Page 37 of When a Highlander Loses His Heart
Iain raised his gaze from his bairn’s sleeping face as Bridgette took Lena by the elbow and fairly dragged the woman away. Cameron motioned for Isobel to follow him. She hesitated, worried about Marsaili. By the fearful expression upon Marsaili’s face, she was nervous, too. Iain speared her with a wary look. “Graham told me who ye are, Sister.”
Tears of thankfulness for Iain’s acceptance of Marsaili came to Isobel’s eyes, and when she stole a glance at Marsaili, her sister had tears of her own flowing down her face. Isobel put an arm around Marsaili’s shoulder and hugged her as Iain sighed. “I welcome ye here, but I kinnae say Lena will. And perchance not others.”
“I ken,” Marsaili said. “I wish to attempt to be part of yer clan, though.”
Iain nodded. “I’m glad for it. Our mother should nae have left ye with yer father. I can ken why she might have, but she should nae have done it. ’Tis nae yer fault for how ye came to be.”
Marsaili sniffed but then spoke. “Yer acceptance means a great deal to me.”
His lips drew into a frown as he shifted his sleeping bairn into the crook of his arm. “I have to ask ye nae to say anything to anyone else yet. I will tell Lena about ye as soon as I have a moment, but I wish who ye are to remain between us until then. Can ye accept this?”
“Of course,” Marsaili answered. “Lena dunnae appear to be overcoming her time with Findlay easily.”
“Nay,” he said without preamble. “We thought her well when we first found her, but she has declined steadily since coming to live with us at Dunvegan. ’Tis almost as if whatever strength she had possessed disappeared when she came here.” He stood silent for a moment, staring intently at Marsaili. “Ye may be half-Campbell, but ye certainly dunnae have the look of one.” He looked pointedly at Isobel. She knew she had her father’s eye color and skin color, and by the brief annoyed look that crossed Iain’s face, she understood clearly that he did not like the reminder she brought.
Marsaili’s brow wrinkled as she looked between Isobel and Iain. “Isobel is nae evil.”
Iain’s gaze bore into Isobel as if he were trying to see inside her soul. “I dunnae believe ye to be evil. Trouble, possibly. Purveyor of complications, certainly.” He appeared to be assessing her and making some sort of judgment. “I am nae completely decided,” he announced. Just as quickly as he had said it, he waved a hand at Cameron. “Take Marsaili to a bedchamber. I will deal with Isobel.”
Cameron looked as if he was going to say more, but when Iain gave him a harsh scowl he nodded and held out his arm for Marsaili to take. “Come,” he said to her, but she hesitated.
“Isobel?” she asked softly.
“I will be well,” Isobel replied, trying to sound more sure than she felt for Marsaili’s sake. Her half sister did not need the trouble of aligning herself with Isobel at this moment, especially against her newly found family.
Marsaili nodded as she took Isobel’s hand and squeezed. “I will come see ye shortly.”
Once Marsaili and Cameron departed, Isobel took a deep breath and faced Iain. “When will I be taken to the king?” she demanded in the strongest voice she could muster. She would rather know what was going to happen to her now than be forced to wait.
An expression of pained tolerance settled on his face. “When ye are summoned. Until then, ye will be kept in yer room.” Without any further explanation, he whistled and Rory Mac suddenly appeared. “Take her to the guest room,” Iain commanded, and then, gently rocking his bairn who was just starting to fuss, the laird left without a backward glance.
The idea of being kept in a room alone made Isobel’s skin prickle and fear claw at her throat. One of the punishments for disobedience at Iona had been to be locked in a tiny hole in the ground. It was so narrow one could not even sit, and she had stood sometimes for almost an entire day without moving, her legs slowly burning and finally giving out until she merely slumped, crushed against the wall.
She despised feeling trapped, especially alone. “Surely I’ll be summoned today, aye?” She bit her lip when Rory Mac gave her a doubtful look. “Will ye ask Graham to come see me?” she inquired, trying to get the desperation she was feeling out of her voice. She had to make someone understand that she could not be kept locked in a room.
“I’ll ask, but he may nae be able.” Rory Mac said.
“Why would he nae be able?” she asked, her voice rising high along with her worry.
“He has many important duties to attend,” Rory Mac replied. Yet something in the way he avoided her gaze made her feel like he was purposely not telling her something. She thought immediately of when Graham’s brothers had grabbed his arms. Mayhap his injury had made him ill. Instinctively, she knew that if she asked outright, Rory Mac would not tell her. “Rory Mac, who is the healer at Dunvegan?”
“Marion, and she is teaching Bridgette the ways of the arts.”
Isobel bit her lip again. She had a terrible suspicion that Graham was faring poorly. “Is there a chance ye would take me to see Graham?”
“Nay,” he said without delay. “Iain dunnae like his commands being disobeyed, and ye dunnae wish to cross him.” He cocked his head as if in thought. “Ye dunnae wish to cross any of the MacLeod brothers, actually.”
She fought back a smile. Without realizing it, the man had given her the weapon she needed to convince him to allow her to see Graham.
“What of ye?” she asked. “Are ye so easily crossed? Perchance thought of as lesser, nae being one of their brothers?”
He scowled at her. “I see what ye’re doing. I’m nae a fool.”
“Then prove it,” she said angrily. “Allow me to see Graham. If he’s ill, I can help him. I have great knowledge of the healing arts.”
For a moment, Rory Mac looked as if he was considering it, but then he shook his head. “Nay. Marion and Bridgette will be able to heal him.”
“Then heisill!” she exclaimed, worry for Graham bursting inside her.
