Page 66 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“I did try.” Mama speared her with a sharp look. “With all my children. Is it true?”

Isobel shrugged. “You know I doona want to leave Scotland. My family. Everything I know. Why would I consider a British husband? A man who will, in effect, own me. And why would you want me to?”

Mama stopped short and turned Isobel to face her. “All I want is for you to be happy. To find a good man who will love you as you deserve. I most certainly doona want to lose you. It would break my heart if you moved to London. But I doona want you to limit your options because of an assumption that he willna respect your desires.” Her expression firmed. “If a man really loves you, he would want you to be happy. That is the most important thing to me.”

“So you doona mind if I decide not to marry an English lord?”

“I doona mind if you marry a stable lad.” A shiver racked Isobel at how closely her mother had hit the mark. “As long as you love him and he loves you.”

“And what if I never fall in love?”

Mama chuckled. “You will. You’re a passionate girl.” They resumed their walk.

“Passion is not love.”

“I’m so relieved you recognize the difference.” This in a teasing tone.

Isobel bent her head to hide her blush as she thought of Nick and his passion. And hers. She rarely blushed, so it would tip Mama off that something was different with her. “It would take a man of tremendous consequence to convince me to marry,” she said, trotting out her old familiar argument against the bonds of matrimony.

“I would expect nothing less for you.” Mama stopped again and turned Isobel to face her. “Darling. I understand how you feel. I resisted giving myself fully to your father for a long time.”

“Why?”

Mama shrugged. “I dinna want to be vulnerable. I dinna want him to have the power to hurt me.” And yes. Isobel recognized the validity of the sentiment. She’d had the same thoughts herself.

“When did that change?”

“It wasna until—” Her mother paused, and her expression went wan.

“Until what?”

“Until I almost lost him. You remember. When we rescued you from Scrabster—”

“I remember rescuing myself.”

“You know what I mean. He was shot. For a moment, I thought he was dead. And . . .”

“And?”

“And my world crumbled. I realized I couldn’t bear living without him.”

“Is that how you know you love a man? Truly love him?”

Mama scraped back her hair when the breeze tugged it across her face once more. “I sincerely hope you never have to experience something like that. I hope love comes to you gently and sweetly and I pray that you will be willing to surrender to it when it does.”

“I’ve never been much of one to surrender.”

She laughed again. “Aye. But this surrender is worth the cost. I promise.” She pressed her lips to Isobel’s forehead. “Now stop brooding over this and enjoy yourself, will you?”

“Yes, Mama,” she said. And she meant it.

That was her decision. Nothing grand or life changing. Nothing serious or forever. Simply to enjoy herself.

It was as though a weight lifted from her shoulders.

And it was glorious.

Chapter Thirteen