Page 37 of In Bed with a Scot

Isabelle nodded. “Please move her carefully,” she warned, as the laird lifted Ella up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

“Dinnae fash, lass. All will be well.” He tucked her mother in under the bedcoverings as if she were a small child, then took a blanket from a chest at the foot of the bed to cover Rory’s body.

Isabelle did all that she could to help her mother while they waited for the healer and the priest to arrive. Taking the bucket of water that had been provided for them upon their arrival to wash with, she bathed the blood from her mother’s face and neck as gently as she could with a piece of wet cloth. Wiping the blood away only proved to show the already violet hue of her mother’s many bruises. The pillow quickly bloomed red beneath the cut on her scalp.

“Och, Mama,” Isabelle breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What did he dae tae ye?”

“He didnae dae anything, lass. Remember that. Ye cannae e’er tell anyone what has transpired here this night. Dae ye hear me, lass?” His eyes met and held hers. “As far as the world kens it, yer parents were deeply happy and in love. This was a tragic accident. There can ne’er be any rumor of misdeed.”

She nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

Nodding, he went to await the healer and the priest in the corridor and to ensure that no one stumbled upon Rory’s corpse unawares. Isabelle waited in what felt like an interminable silence. She tried to staunch the flow of blood, but it just kept coming. When the healer finally arrived, he took over Ella’s care, but his face bore the grim look of a man who was fighting against the inevitable.

“Will she live?” Isabelle asked him, fearing the answer.

“I dinnae ken, but I will dae all that I can fer her,” the healer promised, patting Isabelle’s hand in comfort. He had kind compassionate eyes.

“I thank ye.”

“There is nae thanks needed, me lady. The laird has arranged tae pay me generously already. As the laird’s maither-in-law, she will have the very best care that I can provide.”

“Me dear,” the laird’s voice called for her from the doorway. “The priest has arrived.”

Isabelle stood, looking down at her blood-smeared hands and clothes, then back at her mother. She bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. “I love ye, Mama.”

“I will take good care of her, lass, upon that ye may depend,” the healer promised.

“Are ye ready, lass?” the laird asked, his eyes entreating her to hurry before it was too late.

Straightening her shoulders, she nodded. “I am ready.”

The priest entered the room. His eyes swept over the situation taking in the corpse and the battered woman. He looked first at the laird, then at Isabelle. Neither said a word. Taking a deep breath, the priest nodded, and set to work. He delivered the last rights, belatedly, over Rory’s body. He then performed the proper rights for Ella to aid in her recovery. Lastly, he came to stand before Isabelle and the laird in the far corner of the room where the smell of blood was not so strong. “It is me understanding that ye wish tae be bound in marriage this night.”

“We dae,” the laird confirmed.

“Very well. Please take the lassie’s hand, me laird, if ye would,” the priest instructed.

The Laird Sutherland took Isabelle’s hand in his. “Let us be quick about it, Faither,” the laird urged, motioning towards the circumstances in which they found themselves. “Time is of the essence.”

“Aye, me laird,” the priest agreed. He tied a long strip of cloth around their hands. “Dae ye, Laird Bain Sutherland, take this lassie, Isabelle MacKay tae be yer lawfully wedded wife?”

“Aye, I dae,” the laird agreed.

“Dae ye, Isabelle MacKay, take the Laird Bain Sutherland tae be yer lawfully wedded husband?”

“Aye, I dae,” Isabelle agreed, her thoughts on her mother, not on the words that she was saying or what it meant for her life.

“Then with the good lord’s blessings, I pronounce ye husband and wife.” He untied the cloth, then took a step back.

“Wife,” the Laird Sutherland said as he lowered his head and kissed Isabelle on the lips, his breath still smelling of the alcohol that he had drunk with her father, the very alcohol that had led to his death.

Isabelle’s mother, the Lady Ella MacKay, died one week later without ever regaining consciousness.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Isabelle,” Madden breathed at the end of her tale. “I didnae ken.”

“Nae one daes. If anyone kenned the truth, I would be put tae death.”