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

“Yes he is,” Beatrice insisted, her blue eyes glistening. “Not to us because we are used to him, but to others, they find him quite intimidating.”

Thinking back to the last visit by Lady Ross, the sons who’d accompanied her, Stuart and Gideon, had been large men, who’d gotten along well with Evander and Padraig. She’d not had any opportunity to spend time with either one, as they’d kept their distance from her and Beatrice.

“I do admit to them being large men, but Gideon was playful.”

Annis came to the bed and pulled a gown from under Beatrice’s leg. Her sister didn’t protest, but watched silently, as the servant completed the task of packing.

“Tell me why do ye not wish to marry,” Isobel prodded. “Are ye truly fearful of Darach Ross, or of marrying?”

A warm breeze blew into the room, and for a moment, Isobel closed her eyes, enjoying the remainder of the beautiful day outside. Instead of packing and fretting with Beatrice, she wished to be outside sketching and capturing the beauty of nature.

“I do not care for him in the least. He scares me. I would rather marry a gentler man,” Beatrice replied. “It is unfair that we do not get a choice in the matter of who we are to spend the rest of our lives with.”

Isobel took her sister’s hand. “Come let us go for a walk. The fresh air will do ye good.”

Indeed, Beatrice’s countenance changed once they walked out into the field that surrounded their home. They avoided the side where the guards split their time between training and resting and went the opposite way.

“I will collect flowers to place on our table for last meal,” Beatrice said. and seeming to forget her troubles, she began to pick blooms.

The picture of her sister, hair flying in the wind, the golden waves circling about her delicate face made Isobel want to cry. Beatrice was much too delicate to be married to a beastly man. Surely her mother would change her mind upon seeing him again.

“Pick some flowers,” Beatrice called out. Isobel plucked a few as she considered what needed to be done. Somehow, she would try to find the young man that she’d gotten to know those many years ago. He had to exist inside the man Darach was now. Hopefully, she could appeal to his good nature and dissuade him from marrying Beatrice.

In the distance, a cart laden with crates ambled by along a road that led to the nearby village. She recognized the peddler who often came to the keep offering his wares to the servants, the guardsmen, and the family as well.

Following the wagon’s progress, she was sad to have missed his visit. With all the packing and such, she’d not been aware he’d come. Beatrice straightened upon catching sight of the peddler and stomped her foot. “Why did I not know he came today?”

Maura had not told them, probably ordered by their mother not to.

“I am sure Mother did not wish us distracted from preparing for our trip,” Isobel replied, letting out a sigh. “There will sure to be other peddlers when we visit Ross Lands. They may have items we’ve not seen before.”

“Very true,” Beatrice’s lips curved. “We will have ribbons and other things that none of my friends have. They will be envious.”

Not wishing to draw attention to the fact that Beatrice would not be seeing her friends any time soon, if she did indeed marry Darach, Isobel sought to distract her. “It would be nice if ye brought them back gifts instead, then they’d be more excited to see ye.”

“Hmm,” Beatrice murmured to herself as she considered her suggestion. By the look of doubt, Isobel knew her sister would do no such thing. It wasn’t that Beatrice was boastful. On the contrary, her sister was sweet and caring. Though, for whatever reason, she surrounded herself with young women who were superficial and uncaring of others. The main focus of their conversations seemed to focus on flirtation, hair styling, and making themselves appealing to men. Most of them were to be married in the next year or two, so they were focused on finding a desirable husband. Not unlike Beatrice, most of them would be matched by their families to a man who would bring some kind of advantage.

It was a very few who actually got to pick, but it didn’t stop the young women from their quests. In a way, Isobel found it endearing. Though more times than not, she considered their inability to accept reality annoying.

“Ye should have had a new gown made,” Beatrice said, interrupting her train of thought.

“It is ye who has to stand out, sister. I have packed good, serviceable clothing that will serve me well,” Isobel responded.

Beatrice was not to be deterred. “Ye will wear some of mine. Mother wishes to find a husband for ye as well. The drab dresses ye insist on wearing will not do in the least.”

“I am much taller than ye and would look ridiculous in one of yer dresses.” Isobel laughed when Beatrice made a face, realizing she was right.

“Oh no,” her sister said, looking down at Isobel’s dress. “We must hurry back inside. I am going to ensure at least a pair of nice gowns are packed for ye.” Despite Isobel not wishing to waste time on clothing she would not require, she allowed her sister to drag her back inside.

The sun was barely visible the next morning, when Isobel, her sister, and their mother climbed into the bìrlinn. Their trip would take them from the eastern coast of North Uist, past the coastline of Benbecula to South Uist where Clan Ross made their home.

It would be an entire day of travel in the vessel with eight rowers and three men who manned the bìrlinn. Most of the trip would hopefully be done by sail, but in case it was not possible the rowers would take over.

Settled into their seats at