good to argue with the stubborn man since that’s exactly what he saw himself as. “Well, then, if you know so much, just why would Roland think to keep a harmless old woman locked away from everyone else in the castle?”
Instead of flashing that disarming smile of his she’d expected, he focused his gaze beyond her shoulder to Auld Annie. “Yer friend there may indeed be harmless, but the secrets she keeps are no.”
“Secrets,” Isa scoffed. This was Annie, the woman who had been her only confidante as a girl. Annie wouldn’t be keeping secrets from her. “Dinna be ridiculous, Robbie. What secrets could Auld Annie possibly have?” Even as the words left her lips she felt the air around her waver and thicken with the smell of fear.
He didn’t answer right away, instead staring silently at Annie, as if he were stalling for time. Or giving the old woman a chance to speak up. When he did respond, his eyes took on that hard, unfeeling warrior look she’d first admired.
“Perhaps the identity of Jamie’s father?”
“Yer as mad as she pretends to be,” Annie muttered, dipping her head toward Isa. “There’s naught about wee Jamie to interest anyone, so you’ve no need to be bringing his name into our conversation.”
“Really?” Robbie’s eyebrow lifted with his question. “I’d think being the laird’s bastard would draw a great deal of interest.”
“No!” Annie surged to her feet, woolens falling around her like dead leaves. “Dinna ever speak those words aloud. I’ll no risk losing Jamie as I did my poor Jone. I’ll go to my own grave first.”
The old woman’s emotions clouded the air, swirling and tangling with Isa’s own confusion, forming a mix so heavy Isa fought to catch her breath.
“Roland fancies himself the next laird. He’ll no allow any challengers to that goal.” Robbie’s tone carried no question, only a statement of fact, as if he were putting together a list. Then, his eyes lighting as if he’d found the missing piece of a broken pottery, he turned his gaze on Isa. “A fact that would explain the MacGahan’s concerns for Isabella’s safety.”
“What are you saying?” Isa pushed the words from her mouth, fighting against the heavy air around her. “Yer making no sense.”
No sense at all, but the fear continued to pour off Annie in waves, beating at Isa like storm-driven swells hitting the shore. Isa’s vision narrowed as she struggled for air, stumbling forward.
Suddenly Robbie was there, his arm around her shoulders. The bubble of clean, clear air surrounding him filled her lungs as he urged her toward the exit.
At the doorway she looked back at Auld Annie. Though the woman’s emotions blurred the air as they shimmered in the distance between them, the truth was also visible. There was age but no illness in Annie. She stood erect, her cheeks pink and healthy. The woman was prisoner, not patient, pure and simple.
“Dinna fash yerself over Jamie’s welfare. I’ll no let anything happen to him,” she assured the older woman.
“That’s beyond yer power, I fear. Only by hiding who he is can I hope for his safety.”
“But, Annie...” she stopped as the old woman held up her hand.
