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He was not happy to see her.

He resumed walking, his steps quicker, which confirmed it. He didn’t even look at her. His head was bowed, his shoulders rigid, as he disappeared into the castle.

Isla had been hurt before. Her body still bore the abuse she had had to endure at her uncle’s hands. But nothing could compare to the sharp pain that pierced her at that moment.

With all the strength she had left, she made her way to her room, keeping her breathing steady. The moment she stepped inside, she leaned back against the closed door, eyes squeezed shut, lips tight.

“This is how it is, Isla,” she told herself. “Endure.”

She swallowed it all—the bitterness, the rejection, the sudden realization that maybe in Alisdair’s eyes she was less than the memory of his first wife. She had been a fool. She had forgotten how the world worked for a moment because of a foolish kiss.

But the world was a cruel, cold place that didn’t forgive stupid illusions of things soft and warm. What had happened in the corridor on their wedding night meant nothing to him. She had best forget about it too. Along with the moment they had shared in the cottage. And the way he had looked at her as they danced.

Alisdair regretted marrying her, she was sure of it now, but he was too honorable a man to cast her out. Perhaps he still saw some use in her against her uncle.

She drew in a breath and made herself a quiet promise—to let go of foolish ideas and abandon all hope of something that was never going to happen.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NEW GUESTS

“Inever thought the day would come when I say this, but ye are an idiot.”

Alisdair looked up from his correspondence. “I believe ye overstayed yer welcome, Duncan,” he grunted.

“Me faither sent me to learn from ye,” Duncan said. “So far, I have learned how to grunt when people talk to me and how to ignore me wife. The latter, it seems, I must do with more vigor so I can be a better leader.”

“What ye have learned is that bein’ a leader is a lonely job,” Alisdair snapped.

“Is that so?” Duncan challenged.

“Any attachment is a weakness.”

“I stand by me conclusion. Ye are an idiot.”

Alisdair glared at him in warning.

“Is that what ye are doin’?” Duncan asked, his expression sobering. “Keepin’ yerself unattached?”

“Exactly.”

“And how is that workin’ out for ye?”

Nae well.

Alisdair felt the urge to scream. The more he tried to avoid Isla, the more he seemed to notice her when they happened upon each other. Even when she had taken her meals alone in her room the last couple of nights, he had not been relieved, just… burdened.

Duncan braced both hands on the desk. “Listen to me, ye mindless⁠—”

“Me Laird!” a servant called through the door, interrupting him.

“Enter!” Alisdair called back, welcoming the distraction.

“Me Laird…” The servant’s eyes were wide with panic. “A rider approaches.”

Alisdair frowned. “Who is it?”

“I daenae ken, but they’re wearing Sinclair colors.”