Page 35 of Devil Black

Snow fell steadily and cold crept over the window sill in an unremitting wave.

“You have courage, Isobel,” she said unexpectedly. “I respect that.” She looked over her shoulder. “So I warn you again, do not lose your heart to him.”

“No?” For the past fortnight, Isobel had been struggling to convince herself that had not already happened. “Why, apart from the obvious?”

“’Tis a fool’s task, falling in love, especially for a woman. We open ourselves to all sorts of pain, betrayal, and disappointment.”

“Some man has disappointed you?” Isobel hazarded.

“What man has not, from my father on down? But we speak not of me. Guard yourself carefully, Isobel, against Dougal. He has, in the past, betrayed a woman who loved him right well.”

“Oh, yes?” Isobel felt her heart sink, and hoped her emotions did not show on her face. “Who was she?”

“My good friend, named Aisla. We all grew up together, and she wanted Dougal for as long as I can remember. My dear brother—strong, handsome, aye, but not so much a devil, then. We thought they would wed. Everyone thought it. And he professed himself in love with her, but he lied. For when it came down to it, he refused to save her from a fate she did not deserve.”

The pain in Meg’s voice gave Isobel pause, yet she had to know. “What fate was that?”

It seemed Meg would not answer. She faced Isobel, and the bitterness in her eyes was shocking. “Aisla’s father—bastard that he was—decided to give her in marriage to a man of wealth and substance.”

Realization struck Isobel all at once. “MacNab?”

Meg’s expression tightened. “Aisla was Bertram MacNab’s first wife—the one he killed with cruelty and abuse.”

To Isobel’s surprise, she saw tears in Meg’s dark eyes—tears of anger, surely, as well as grief.

“Sweet, gentle Aisla,” Meg went on, “who would not raise a hand to swat a naughty pup. I saw her three times after she was wed, and the change that came over her horrified me. She begged me for help, for rescue. I vowed I would save her.”

Meg’s features pinched with pain, and she no longer looked beautiful.

Isobel’s stomach clenched in dismay; she did not want to hear the rest of this tale.

But Meg tossed her head. “Like a fool, I went to Dougal, my grand warrior of a brother, who feared nothing and could do anything. He was like a god to me then—at twenty, he had just taken over the estate following our father’s death. I thought he loved Aisla—loved her as I did or, more, loved her like a woman. But do you know what he said to me, when I told him of her plight?”

Isobel shook her head.

Fiercely, Meg told her, “He said, ‘She is another man’s wife.’ As if that meant anything. As if it changed her sweetness, her vulnerability, her trust in him, or how much we cared for her. I could not believe my ears. I told him he must save her anyway. That she needed him. That she looked but a shadow of her former, happy self... He turned from me. His face grew hard and his heart also. And after that he drank and haunted the roads, and he let her die in that bastard’s hands!”

“How long ago was this?”

Meg, deep in memory, did not answer.

“You said he was but twenty, then. How long ago—”

“Eight years. It took Aisla five years to die. I saw her not again during that time, for MacNab kept her locked away. ’Tis said, by the end she had become a jabbering madwoman.”

And this, Isobel thought with a flash of pain, was the fate she had spared Catherine, and that she herself had narrowly escaped, by the grace of the Devil Black MacRae. Her own father must not know how his good friend’s son had treated his first wife.

She whispered, “What did Bertram MacNab do to her, do you know?”

Meg stared at Isobel with empty eyes. “Word trickled out by the servants. What did he not do to her? Confinement, whippings when she did not produce a son. Vile rape, I have no doubt. ’Tis said a man cannot in fact rape his own wife—you and I know better. I will never forgive Dougal for failing her, and I will never respect him again. I left here to marry shortly after Aisla’s death. My own marriage did not work out, and I am forced to return here. But I need not like being under the same roof as my accursed brother.”

“He does hate MacNab very deeply,” Isobel began.

Meg glared at her. “Do you defend him? I hope, for your sake, ’tis not a sign of attachment on your part. For be fairly warned, Isobel, he will forsake and abandon you just as he did poor Aisla. If you believe in God, you had better pray you fall not into MacNab’s hands.”

A shiver traced its way up Isobel’s spine. “But I am Dougal’s wife, now. Surely that offers me some protection.”

“Do not be a fool! This is an ancient part of Scotland—wives have been snatched, traded, and raped before now. Do not say you have not been warned. Men are vile creatures, not to be trusted, and I have no use for them.”