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

With her head down, the woman hurried past. It was the same one as always, Lilia.

Obviously, he continued to have her in his bed, no matter that they were betrothed. Needing a moment to calm her emotions, Isobel went back inside the bedchamber and paced.

Blowing out breaths until she felt calm, Isobel went back out.

In the great hall, her mother and sister motioned for her to come sit with them. Just as she sat, Darach appeared and headed down the stairs. When he turned in her direction, Isobel turned to her mother.

“How did ye sleep, Mother?”

“Like the dead,” her mother replied. “It was certainly a long day. Another one awaits.”

Unlike their mother, who seemed in good spirits, Beatrice scowled down at her food. Her sister huffed. “It will not be as enjoyable today. The only competition is archery, and I can never see clearly where the arrows land when we have to sit so far in the stands.”

“There will be music and dancing,” their mother said. “That is always my favorite.”

After eating, they went back upstairs to prepare for the festival. A beautiful dark blue gown had been set out for Isobel. She recognized it as one of her mother’s.

“We’ll have to pin it a bit,” Annis said. “It is a bit too big for ye.”

“I am already dressed,” Isobel said motioning to her brown serviceable gown. “I do not wish to spend the day traipsing about in an uncomfortable frock.”

Annis slid a look to Beatrice. “Yer mother said ye were to dress nicely today, miss.”

Beatrice waved the maid’s concerns away. “My sister does not wish to be a prize today.”

To her astonishment, Beatrice also refused to change out of her morning dress. “Let us go for some fresh air, sister.”

Forgetting for the moment what lay ahead, Isobel grinned widely. “Let me grab my sketching book.”

After knocking on their mother’s door and telling her they’d meet her at the stands, the sisters hurried down a back stairwell and out the back of the keep. The hilly landscape was easy to traverse in their boots and soon they sat on a rock looking down to where the festival preparations took place.

“I spoke to him last night,” Beatrice said looking to see the simple landscape that Isobel sketched. “Told that oaf, how horrible he was.”

Isobel shook her head. “For all the good it did. Ye should not have done it.”

“It made me feel better to stand up for ye. No one should treat us like that. I will not stand for it.”

She nudged her sister’s shoulder. “I would do the same for ye. Thank ye for it.”

“He seemed to take it in. But he is still a horrible intimidating ogre.”

The picture of the woman hurrying down the corridor, a disheveled mess, came to mind. “He has a lover. Will probably continue to have one after we marry. I will speak about it when the families meet tomorrow and demand she be removed from the keep at once.”

“Did Father ever have lovers?” Beatrice asked with a pensive expression. “I know Uncle Henry had several, remember Aunt Mairi chasing that one off with a broom?”

Isobel considered it for a moment. “If Father did, he was discreet. I will ask Mother.”

“Perhaps it is something all men of wealth do. Have a whore on the side.”

“Beatrice!” Isobel exclaimed unable to keep from chuckling. “Please, never use that word in front of Mother.”

“That’s what they are,” Beatrice insisted. “Lying about with men that do not belong to them.”

“Men do not belong to anyone,” Isobel said. “It is us who belong to them. They remain free, no matter the vows they give during a wedding ceremony. Seems it is the one vow they are not held to.”

“Aye,” Beatrice replied quietly. “I do not wish to ever marry.”

Isobel studied her pretty sister. “Let us pray ye find a man who loves ye and is devoted. There are some. Perhaps one like our own father.”

“We should go down in a few moments,” Beatrice said, not moving and taking in the view. “I can see why ye enjoy spending time alone outdoors. As much as I do not care for it, sitting here this morning, I am glad to have done it.”

It would be a day filled with possibilities by the view of mountains, the ocean, and colorful displays of the festival. People hurried about, setting up tables, tents, and bonfires, over which flavorful food would be cooked.

A team of maids carrying baskets and buckets crossed the short distance from the keep to the field, to set up items on the tables and water to boiling for the cooking to begin in a short while.

In the distance, a line of carts and wagons traversed the narrow roads towards the festival. Today families would enjoy a rare day of leisure and an abundance of food. The idea of a two-day celebration had been a good one. Isobel could see that it brought the people together and gave them an opportunity to get to know the new laird better.

“We should head down in a bit,” Isobel repeated her sister’s earlier comment and again neither of them moved. She looked down at her sketch, the landscape she’d drawn had been darkened, the sky ominous.

When she climbed the stairs to the stand, Darach was not seated. Her mother’s eyes widened at her appearance.

“Ye look like a pauper,” her mother said exaggerating. “Did ye even comb yer hair?”

“Beatrice and I went for a walk and lost track of time. We considered it best to be on time than to take time to look like peacocks.”

Lady Macdonald looked past her to Beatrice, who sat with her shoulders back, hands clutched on her lap, looking forward.

“I am not sure it would be a waste of time if ye both hurry and go change. The archery competition is about to start, and everyone’s attention will be taken.”

On the left side of the field from where Isobel sat, the same tent with the women who’d dressed colorfully again