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

calmly informed her of plans that made it clear, she was nothing but a means to an end. An alliance between lairds.

“Oh dear,” his mother said, tugging her hand and kissing it. “It is obvious that my son finds ye fascinating, otherwise why would he pick ye? If ye were but a mere task, he would not have made a choice.”

“I just want to sleep,” Isobel said, wiping her face and blowing her nose into a cloth Beatrice provided. “It must be the fatigue of the day that has me overly sensitive.”

After a few more assurances that in truth made Isobel feel worse, everyone left.

Beatrice on the other hand stormed from the room.

Isobel let out a sigh. Annis walked in looking as tired as she felt, and upon seeing her tear-streaked face, hurried to her.

“Did something happen Miss?”

“My feelings were hurt. That is all,” Isobel said. “Do not worry about helping me. I know ye are as tired as I am.”

“Nonsense,” Annis said and began pulling the pins from Isobel’s hair. “Once we get yer hair brushed and braided, ye wash up a bit and get in bed, everything will be so much better.”

Annis was right. In her nightgown, she slid between the sheets, and despite wishing to wait to see where Beatrice went, she fell asleep.

At Isobel’s sister storming into his study, Darach put down the quill. He let out a sigh. If the lass hoped to seduce him, it was the wrong night.

Her hair had tumbled from its pins, half of it up and some down making her look like a milkmaid who’d just been tupped.

“Miss Beatrice,” Darach said but then stopped when she held up her palm and leaned forward her other hand on the table.

“Ye do not deserve my sister. I had heard that Ross men were dark-hearted and without regard for anyone but themselves. But now I know it is true. At least when it comes to ye.”

The chair creaked loudly when he leaned back, and he wondered if it needed repair. “If this is because I did not choose ye, do ye not think it petty?”

If possible, she became even more enraged, her eyes bulging. “Are ye really that daft?”

Used to women’s hysterics, he changed strategy. “Ye are a beautiful lass, Miss Beatrice.”

“Stop talking.” She held out both hands now.

“I am glad ye did not choose me. However, it would have been preferable, if ye did not choose my sister either. She is upstairs crying.”

Darach frowned. “Why would she be upset? I did not do anything to her.”

Her eyes searched his face, and Darach noticed how blue they were. At the moment, however, he was sure they were not normally that dark.

“As laird’s daughters, we expected to be married through arrangements. Isobel especially. However, at the same time, we both always dreamed of a love match. That of course is an impossibility.”

“What does any of this have to do with her crying?”

“Today was a day when Isobel ensured she looked beautiful. It was the day that ye demonstrated in front of yer clan that she was the one chosen to be their lady. And at the end of her special day, ye sat her down and explained that yer marriage was nothing more than an arrangement. And that ye would not be marrying her if an agreement was not made. Ye thought she’d want to know that she was only worth the price of whatever alliance ye and Father made.”

His stomach sank, but he remained silent.

Beatrice was there to defend her sister and the first thing he’d thought was judgmental. Darach wondered if he was more like his father than he wanted to admit.

She shook her head. “I am so very sad for my sister.” Without looking at him, she turned and walked out.

He let out a long breath. There had to be something he could do to make things right. Beatrice had been correct in that he’d done something incredibly stupid. The way she explained it made him feel horrible.

At the same time, he’d not said anything she didn’t already know. He groaned at his attempt to make himself feel better. Nothing was going to change that he’d been a cad.

“My laird.” Lilia appeared at the door. “It is late. Do ye plan to rest?”

“Go away,” he snapped. Not bothering to look up.

Chapter Twelve

“What happened?” Cairn stalked into Lilia’s bedchamber. “I thought ye planned to go to him last night.”

Lilia glared at him. “He is not interested in me any longer. I have to find another lover. I cannot return to the measly village.” There was a desperation in her that made him itch. The woman had little worth other than her body. A commodity that did not last long.

“Perhaps ye should try a different approach, be softer,” Cairn said.

With a calculating gaze, Lilia looked about the room. “I saw it in his face. Heard it in his tone. Darach has already let me go.”

“Ye should seduce a dumb sap and get married. Else the laird will send ye away and ye’ll find yerself without a sponsor.”

“Do not dare to tell me what I should do. I have plans, but first I will ruin any chance at their happiness.”

Cairn neared and grabbed her wrists, pulling her up from the bed. “See that ye do and soon. I have it from a credible source that she is not happy with him at the moment. This would be a perfect time.”

Although Isobel did not wish to go down for first meal. It would be another long day. A day when she’d have to sit next to Darach all day and play a part. If her cheeks had hurt the day before from laughter, this day there would be no such occurrence.

As she walked out of the end of the corridor, movement caught her attention. A woman came from the direction of Darach’s bedchamber and hurried toward her. Isobel turned away, went back to her own room and hesitated at