The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1) - Hildie McQueen (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📗

“Ye said ye like to read, so yer future wife cannot be a simpleton, but one of keen intelligence. Oh, and one last thing.” She gave him a disapproving look. “She must be willing to turn a blind eye to yer dalliances.”

In amicable silence, they continued to walk for a bit. Although it meant he would be up much later working, Darach found that he was not in a hurry to return inside.

“What about ye, Miss Macdonald? I know ye do not wish to speak of why ye are not here for me to court. However, I wonder. What type of man would ye marry?”

For a moment, it was as if she was transported away. She turned from him, her gaze moving from the treetops to the ground. When she spoke, he had to listen carefully, as it was almost like a whisper.

“Above all, he must be kind and forgiving.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she needed forgiveness for, but intuitively, he knew she’d not speak of it.

“Although often considered a virtue, kindness can sometimes be a fault.”

She didn’t reply and he ran a few feet away to throw the stick for Albie. When he returned to her, Isobel watched Albie. “Why did ye name him Albie?”

“I was being melodramatic and named him Abyss since he is so dark. However, with a personality like his, it was much too dark a name.”

Isobel nodded. “I agree.”

“We should head back,” Darach said realizing they’d walked quite a distance and it would be dark by the time they returned. He wondered at the oversight of not having a chaperone along. Despite he and Isobel not being at all interested in one another, it could be harmful for her if someone were to say they’d seen them alone after dark.

She turned in a circle, her arms out. “The perfect day is turning into a delightful night. I do love summer evenings.”

“It’s best we get back before it becomes evening,” he replied, looking toward the keep.

With Albie trotting happily in front of them, they began the trek back.

“Will ye speak to my mother?” Isobel asked quietly. “Please consider it.”

Darach nodded. “Very well. I am not sure that I have time for a wife. Mother insists on it, however, I’m not sure.”

“Ye should marry for love.”

The words, so much like his mother’s struck a chord. “I do not have time for such things, Miss Macdonald.”

“Ye should just call me Isobel. Ye keep switching between Miss Isobel and Miss Macdonald. For goodness sakes, we have known each other since we were children.”

“Very well. Then ye call me Darach.”

“I cannot do that,” she snapped. “Yer a laird.”

They reached the slight incline and he turned to assist her up. Just as he did, unfamiliar with the terrain, Isobel tripped and tumbled sideways.

She cried out in pain.

“I will help ye up, do not move.” Darach leaned forward and she pushed his hands away.

“I am fine. Just need to catch my breath.” She inspected her bleeding elbow. “I feel silly.”

Sitting on the ground inspecting her elbow, dark brown waves of hair coming loose from the fall, she was a lovely picture.

“Isobel, let me help ye up.” Darach took her arms and pulled her forward. In that moment, Isobel winced realizing something hurt and she pushed forward, perhaps to hop on one leg. All Darach knew was that he lost his balance and landed on his back. Despite releasing Isobel being the smart thing to do, he had not, so she landed on top of him in a tangle of skirts and curses.

Chapter Eight

Isobel gave up her attempts to get up, especially as Darach held her arms. She flopped atop him and lifted her head. “Ye should have warned me.”

“Ye fell before I could,” he replied dryly with a slight curve to his lips. “Ye should get off of me. Someone could happen upon us.”

If she were to be honest, his body was quite comfortable, and she was exhausted from their overly long trek. However, upon catching herself looking at his mouth, she hurriedly stood and held out her hand to help him up.

After sitting up, he looked at her hand and then took it. Once he stood in front of her, he brushed off sand from his legs and bottom.

Taking a cue from him, Isobel did the same.

“Ye will not fool anyone. I saw ye both, cavorting on the ground.” The same maid who she’d seen him hit on the arse earlier stood with her arms crossed and a furious expression. With a glare of propriety, she looked from Darach to Isobel. “And ye kind are quick to call us harlots.”

She whirled on her heel and ran toward the keep.

“Well that certainly complicates things,” Darach said, not looking the least bit worried.

Isobel huffed. “She will not say anything. Especially if it means our mothers will demand ye marry me.”

They began walking toward the keep, in the distance, the maid continued forward, slowing down a bit and constantly looking over her shoulder at them. “She must have spotted us from the upper levels.” It occurred to Isobel that the consequences of their being out alone for so long, and then the fall would come to light if anyone else had seen them.

“I would not worry,” Darach said and yawned. “I have much work to do. Good night, Isobel.”

He hurried away to the same side door they’d entered, the same one the maid had gone into.

“The front door? Or the side door to see what he’s about?” Isobel considered out loud just as Beatrice came out the front door.

“Everyone has been looking for ye,” her sister exclaimed. “Where did ye and the laird go?”

She let out a breath. “For a walk. We were there within sight for the last while.” Isobel pointed in the general direction of where they’d fallen.

Upon Beatrice inspecting her appearance, she added. “I tripped and fell.”

“Isobel Macdonald, come inside this instant,” her mother stood at the top of the steps with