Page 59 of Devil Black

“I fear my husband’s health will suffer, and him out in this cold.”

“He is healthy as a horse.” Meg tipped her head, her quick, clever eyes looking deep into Isobel’s. “You really do love him, by God! Incredible as it seems.”

Isobel flushed. “Much good may it do me. He cares so little for me, he has not come near me in three days.”

“That is one way to look at it. Another is that he cares so much he rides in the snow and the wind, to keep you safe.”

“No, even that can be laid down to his desire to spite MacNab. He still loves Aisla. You cannot deny it.”

Meg remained silent.

“How am I to fight that?” Isobel appealed. “She is ever perfect, in his mind.”

“In all our minds,” Meg said softly. “My dearest friend. I will never forget her, nor will I ever forgive my brother for failing to rescue her from that fiend who held her and tortured her. So how can I fault your father, Isobel, for wishing to rescue you, now, from what he believes to be a similar situation?”

“Yet I have told my father and MacNab I am not in need of rescue, that I wish to remain here. No one listens to me.”

Anger flashed in Meg’s dark eyes. “A woman will say anything, under duress. Aisla made a similar claim, even with the welts Bertram had inflicted bright upon her flesh, for fear of what he would do to her, did she speak the truth.”

“Your brother has not treated me that way.”

“No, but how can your father be certain?”

Isobel hesitated. “What did Bertram MacNab do to Aisla? And how do you know—?”

Meg looked away, toward the window. “A servant smuggled out a letter Aisla had written to me. I could scarcely believe how it read! I wept over those pages for hours, and then I took the burden to my brother, sure he would act immediately to save her, the woman he loved. Because I knew how he loved her—how he claimed to love her.

“He read that letter with a face like stone. He said if he took our warriors to attack MacNab’s stronghold and lost, ’twould be the end of us here in Scotland. MacNab would appeal to the King and sue for our lands. He had done it before to other, weaker neighbors. And we were not so strong then as we are now. My father was not long in his grave and Dougal yet finding his way. He has built our strength since then. I am sure he vowed never to be caught so again.

“Yet it was Aisla! Her grief and suffering cried out from those pages. One of her tears was worth risking all we owned. How could he leave her there to die?”

“I cannot imagine he made the choice lightly,” Isobel pointed out. “He still holds MacNab responsible—”

“Curse Bertram MacNab and his bastard of a father! I wish them naught but ill, and I will never forgive them. But neither can I forgive my brother. He might have ridden out to defeat, aye, but he should have made the attempt. Can you imagine her there, alone, and no one coming for her? No one at all?”

“Dougal has spent the intervening years—?”

“Aye, strengthening his holdings, his clan, and antagonizing MacNab any way he might. Though you will never hear him admit it, he garnered most of our current wealth through risk and thievery. It is a fine and dangerous line to walk. As you have learned, now the King’s eye rests upon him.”

“You say you despise him for his cowardice.”

“So I do.”

“Yet you admit he has not stopped fighting, and opposes MacNab yet.” Isobel felt uncomfortably aware of her own status as one among her husband’s weapons.

“Too late. ’Tis too late for Aisla, is it not? She lies in the ground, even her wounds turned to dust. But the wounds inflicted on the rest of us are still raw.”

Meg lowered her voice. “They say round here my brother is a devil and I am a witch. I will tell you, I have studied the black arts. A woman has few enough weapons to her hand, and I do not like feeling helpless. My husband betrayed me, and he paid the price. MacNab, too, shall pay, but ’twill take strong magic, indeed, to bring him down.”

Isobel, not sure how to reply, fought a shiver. At that moment, with her dark eyes gleaming and her black hair flowing round her, Meg looked every inch the weaver of spells.

“Would it not be better,” she suggested tentatively, “to use your...talents and work together with your brother against MacNab?”

Meg sprang up from the bed, suddenly restless. “For that, I would need to forgive him.”

“Would you?”

“And that is something I can never do. So long as my friend remains in my heart, my heart will remain turned against him.”