Page 80 of Devil Black

“I cannot possibly!” But Isobel did pause in her pacing to eye Catherine’s needlework. She labored at embroidering a tiny white gown for her baby, a lovely thing that evoked pleasant images. Fleetingly, Isobel wondered if her seduction of her husband, the morning he left for Stirling, had good effect. He had certainly been thorough in his pursuit of the task...

“Since when do you sew?” she demanded of Catherine.

“Motherhood requires patience,” Catherine told her implacably, placing one hand on her expanded belly. “As you may one day learn.”

Isobel, spared from answering that ridiculous statement, swung round as the chamber door opened and Lachlan came in. She did not miss the way Meg’s face lit at the sight of him.

Lachlan, clad for the outdoors and wearing his sword, looked unusually grim. He beckoned to Meg, who rose and went to him. They held a whispered conversation.

“It is rude, that,” Isobel protested, “keeping secrets in front of others.”

The couple parted and looked at her. Lachlan spoke, “I am saying only that I will be out riding with a troop of men. I have doubled the guard—”

“Why?” Isobel demanded. “Because you saw tracks in the snow?”

Lachlan exchanged looks with Meg, who shrugged.

“Aye,” Lachlan spoke directly to Isobel. “I swore to Dougal I would keep you safe while he was away. I would sooner perish than fail in that.”

“You believe we are in danger?”

Lachlan scowled. “I do. The weather is vile, and I am thinking raiders from MacNab’s keep could use that as cover for creeping in close. I mean to ride the borders, even if I freeze myself through.”

“Dougal has a good friend in you,” Isobel told him.

Lachlan’s eyes once more flew to Meg. “Aye, so, but do not forget I have a treasure of my own here to guard.”

He went out and a brief silence ensued. Then Isobel observed, “He is in love with you, Meg.”

“Foolish man!” Once more Meg sounded exasperated.

“How do you feel for him?” Both Isobel and Catherine stared at their companion, awaiting her answer.

“I swore off love long ago,” Meg replied acerbically, “if that is what you ask.”

“Just like your brother,” Catherine observed comfortably. “But the head cannot always command the heart, and yon Lachlan is a charming bugger. How do you truly feel?”

For an instant it seemed Meg would not answer, then a spark of mischief entered her dark eyes, and her lips curved in a smile. “I have to admit, I will not be glad to see the back of him any time soon. As you say, he is charming as a hound pup, or a child—but he loves like a man. I vowed, after murdering my last husband, I would never take up with another, yet I now find myself content.”

Catherine lowered her sewing and stared. “You murdered your last husband?”

“Do not fash yourself. He deserved it,” Meg said breezily.

“And Lachlan knows of this?”

Meg smiled. “I told you he is a fool.”

For Isobel, the day dragged on. She paced the solar and, when her companions continued to complain, the hallways, where drafts of cold air made her shiver. She was one of the first to hear the pounding at the front door.

Could it be Dougal, returned? But no—surely not so soon.

Two of the household guards, one the estimable Rab, ran to the door, Rab with his sword drawn. But when the door was drawn open, Isobel saw her husband’s own warriors in a cluster and bearing a rough litter constructed of cloaks and pine poles.

The men spoke together, quick and fierce, their accents blurring the words. Isobel ran forward to see a man on the litter, covered in blood—Lachlan. He looked dead.

She gasped, and Rab roughly pushed her out of the way. “Lady, let us get him in!”

“What happened?” Isobel asked. “Does he yet live?”