Page 9 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

My Isobell,

Nothing prepared me for the shock of seeing you for the very first time, and I knew at that moment we were meant to be together forever. After our first kiss I knew I had found the love of my life, but I also knew that our families would try to keep us apart, but they will not succeed. I am determined about this. We must be very clever, my darling. If you accept me, we can be married in secret. I have a very good friend, Donal, who studied at the same seminary as my brother Jamie. He will marry us quickly if we ask him, and I can rely on him to be discreet.

So, my love, will you marry me? I will be the happiest man in the world if you do.

Your loving Donnan

Malle picked up the next letter, which was the reply. Isobell had obviously asked Donnan to give this one back to her so that she could keep them together, no doubt as souvenirs of the happiness she had expected to share with her darling Donnan forever. Knowing what had happened made Malle so sad that she almost shed tears while she read it. Understanding the relationship between the two families, she was astonished to see that Isobell and Donnan had married, and thought that it was an act of great bravery.

Oh, my darling, darling Donnan,

You have no idea how happy you have made me! Please tell me the time and the place and I will be there!

Your adoring Isobell

Malle smiled and sighed, wishing she could be so happy.

6

More Letters

Malle paged through the entries in the diary until she found one that was dated six weeks later. Isobell seemed to be floating on a cloud of joy.

Donnan and I were married secretly under the spreading branches of the only oak tree on the Dunbar estate! It had shed its summer finery for the winter, but we did not care. We were both wearing fur cloaks and gloves against the cold, and our witnesses were my friend Elisaid and Donnan’s brother Jamie, and our priest was Donal, Jamie’s friend.

The ceremony was, of necessity, short, as were both sets of vows, because it was very, very cold. I will never forget the words he said:

“Isobell, you are the love of my life. Will you be my wife and the mother of my children?” he asked, smiling at me.

“I will, Donnan. And will you be my husband and protector and the father of my children?”

“I will.” He smiled, and slipped the ring on my finger. Then we were husband and wife. We have decided to call the oak tree “The Wedding Tree” from now on.

We consummated our marriage in a tiny cottage that had once belonged to a tenant farmer but is now empty. Elisaid made it cozy and pretty for us. Donnan and I made love for the first time. It was glorious, and nothing like I imagined. I was very scared at first, but Donnan, my wonderful husband, helped me through my fear. Now I am truly Donnan’s wife, and we both wanted to be sure of that before we told our parents. It is a good thing we did, because they were not pleased at all!

Malle went on to read about the reception they got from both sets of parents. They were most unhappy that the two had married, because it had not been planned by them. Furthermore, neither Isobell nor Donnan had sought their consent.

However, when Isobell moved into Dunbar Castle with her husband they could see how happy the young couple was, and things became less tense, as Isobell wrote in frequent diary entries.

Then one morning six months after their marriage, Isobell was found dead on the floor of their bedroom; there were no marks on her and nothing to suggest she had been bludgeoned or stabbed to death.

Donnan, after spending a few silent minutes with his head bowed, showed no apparent reaction, as she saw in Aunt Saundra’s diary entry the day after Isobell’s death:

My heart is broken. My own dear granddaughter Isobell was found dead this morning on the floor of her bedroom and no one knows what caused it, but her callous husband has not shed a tear.

From the moment of Isobell’s death, relations between the MacEwan and Dunbar families went downhill. The MacEwans suspected the Dunbars of murdering Isobell, and in a few years mutual wariness had given way to outright hostility.

Malle felt so sad after reading about the ill-fated lovers that she went to see her mother to talk about it downstairs in the parlor. However, she was dozing in an armchair by the fire, and she was reluctant to wake her; she looked so peaceful.

As Malle looked at Margaret, she felt a deep upwelling of tender love. Margaret was over forty now but she still looked like a woman in her early thirties. Malle thought her remarkable in every way. She could sew, draw likenesses in charcoal, ride like a man, and sing like...well, Malle had no comparison. No one had a voice like her mother, and no one had a mother like Malle’s.

Her love for her mother and father may have had different qualities, but they were both equally strong.

Malle had brought Isobell’s diaries with her. They dealt with the minutiae of daily life, the things they laughed at, the things that worried them, and the things that annoyed each one about the other. There was nothing remarkable about them at all, and it came to her that this really was love—accepting each other for who they were, not living in constant worship of each other. It gave her a little glimpse of what marriage was really like and it reassured her that she would not have to be perfect, because she never could be.

When she thought about the two of them lying in bed at night chatting about the day it made her smile, and she wondered what it must be like to wake up with a man in her bed. She knew that she should not, but she kept thinking about Craig, and the brief second of kindness and concern in his eyes. Then she shook the thought out of her head. He had been deceptively gentle when they were all talking, but as soon as they had finished he had gone back to his old self—grim, cynical, and threatening.

Presently Margaret sat up, rubbed her eyes, and yawned. She smiled at her daughter. “What do you have there?” she asked.