Isabel liked hearing about this side of her father. He had been a wonderful man to raise her and James, especially after the loss of their mother. And yet, it was startling to see what he had become since Isabel’s chosen captivity. She had truly been unbearably selfish.
“Uncle,” Isabel began. “Do you think that when he is sober, he will be able to forgive me? For running away, I mean. Do you think that he will still love me?”
Isabel bit her bottom lip, looking at her uncle with pleading eyes. She hoped he would tell her she had nothing to fear, but her heart told her that her father may hold it against her forever.
Ezra looked at Isabel with concentration. His features and complexion were so unlike hers. Many people would have been surprised to know they were related. He had been present since the day she was born, and felt he had partially raised her.
“I think there is nothing in this world that could hinder your father’s love for you. I believe that he will always find forgiveness for you in his heart,” Ezra replied.
Isabel sighed with relief and tears welled in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but it only caused a few to fall to her cheek. She was grateful for her uncle’s words and hoped they were as true as he seemed certain they were.
“And you? Will you ever forgive me?” she asked. This, she knew, was a more difficult question to answer.
She was right. At this question, Ezra hesitated. He worked to form his thought into words that would not sting her too deeply.
“Indeed, Isabel. I forgive you. But please understand that does not mean I can trust you. Forgiveness does not always mean forgetting. It is unwise to allow someone to take advantage. Trust must be earned. So, while you have my forgiveness, let us work toward the trust, hmm?” he replied.
Isabel looked away in her shame but nodded her head that she understood. His words caused a few more tears to drip down her face and she quickly wiped them away with her hand.
“Yes, Uncle,” she said quietly.
“And let us honor your brother rather than revenge him. Sometimes the bloodshed of revenge only harms the memory of those on whose behalf we are seeking vengeance. Your brother deserves better than for his memory to be tainted with blood. I think we can agree on this,” Ezra remarked.
“Yes, you are right, Uncle,” Isabel agreed again.
Ezra sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was meant to be a comfort, but it felt somewhat awkward and forced. Like they were trying to bond when there was so much unspoken and distrust between them. Isabel tried not to writhe away in her guilt.
“Now, why don’t you go and rest, Isabel. You ought to take some time to recover yourself after all that you have experienced. Leave it to me to inquire about that man you mentioned and be sure to maintain caring for your father,” he suggested.
“Agreed,” Isabel replied. She was relieved the conversation had ended, as her shame had been so great despite her uncle’s kindness. It would not be easy to feel restored after all of the emotions she felt riling up inside her.
Isabel left the hall and returned to her bedroom where she took out the diary that she had once used before her journey with Charlotte. The last entry was from the day before James was killed. Since then, it seemed Isabel had no time to write her feelings.
But now, when she felt too much, she had to write it all out just to decipher the multitude of feelings that were boiling up inside of her. Perhaps if she could get some of them out, she would feel peace.
…beg his forgiveness…father is so ill and I cannot imagine what led him to this point…I am the reason for the death in that first battle…does Edan think of me now? Will he ever forgive me?…trust must be earned…
The words scrawled upon the pages until Isabel had nearly filled the entire remainder of the book. All of her confusion bled out on the page and she sighed with ease once it was finished. Once she was drained of any more words, exhaustion took hold, and she fell into a deep sleep.
In her dreams, Isabel saw the face of Edan hovering over her, felt his body against hers. She remembered his touch and a part of her burned for him. She would give anything to slip her body beneath his again and in the dream that was exactly what she did.
His wide eyes looked upon her with intense longing and then she sensed the firmness of his fingertips back in the part of her that had finally become his.
With his lips on her neck, they eagerly nipped at her skin until he reached her ear and whispered the words she longed most to hear.
“I forgive you.”
Chapter 40
Evening had fallen, and the Duke of Gordon was beginning to still. He had been through much pain while his body filtered itself, and Isabel had done her best in the past four days to be at his side.
She had found great comfort in reading to him as it distracted them both. For the Duke, it was her voice that eased his mind. For Isabel, it was the thought of any story other than her own.
“But before he left,” she read, “his mother laid her soft hand upon his cheek—”
“My dear,” croaked the Duke, interrupting her words.
“Yes, Father?” she asked, rushing from her nearby chair to stand over the Duke as he lay.
“It is so good to have you returned to me. I feared…”
“Yes, Father. I know you were frightened. I am sorry for my awful actions. I was selfish,” Isabel apologized.
“They…stole you…from me,” he groaned. His eye remained closed, but Isabel could see that a disturbing image lay before the Duke. He was utterly distressed.
“No, Father. It was me. It was all my own fault, you must understand. The Scots are good, kind people. They cared for me. And the Laird Edan, Father, he is a good man,” she said passionately.
“Do not lie to me,” the Duke said in apparent agony.
“I am not lying, Father. I promise you. It was all my own fault. Please, I must apologize to you and also to them. Father, I beg you,” Isabel said. She knew it was not the time to make such a request, but once she began she could not seem to stop herself.
“Please, dear. Do not be so…foolish,” he said.
“I am not foolish, Father. I am being truthful! Please, I beg you, listen to me. I must ask his forgiveness,” Isabel cried.
“You will never leave me again…” mumbled the Duke before he drifted back into a restless sleep. It was clear to Isabel that while he was improving, her father still had much healing to do before he would return to himself. She could only hope that it would be sooner than expected.
Meanwhile, her words continued to resound in her own ears. She needed Edan’s forgiveness. She had to explain to him that she knew she had been wrong, that her grief for her brother had led her to a powerful need for vengeance, which she now greatly regretted.
Yes, she had to see him. But there was no telling that he would be willing to see her.
Still, if she could try, that would at least make her feel better. How could she go about it? Would she try to escape her home or continue begging her father until he relented?
It seemed unlikely that he would ever agree to it. Whether he was drunk or sober, it would not be easy. And her uncle would certainly never allow it.
“Read to me, my dear,” the Duke said, breaking out of the sleep he had drifted into. He constantly seemed in and out of consciousness, and Isabel never knew quite how she would find him.
“Yes, Father,” she replied before she continued with the words of the novel. “…his mother laid her soft hand upon his cheek.”
Her words drowned out all other thought until the Duke was truly under. Isabel felt the weight of it all overwhelming her once again. She would have to read through her journal again, see clarity in her thoughts laid out on paper.
She would have to ease her own mind with the truth. Stories no longer worked for her.
“Me Laird, what is it now?” asked Caitriona, watching Edan as he stood in the balcony outside his room.
Edan jumped at the sound of her voice.
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“Ye startled me. What are ye on about? What are ye asking me?” he returned her question.
“Ye are utterly miserable. The whole clan can see it. Here we’ve had a great victory, and ye be moping about the English girl, while we’re all out here rejoicing that we didnae have to fight and lose more of oor men,” Caitriona reasoned.
“Aye, and it’s a true thing to celebrate. But it’s not easy for me. Being Laird is not easy. And being in love with a woman who suspected me of murdering her brother, that wasnae easy either,” Edan said.
“Aye, but the girl was easy,” Caitriona insinuated. It was meant as a joke, insulting Isabel by suggesting she was a harlot. She hoped it would make Edan laugh, that he could build a wall of bitterness against her to ease his pain.
Instead, Edan shuddered and clenched his jaw, anguished by the thought of Isabel.
“She wasnae easy. That’s just it. I truly thought she must love me to be willing to part with so much of herself. In truth, she saw it all as a tool for revenge. She was brutal,” he said.
“And she was smart,” replied Caitriona. “She was like a snake in the grass. She had us all fooled. Not just ye. I mean, of course, we all maintained a healthy suspicion, but that was more the fear of being discovered with an English prisoner. None of us thought she was wicked.”
“Was she? Was she truly wicked?” Edan asked.
“Of course, she was!” cried Caitriona, shocked that Edan would ask such a question after all he had been through.
“She was a black-hearted witch with nothing good about her. She hurt ye, used ye, tricked ye. She pretended to be me friend. Allowed me to share much of meself with her. She was false all around. She caused the English to attack us. Led to the slaughter of so many of oor men,” Caitriona listed.
The reminders did not comfort Edan, but they did work toward Caitriona’s goal. He was building his anger against Isabel.
“And ye think she would never come back to us?” he asked. He knew he could not handle the confusion if she did, and yet, he could not handle the lonely anguish if she did not. He was torn completely.
“I would love it if she tried. I’d give her a right piece of me mind and an arrow through her heart as she’s put one straight through yers. She doesnae deserve ye,” Caitriona declared proudly.
“Yes, of course she doesnae. But perhaps it was me own fault for not handling Cormag differently. Maybe I should have given him over to the English in the first place,” he said. Taking on some of the blame helped him not to hate Isabel so much.
“No. Stop that right there, me Laird. Ye are not going to be so foolish as to blame yerself. Chuck that guilt right away. Yer cracked if ye dinnae put all the punishment on the little Brit-witch. Ha! Britch! Get it?” Caitriona said with excitement at her own cleverness.
Edan tried not to laugh but then finally chuckled. He did not wish to indulge in petty insults toward Isabel, but he knew his sister meant well, and it was quite a clever play on words.
“Alright, listen here, Edan,” Caitriona began. When she called him by his name, he knew that she was going into her sister mode as opposed to her warrior-clan-member persona that she typically used.
“I cannae say things like, ‘Oh, brother, ye deserved so much better. She was a right little weakling and awful at that’,” she said in an airy voice.
“I cannae say that because it demeans how ye felt about her. If I insult her like that, it insults ye for choosing her. But I can say that ye deserve a woman who loves ye enough not to try and kill ye. Ye deserve a woman who trusts ye,” Caitriona declared.
For the first time, Edan felt a small ounce of comfort.
“Thank ye, Caitriona. That was exactly what I needed to hear from ye,” he said.
“Aye, well, I am rather brilliant, ye ken. Anyhoo, I’m also knackered. So, I’ll see ye in the morning. I’ve got to get meself to bed before I collapse. Sleep tight, me Laird,” she said.
“And ye as well,” Edan replied, following her back into the room. Caitriona walked out the door and closed it behind her leaving Edan alone with his thoughts.
He had felt better knowing that Caitriona still respected him, but Edan wondered what the rest of the clan thought of him for foolishly falling for Isabel.
Perhaps he was weak and unfit for his lairdship. But perhaps he needn’t think about it. There was so much he needed to make right with his clan that this distraction could soon be forgotten.
He was determined that he would focus more on building his army. They would have more and better strategies prepared in case the English ever attacked again. It wasn’t only the Duke of Gordon he needed to worry about. It was a whole country.
Edan sat at the table in his room and drew out a few sketches to map his strategies. He glanced up for a moment and saw out the window that his uncle was talking to Cormag again.
What is it between those two? he wondered again. He still had not received any true answers on their apparent dispute. He felt a constant unease around Callum these days and Cormag was rarely ever in his presence — something which he greatly preferred.
He would approach his uncle about it again. Or maybe he could go straight to Cormag to find out what they were constantly arguing about. Edan still wondered if it was related to James at all.
The mystery surrounding the death of his friend remained. Cormag’s idiocy still left seeds of doubt in Edan. Seeds that would not be uprooted until he had answers.
Chapter 41
Isabel still felt uncomfortable eating in the dining hall. It had been such a long time that she had been away. She had grown accustomed to the boisterous events of Edan’s great hall.
Here in this relatively small room, stretched with one long table, fit only for a dinner party — let alone an entire clan — Isabel felt suffocated.
She sat three seats down from her father. Her uncle was to his left, the empty seat of James to his right. Despite no other guests, it had been made clear that she would be demoted to a further spot.
Isabel watched as the Duke of Gordon tried to keep his eye open despite his usual drift in and out of sleep. Ezra seemed unsatisfied with the cleanliness of his glass and was busy shining it before pouring any water.
“Father,” Isabel began. “What are we to have this evening?”
Her question, so innocent and meaningless, was clearly just a way to bring a discussion to the table. She could not handle the silence that had reigned so much since her homecoming.
“How am I to know, hmm?” he mumbled in reply. He gave her a sweet, delirious smile as if he were watching her take her first steps. His words did not match his expression.
“Duck,” Ezra said in a staccato.
Isabel hated duck. Her uncle knew it. She was convinced that he had ordered duck for dinner just as a small annoyance to her. Isabel chose not to give in to her petulant dislike of it just as she chose not to indulge in Ezra’s apparent petulant dislike of her.
“Oh, I am so glad!” she declared. “I have decided to give things new chances. Like foods I formerly disliked. Clothing I once found itchy. People…”
“So, you can wear those itchy clothes again and be reminded how uncomfortable they are? Will it be the same with the people? Will they leave a similar discomfort on your skin? Or like foods that leave a distaste no different than when you tried them before?” Ezra challenged. He was making her feel foolish.
Isabel kept her mouth closed. She could see he was relishing these subtle punishments.
Her uncle confused her so. One moment he was forgiving her, the next reminding her of how she had hurt her father. His forgiveness was a balm on her soul, but his punishments were shards of guilt raining down to cut her into pieces.
“Forgive me,” Ezra said, realizing he had been callous. “In the same way I have decided to forgive you, please forgive me. I know I am often weak to my anger.”
Isabel nodded silently that she forgave him.
Ezra looked down in apparent shame. He was clearly stru
ggling to let go of all that Isabel had done to hurt her family.
The hall was silent until finally the food was brought. The duck was large and robust. Isabel tried to eat as much as she could. She did not love it, but it was better than she remembered.
No wine was present, which left her distraught that she would be unable to cover the discomfort of the room with at least some mild tipsiness. And yet, she knew well that for her father’s sake, it should not be served.
The Duke seemed to enjoy his dinner even without drink. He had moments of perfect clarity now and even when he was not fully present, he was beginning to make more sense.
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