Page 73 of Devil Black

Grief rose in a towering wave, and she did not know if it was for the lost child—his child—or the fact that he valued her only for what she could, or had failed to, give him.

“Do not look so,” he bade her, and touched her cheek gently. “’Tis hard to bear, I know, but there will be other bairns.”

“Will there? Yet I have failed you now—”

“Isobel, Wife—” He seemed to search hard for words. “There is no blame to you in this, no fault. All the blame lies at the feet of Randal and Bertram MacNab. They will pay for hurting you. That I do avow.”

Isobel pulled her hand from his and covered her face. “I have failed you in the only way that matters.” she grieved. “Leave me, please!”

He did not move. “Isobel, listen to me. We are engaged in a war, and in such, there are casualties. ’Tis a bitter thing to swallow, true. Yet, had one of my warriors fallen in a skirmish or, indeed, in attempting escape, I would not fault him but those whom I fight.”

Isobel did not speak. Other memories now streamed in upon her, the way water gushes from a broken ewer: the dreadful room at MacNab’s keep; the cruelty and anticipation in Bertram MacNab’s eyes; the marks left by the deep bite of rope on the posts of the bed. She knew, now, exactly what had befallen the woman her husband loved. She would have to tell him. But not now. She could not bear it yet.

“Leave me,” she begged again, unwilling to look into his eyes.

“Not until I know you are all right.”

Isobel, convinced she would never again claim that state, turned her face away.

Just then she heard a rap at the door, followed by the voice of one of Dougal’s warriors. “My Laird! The bastard MacNab waits below with your Lady Wife’s father, asking to speak wi’ you.”

Isobel felt Dougal stiffen. Just as when they lay together in passion, it seemed she could sense the emotions moving through him—rage and now, strangely, regret.

“Do no’ fear,” he told her. “I will deal with him, and speak with your father as he deserves. Be well, Wife. I will return.”

He removed himself from the room like a thundercloud rolling before a strong wind. Isobel felt relief, overwhelming sadness, and bone-deep exhaustion.

Meg came in, so quietly Isobel barely knew she was there, and interrupted the tears that had claimed her patient.

“There now,” she said, never one for softness. “Did it go badly with my brother, then? He never blamed you for this?”

“He did not.” Isobel wished only to go on weeping. “But I will need to tell him… He loves her still.”

“Her?” Meg frowned.

“Aisla. I remember... I know, now, what she suffered while in MacNab’s hands. He threatened to treat me the same. If I tell him, Dougal will never let go of his feelings for her.”

“Do not think on it now. There will be time for talking when you have regained your strength. You need to sleep, and so heal.”

“I am afraid to sleep, and dream.”

Meg touched her brow. “You will not dream. I shall stay here with you, if you like.”

“Thank you. You are good to me.”

“Sleep, Isobel. The physician is on his way. When he comes, will you see him?”

“Can he tell me if I will conceive again?”

“No one can tell that.”

“Then I do not want him. I want only you, Meg—no one but you.”

“So be it,” Meg said, and it sounded, to Isobel’s ears, like a promise. “I will keep you safe.”

Chapter Thirty

“What goes on between my wife and sister?” Dougal asked Lachlan, even though he doubted Lachy had a fit answer. “They formed some mysterious bond while Isobel was ill, and now they seem nearly as close as Meg and Aisla were. Meg fights for Isobel like a she-wolf defending her cubs. I cannot get near my own wife.”