No one paid her much mind except the man sitting halfway down the table to her right. She noticed him looking at her with coal-black, almond-shaped eyes that were full of humor and warmth. His black curly hair was tied back with a thong, a half-smile playing about his full lips as he caught her gaze.
Isobel had no idea who he was, but something about the way he looked at her gave her a measure of comfort. There was no lewdness in his stare, just admiration and something like compassion. She smiled back slightly, so as not to invite any comment about the propriety of her behavior. She looked around the room searching for other friendly faces, but most people were too intent on their food and drink.
Eventually, everyone had eaten their fill and the men started cheering John on to take his bride upstairs. The comments got lewder and bawdier in nature, and finally she was too embarrassed to sit there any longer. Isobel got up from her seat and started to make her way upstairs to the laughter and encouragement from the men. John followed her and promised the men to do his duty with gusto.
Her husband escorted her to the bridal chamber where her white linen nightdress was already laid out on the bed by Mary. Isobel retreated behind a screen to put in on, while John kicked off his boots, took off his kilt and got into bed wearing his shirt. He had barely said anything to her since the wedding that morning, and she desperately hoped for some words of comfort from him regarding their future life together.
“Are ye coming to bed?” he called to her. His speech was slightly slurred from all the wine he’d drunk and he seemed to be in a mellow mood.
Isobel stepped out from behind the screen uncertain what to do next.
“Come here then, wife,” he said, patting the space on the bed next to him. “I won’t bite.” He laughed at his own wit as she came and carefully lie down next to him pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“Ye are a pretty thing, as promised. Let’s hope ye are fertile as well,” with that he pushed up her nightdress and rolled on top of her. John squeezed her breast painfully and forced her legs open with his knee. Isobel hoped that he would at least kiss her, but he pushed his cock inside her without any regard for her virginity. She felt a tearing pain, and after a few clumsy thrusts John rolled off onto his side of the bed and was asleep in moments.
Isobel lay quietly next to him afraid that the slightest movement would wake him up and inspire him to take her again. Tears rolled silently down her temples as she contemplated a lifetime with this brute. She wondered in a detached kind of way if it were possible to love the bairns of a man you hated and thought that you probably could, since their parentage wasn’t their fault. She thought of the easy relationship her parents shared and of her numerous kin who seemed to truly care for their spouses. Would feelings come in time? Was he capable of feelings? Was she? She dried her tears, and decided that tomorrow would be another day and she would try to be a dutiful wife to him. What other choice did she have? She briefly thought of the handsome stranger before she drifted off to sleep, but then her dreams were all of stormy seas and vicious beasts.
Chapter 11
The next morning the Grants left. Her father bid her farewell and told her to be a good and dutiful wife. He hoped to hear good news soon and promised to tell her mother what a beautiful bride she’d been. He asked her if all went well, and she nodded without meeting his eyes. Robert gave her a peck on the cheek and swung into the saddle eager to leave Kilmaron behind. How she wished she was going home with them.
Isobel wasn’t sure what to do with herself once they left, so she took Matty and went to the garden. Most of the flowers were no longer in season, but some of the rose bushes were still blooming and their sweet scent filled the air. The gravel path was strewn with leaves and she inhaled their pungent odor as she walked around the empty garden. Isobel breathed in the briny smell of the sea and pressed Matty closer to her chest, as much for warmth as for comfort. She noticed a wrought-iron bench and was walking toward it when she heard the sound of footsteps. She turned, half expecting to see John, but it was a girl her age with wild black curls and a moon-shaped face with dimples. Her eyes were round and blue and she had the sweetest smile of anyone she’d ever seen.
“Good morning, may I walk with ye?” asked the girl shyly.
“Of course, I am Isobel,” she answered, not sure what the protocol was.
“I ken well enough who ye are,” the girl said with a smile. “My name is Anna. I am one of yer husband’s cousins. I just thought ye might be a little lonely now that yer kin’s gone home and ye dinnae know anyone save John, and I ken what a sour turd he can be, especially after a night of drinking,” she said giggling.
Isobel couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I see ye ken him well, and ye are right. I was lonely.”
“After the walk, get yer work basket and I will show ye the sewing room. It has the best light, and most women go there to sew and to talk. They are all eager to meet ye and bid ye welcome.”
The sewing room was located in the east tower, and at this time of the morning it was flooded with pale sunshine. There were about eight women of various ages already working on their mending and embroidery. Two of them were noticeably pregnant and were sewing baby gowns and bonnets. Anna introduced them to Isobel one by one, and most of the women seemed welcoming, save one. Her name was Joan, and she was an attractive young woman with glossy brown hair and hazel eyes. Isobel put her at around twenty and quickly glanced at her hand to see if she wore a wedding band. Despite her words of welcome, Isobel felt as if she had just made an enemy.
The talk quickly turned to marriage and bairns, and by the time the noon meal came around, Isobel didn’t feel so forlorn anymore. Mary also seemed in better spirits when she met her on her way to the Hall. She had met some of the other maids, and they made her welcome and told her some local gossip that she was only too happy to pass on to her mistress.
“Do you ken who that man with the black eyes is?” Isobel asked Mary as they looked out the window into the courtyard. The man in question was coming out of the stable with one of the grooms. He looked up and caught Isobel’s eyes. She quickly turned from the window towards Mary pretending not to have seen him smile at her.
“Aye,” answered Mary pleased to know something her mistress didn’t. “His name is Rory. He’s the son of the Laird’s brother. One of the girls told me that yer husband hates him, and would like nothing better than to see him dead and buried.”
“Why?” Isobel asked shocked.
“Seems the old man has quite a fondness for him, and there are some who wish he was the next laird.” Mary suddenly looked flustered realizing what she’d said about her new master. “It’s just idle gossip, I’m sure,” she added weakly.
“Dinna worry, Mary. Ye are just telling me what ye were told. Ye are my eyes and ears in this place. I need to ken everything ye ken.” Isobel felt a little guilty to put Mary up to spying for her, but she knew that until the people of Kilmaron got comfortable with her, she would know very little of what actually went on, and being in ignorance was not a state she relished.
**
Isobel had some time before supper, so she made her way up to the battlements. She stood at the parapet facing the sea, the gentle breeze caressing her face. The fiery orb of the sun was about to sink below the horizon, and the darkening sky was liberally striped with bands of fuchsia and gold. Isobel had always loved this time of day. There was something mystical about the purples and blues of twilight chasing away the harsh light of day, making everything appear magical for a few moments until darkness descended. A tear slid down her cheek as she imagined what she would have been doing at home right now.
“Are ye all right, my lady?” She didn’t hear anyone approach. Rory McBride was standing by her side looking at her with concern.
“Aye, thank ye. I was just a little homesick. Forgive my foolishness.” Isobel felt embarrassed that he saw her weakness since she normally kept her feelings to herself.
“I’ve lived in this
castle for almost half my life and I’m still homesick,” he confessed with a sad smile.
“Really? Where was yer home?”
“When I was a lad we used to have a house in the village. My father grew up at the castle with my uncle, but after my parents got married, they decided they wanted a house of their own. Both my parents died by the time I was thirteen, so my uncle had me brought here. It was all right during the day since I was kept busy, but once the darkness came, all I could think about was being back at our house with my parents.”
“Are ye still lonely?” she asked.
“Not at this moment.” The sky was almost dark, and Isobel reluctantly moved away from the parapet. It was time to go down to the Hall for supper. Rory escorted her to the stairs, but then excused himself and disappeared toward the library. She wondered if she would ever stop feeling homesick as she walked in to the brightly lit room.
John nodded at her as she walked in and took her seat by his side. The servers were bringing the food from the kitchens, and the noise level was rising as everyone took their seats. There was no need to talk, so Isobel sat quietly contemplating what was to come later. The thought of being alone with her husband left her feeling vulnerable and repulsed. She told herself that maybe tonight would be different. Last night, John had been drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. Surely, he would talk with her and show her some affection now that the drink had worn off. She watched as he poured himself another cup of ale and realized that her hopes were in vain.
John remained in the Hall talking and drinking long after she’d gone to their room, and by the time he came in he was just as drunk as the night before. He ordered her to bed and after a sloppy caress repeated the routine of the night before. If there were anything to be thankful for, it was that at least it didn’t take him long. He was snoring before she even blew the candle out, and Isobel firmly told herself to stop feeling sorry for herself, and went to sleep. Tomorrow was another day, and she would do her best to make John care for her.
As the weeks passed, she felt more at ease at the castle. Anna was an invaluable source of information, and always lifted her spirits with the latest gossip and news. Isobel began to piece some things together based on what she learned from Anna, heard from Mary, and saw with her own eyes. John told her very little about his business. He didn’t waste time talking to her, but she knew that things were happening.
Isobel didn’t know much about politics, but she heard snippets of conversation that led her to believe that the McBrides were supporters of King Jamie and his son, at least some of them. When they drank to the king’s health, they passed their goblets over water, to signify that they were drinking the health of the other king, over the water, living in France. She’d heard stories of the other uprisings that failed, but hope was building in the Highlands that this time would be different. Prince Charles was young and likable, and seemed to have the support of the French king.
She also noticed that these conversations were a lot less frequent when Auld Alan was in the room, and she gathered that he wasn’t the fervent supporter of the Stuart king that his son was. She wanted to learn more, but when she asked her husband, he looked at her in astonishment and told her not to fash herself about it. It was man’s business. Her business was to get with child, and give him a son and heir.
Isobel tried talking to John whenever they were together, but although he was never openly rude, he made it obvious that he had no desire to converse with her. He answered her questions with monosyllables, and usually either left the room within a few minutes or went to sleep. Isobel had tried suggesting going for a ride together or taking a walk in the garden, but John always had other business to attend to and rejected her repeatedly. He was frequently away hunting, and came back reeking of horses and gunpowder and covered with the blood of the animals he killed and gutted.
Mary had become fast friends with one of the kitchen maids named Morag. She had lived at the castle her whole life and there was little she didn’t know. The little maid had been reluctant to tell Isobel what she’d learned, but her devotion to her mistress prevailed. Morag had told her in the greatest confidence, that John and his father had fought bitterly about Alan’s decision to have his son marry Isobel. At twenty-six John was a grown man on his way to becoming the next Laird, and he didn’t care to have his father choose a bride for him. He’d been smitten with Joan, the factor’s daughter, and she’d done her best to fan the flames of his lust in order to be the next lady of the castle. Her efforts were about to pay off, as John had promised her that they would wed before Christmas, when Alan intervened.
Now Isobel understood the woman’s hostility toward her. She had usurped the position she’d come to think of as hers. According to Morag, Joan did not love John, but she was an ambitious girl, and happy enough to feign affection in order to become the Laird’s wife. John was angry and disappointed, especially as Joan had withdrawn her affection after the wedding since there was nothing left for her to gain.
Chapter 12
Within a few weeks Isobel knew everyone at the castle, and the suspicion that people felt toward a Grant began to dissipate. Her days took on a routine and time passed by quickly. Before she knew it, it was her eighteenth birthday and she was excited despite the fact that she wasn’t a child anymore. Maybe John would give her a trinket to mark the occasion, and she could show him her gratitude which would be a step toward a warmer relationship between them.
Isobel woke up on the morning of her birthday and turned to John’s side of the bed, but John was already gone. She would go find him, she decided. Mary came in, and together they chose an emerald-green dress that brought out her eyes and showcased her fiery curls. Nothing would dampen her spirits. Isobel took one last look in the mirror and left their bedchamber.
She made her way down the spiral staircase and went to the Hall. People were sitting at the tables having their morning bread and ale, but John was nowhere in sight. Isobel waved away a serving girl with a platter and left the Hall. She checked the library and the parlor, and then made her way to the Laird’s office. John went there sometimes to conduct business in private. She heard his deep voice before she even opened the door, but her hand froze on the handle as she heard the voice of a woman. They were having a heated argument, and although she couldn’t hear exactly what John was saying, the other person was clearly Joan.
“I’ll not allow ye to lay a finger on me, John McBride, until ye get rid of that besom ye’ve married. Ye’ve had yer chance and now I’m considering other suits,” she hissed.
“Suits from whom?” John bellowed.
“That’s none of yer business any longer!” With that Joan swept out of the office, her head held high and her color high in her cheeks. Isobel stepped aside to let her pass, and Joan glared at her as she swept past her.
John stormed out of the office behind her, and seeing Isobel standing in the passage, found a target for his rage.
“Are ye spying on me, ye meddling bitch? Get out of my way afore I show ye the penalty for spying!” With that, he shoved her roughly against the wall and ran down the stairs after Joan.
Isobel felt as if the floor had tilted beneath her, and she slumped down on the top step, putting her head against the cool roughness of the stone wall. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths to slow down her hammering heart and her spinning head. Strong arms lifted her up and she found herself face to face with Rory. He didn’t ask her any questions, just walked her up the stairs and through the arched doorway to the battlements. The November morning was frigid, and he removed his coat and put it over her shoulders.
“Breathe,” he said. Isobel took a couple of deep breaths and began to calm down. She looked out at the swell of the waves on the teal-colored sea, and the weak November sunshine trying to break through the clouds. From her vantage point, she could see the magnificent foliage of the forest and smell the earthy scent of decaying leaves that the walkway was strewn with.
Rory turned her
around to face him. “Feeling better? Did ye feel faint?” He looked at her with concern, and she suddenly realized that he probably thought she was with child. She felt so humiliated that her eyes filled with tears and she leaned her forehead against his chest.
“It’s not what ye think. I’ve just had a shock, that’s all. It seems my husband is courting someone else, and I walked right into their lover’s quarrel,” she confessed reluctantly. She didn’t want Rory to feel pity for her.
“Not the birthday present ye expected, was it?” he asked gently, lifting her face up with his finger.
“How did ye ken it was my birthday?”
“I overhead Anna telling Dougal when I was at the forge.”
Isobel just nodded miserably. What could she tell him, that her marriage was awful, and that her husband wished to get rid of her?
“Go get yer cloak, then ask one of the stable boys to saddle yer horse and meet me by the hollow tree. Do ye ken where that is?”
She nodded again, wondering what he was planning. It wouldn’t be seemly for them to be going out together, despite John’s behavior, but she obeyed and went to get her things. Isobel was relieved not to find John in their room. She quickly put on her cloak and rushed down the stairs. She asked one of the lads to saddle her mare, and galloped out of the castle gates toward the old hollow tree in the woods. It had been hit by lightning years before, and stood charred and broken on the edge of a small meadow.
Rory was already there, his gelding stomping around impatiently in the shadow of an ancient oak. He beckoned her to follow, and she trotted after him obediently. The narrow trail wound through the autumn woods and led them down the hill and toward the cliff side of the forest. Rory jumped off his horse and tied him to a tree, before helping her down and doing the same with her horse. He took her hand and led her down a narrow path to what seemed like a shelf of solid rock. As they descended further, she saw the opening of a cave in the cliff face and followed Rory inside. Isobel smelled the damp breath of the cave and felt a shiver of fear as she peered into the dark interior. She hoped there were no bats.
The Inheritance Page 4