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

The canopied bed was large enough for two people. There was also a dressing table, a screen in the corner of the room, and a small wardrobe.

Next to the window was a washstand and a chair, all in all, it was a bedchamber that would serve her well.

From this window, she had a different view than the one across the corridor. Instead of the field and forest, this room faced out to a craggy mountain that sloped down until meeting the sea. The moonlight gave it just a beautiful dusting of light that, under other circumstances, she would immediately pull out her chalks and sketch.

Not wishing to prolong her first night alone, Isobel returned to the bed. The sooner she fell asleep, the better.

The next day, dressed in one of her brown dresses, Isobel went down the stairs and past the great hall. She’d eaten first and midday meals in her room, to avoid having to sit at the high board next to Darach. The buzz in the room quieted when she passed, but she managed to keep her head up and gaze focused on the exterior of the building.

“Isobel.” It was Stuart who came up to her.

Turning to meet his eyes, she ensured to keep a flat expression. “What is it?”

“Darach wishes to speak to ye in private.”

“Tell him I cannot at this moment. I am going for a walk. Alone.” Not waiting for a reply, she walked away praying no one followed. It turned out Albie followed. The dog walked alongside her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He looked to be smiling and she envied him.

Without a sketchbook, Isobel climbed up to her perch and looked across the Ross lands. This day was different. Unlike the sunny days before, the cloudy skies matched her current mood.

How was she to carry on? Isobel wished there was a way to know how long before the ache in her chest and stomach would go away. Lady Mariel would probably have some insight, when she could bring herself to ask.

From what she understood, however, Lady Mariel never loved her husband. It would have been so much easier for her. Isobel had not been as smart. So many times, she’d reminded herself not to allow Darach to enter her heart, but from the pain in her chest, it had been an impossible task.

In the distance, a large wagon, pulled by two horses, ambled up the road toward the keep. All kinds of wares hung from the sides and the wooden frame was covered by thick fabric.

A well-stocked peddler.

From what Ella had said, the peddler who came every month carried all sorts of hard-to-find items. Beatrice and she had been waiting for him impatiently. Now here he was, on the day that she cared little for anything.

Isobel didn’t move, her gaze following the wagon that entered through the gates. When she threw a stick for Albie, he lost interest and raced after the wagon.

Later when she walked past, Beatrice tried to convince her to go look at the peddler’s offerings.

Her pretty face was flushed with excitement. “He has items I have never seen. Beautiful combs and ribbons. I am sure it will be a good distraction for ye.”

“Go, enjoy yerself. I have a headache and need to rest. Soon it will be last meal.” Isobel hurried through the great hall and up the stairs. Then she went directly to the sitting room only to find it empty. Of course, Lady Mariel and Ella were probably at the peddler’s wagon.

When she walked into her new bedchamber, she regretted it as Darach walked in after her.

“We should talk.”

Just the sound of his voice sent trickles of fury up and down her spine. Isobel shuddered when she looked up to him. “About what?”

“I wish to explain why I went to the village directly after leaving Uisdein.”

Isobel didn’t want to hear a word. What she wanted was for him to leave her be and not speak to her for a long, long time.

She let out a harsh breath. “It is clear, Laird. Ye do not have to explain. What led ye directly to her is love.”

“Love?” He neared and reached to lift her chin, but she backed away.

“Do not touch me. Do not dare touch me.”

He looked to her with darkened eyes. “Ye cannot possibly think that is true.” Darach searched her face. “I came to explain and make ye see why I went there.”

The clenching of her jaw made her back teeth protest, but she could not keep from it. Isobel forced her gaze up and met his. “It is the truth. I do not begrudge ye what ye feel. However, I do not forgive the insult to me and our marriage. For this affront in front of everyone will not be soon forgotten. How could ye?”

“I needed to know…”

“It matters not to me what yer reasons are. I cannot bear to hear any reasoning ye might have. What is done is over now and cannot be repaired.”

When he looked about the room, taking in that all her belongings had been moved, he turned back to her. “Ye cannot remain here. Yer place is with me, in our bedchamber.”

When he went to continue, Isobel held up her hand. “As yer wife, I cannot deny ye access to my body. I am fully aware of it. However, I will not lie next to ye every night while knowing ye love another. Ye cannot force me to do it.”

“Isobel,” he began, and she interrupted.

“Darach. I will not bend on this.”

“Fine,” he replied through clenched teeth and left the room.

It was as if the room became completely devoid of everything when he walked out. The very air seeming to still; her lungs expanding as she fought to draw it in. Her marriage was now what it was supposed to be from the very beginning. An arrangement. A contract between two clans for an alliance. That she was part of