The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1) by Hildie McQueen (ereader for android .TXT) 📕

a furious expression. “Ye have given me a great scare. If not for the laird missing as well, I would have demanded guards be sent out to search.”

The sun was low on the horizon casting long shadows across the courtyard. Indeed, she had been gone longer than propriety allowed. Considering it was summer and the sun set much later than other seasons, things were definitely going to get complicated unless she came up with a good reason for her lateness.”

She limped forward with extra emphasis on her right side and scrunched her face, as if in pain.

“I believe the laird hurried inside to get help. I tripped and hurt my ankle, so we made slow progress forward.”

“Oh no!” Both her sister and her mother rushed to her when Isobel moaned.

“It hurts,” she said in a high voice. “It really hurts.”

With her sister on one side and her mother on the other, they helped her walk into the house. Just as they hobbled inside, Lady Ross and Darach appeared.

Darach gave her a curious look and Lady Ross hurried forward. “Oh, no, dear, what happened?”

“I tripped,” Isobel replied, and moaned dramatically when taking a step. “I hope to not have broken my ankle.”

“What exactly happened?” her mother asked with an accusatory look at Darach.

“Tell them,” Isobel said and noting that no one looked her way, smirked. “Explain why we were so late returning.”

With a droll look in her direction, he quickly changed his expression to one of concern. “I stepped up a slight ridge and just as I turned to assist Miss Isobel, she lost her footing and tumbled down like a rag doll.”

His mother studied his backside. “Did ye fall as well?” She gave him a pointed look.

“I lost my balance when helping her up, aye,” he replied and glared in Isobel’s direction.

“That is true. It seems the laird is a bit clumsy.”

When their mothers exchanged a secretive look, Isobel’s stomach tumbled. They did not believe them. Perhaps her acting had not been convincing enough.

“Unfortunately,” Lady Ross said. “I caught a maid accusing the laird of more than just simply falling. In her words, Isobel was atop Darach while they spoke.”

Isobel wanted to slap the damn maid. “We were merely discussing how I should get up without harming my ankle further.” She crossed her arms in annoyance just as the mouthy maid hurried past and ran outside. It took all her willpower not to run after her and pull every hair out of the wench’s head.

“Rumors will not take yer injury into account, unfortunately,” her mother said. She then turned to Darach, who’d taken several steps backward, obviously hoping to slip away.

“Ye will marry my daughter.”

“Which one?” he asked, looking between Isobel and Beatrice.

“I will not marry him,” Isobel retorted. “Ye see how he makes light at a time like this. He has no regard for either of us or our family.”

Her mother ignored her outburst and with surprising outrage walked up to Darach and lifted to her toes until almost nose-to-nose with the laird. “I remind ye Laird that I changed yer nappies. I know the kind of man ye have grown to be. A strong and morally just man. Therefore, to keep Isobel from future scandal, I demand ye marry her.”

Looking past her mother to her, he regarded her for a long moment with a blank expression. “Very well. Make the arrangements. But it must be after the festival.”

“That is a good decision,” Lady Ross said with a smile and patted his cheek. “I am delighted.”

“We should call on the vicar first thing.” Her mother smiled at Lady Ross adding, “There are more things to shop for in the village now.”

Lady Ross nodded. “Let us inventory the linens, surrounding lairds and their families will be invited for the wedding of course.”

“Of course.”

The two women gave her a wide smile and hurried away.

“Isobel? How do ye feel?” Beatrice asked tentatively. “Ye are standing on yer hurt ankle.”

Realizing she’d stood steady, Isobel gave up the pretense. “Did ye see that? No one asked my opinion. Whether or not I wish to marry that… that… Ugh!” She stomped her right foot and Beatrice blanched.

“I didn’t hurt my ankle,” Isobel told her sister as they headed across the great hall. “This is not what was supposed to happen.”

“Ye must enjoy his company to have been gone so long,” Beatrice, always sweet, pointed out. “That is something.”

“Ye do not understand,” Isobel said. “Aye, he may be a good one for conversation and such, but he is a rake through and through. Has no care who knows of his dalliances either.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. “He told ye that?”

“No,” Isobel replied. “I personally saw him pat that maid’s bottom, and she was upset and demanding upon rushing up on us just moments ago.”

“A rogue without morals. Ye cannot marry him,” Beatrice stated firmly. “We must come up with a way for ye to not have to.”

There was a foolproof way, but first, she needed to speak to her mother privately. Why did her mother act as if the reason she’d not been offered as a bride in the first place would not be a problem? After all, it was customary for there to be a bedding ceremony, or at least the presentation of the bloodied sheets after a laird’s marriage.

Thankfully, many families no longer demanded to be present for the bedding. However, presentation of the sheets was still a popular custom.

No longer a virgin, she would have to find a way to fake the bleeding, however, there was no way to fake lacking a maidenhead.

There were two alternatives as she saw it. Tell Darach the truth and once he rejected her, they’d figure out how to stop the marriage. Or her mother could tell Lady Ross and then they’d cancel the marriage. Either way, they’d have to come up with a way for Darach’s concubine to keep her mouth shut.

“What are ye plotting?” Beatrice asked.

“I will need ye to help me tonight. I will speak to Darach