Page 42 of Wicked Passions

Isla froze, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. “Yes?”

“Ye did spend outside her? We’ll not have guests leave Stirling lasses with broken hearts and swollen bellies.”

“No cock,” said Isla honestly, her cheeks hot. “Tongue and fingers. Just as well the walls were stone, for she fair shrieked like a Highland wind.”

Both men chuckled, and the second guard cuffed her shoulder, almost sending her sprawling onto the ground. “Good lad. You’ll have sweet dreams with the taste of cunt in your mouth. Go on, then.”

“Aye sirs,” she replied, inclining her head.

Isla forced herself to stroll across the inner close toward her chamber, although her neck dripped with sweat. Next, she removed her shoes, climbed the stone steps, and hurried down the thankfully empty torch-lit hallway leading to the Sutherland lodgings.

Hardly daring to breathe, Isla eased the well-oiled wooden door open before latching it behind her. All she had to do now was cross the chamber and slide into bed. If she could remove her shirt and hose and put on the fresh shift she’d tucked under the quilt, no one would be any the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, she tip-toed across the chamber. Fortunately, the path was clear; no rugs to trip over or chairs to scramble around. Nearly there, nearly there…

A hand clamped on her shoulder and roughly jerked her around. “You thought to rob the Sutherland, laddie? I’ll gut you like a fish…what the devil? Isla?”

“Father,” she croaked, truly fearful. “Ah…good evening…”

Lord John Sutherland glared at her, his silver-touched brows drawing together. “Where have you been, daughter? What mischief have you made now?”

“None, I swear,” Isla replied, unable to meet his gaze.

“Liar,” a voice hissed to her right, and before she could move, Anne Sutherland grabbed her right arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. “Liar. I note you did not answer your sire. Where have you been?”

“I just…needed some air.”

“Dressed as a lad?” her mother spat, before jerking her arm higher. Her sword arm.

Isla flinched but stared defiantly ahead. “Shall I attend the revels with a broken arm, Mother? How should I respond to the king when he asks about such an injury?”

“I’ll respond for you. That you are willful, foolish, and disobedient. Who were you with?”

A boulder lodged in her throat at the dangerous question. “No one.”

“I’ll find out and kill the wretch myself,” said her father, cold as ice. “Easy enough to dispose of a body with the cliffs and river nearby.”

Isla bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Silence was her only friend here. If they knew who she’d been with, what she’d done, the consequences would be vicious and terrible for Callum and Alastair. Her father remained wealthy and powerful because he brutalized his enemies and shunned forgiveness. No one in Scotland would take the side of a minor Western Highlands laird over the Earl of Sutherland.

“Was it one of your suitors, Isla?” asked her mother, her gaze abruptly and deceptively kind. “Must we ask the king to cease this tourney, because you’ve already surrendered your maidenhead to a great lord? Such men easily turn a woman’s head. Tell me which one. Tell me who I shall embrace as my new son.”

“I am virgin, still,” she snapped.

“But not unawakened,” Anne replied, her voice hard once more. “I know that blush. Who has given you pleasure? Who dared touch what does not belong to him? Answer me, daughter, or you will regret it.”

They stared at her; an earl who ruled with a fist of iron, and a beautiful countess with a heart of stone. Inside, little Isla, the youngest child who had always craved their love and approval, fought older Isla, the woman eager to leave them and their cruel intrigues behind.

“I was alone,” she insisted.

“You disappoint me,” said John. “A liar and a whore. But I’ll find out who, and he shall pay dearly for his sins.”

Anne nodded. “That clothing shall be examined to discover the weaver, and you’ll be watched day and night until your wedding. We’ll learn all your secrets. Now go to bed. I cannot bear the sight of you.”

Somehow, Isla retreated to her corner of the bedchamber without stumbling. Soon, she huddled in her bed, cold and alone in the darkness but unable to sleep for worry.

Callum and Alastair did not know it, but they were now in grave danger. How could she warn them without being caught or landing Leith and Morag in trouble with her?

For the first time in her life, a task seemed…impossible.