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“It was her favorite place,” he murmured. “She loved it here, more than the castle.”
Isla had been quick to think of this cabin as a mausoleum. It was a temple. A temple to Catherine, preserved by the man who had loved her obsessively.
“I have heard many good things about Lady Catherine.”
Gavin smiled fondly, lifting the robe to his nose. “She was just perfect,” he sighed.
“It must have been heartbreaking, losing her like that,” Isla added.
She thought that if she could find one shred of humanity in him, if she could make him consider her as a human, perhaps she would survive this ordeal. At least long enough for Alisdair to find her.
“I had lost Catherine way long before that.”
There was a distant, cold look on his face as he said it. Isla sensed something unhinged brewing beneath his calm demeanor. Her uncle had been the same—so calm and proper one moment, cruel and murderous the next. She had learned early to read the exact moment when one was about to tip into the other.
“Ye must have been truly fond of her to put all this work into preserving her favorite place.”
Truth be told, walking on eggshells was something she excelled at. But then again, if she truly wanted to survive the night locked in here with a man who had lost all connection to sanity, she would have to break some eggs.
“I wasnae just fond of her,” Gavin corrected. “I was the only one who truly loved her.”
That made her wonder. If he loved Catherine so much, why would he bring the Sinclairs into his mess? And why did he drag her and lock her in here?
“She used to sit in that armchair,” he said softly, “and embroider for hours at a time.”
“Did she ken of yer feelings?” Isla asked.
His face twisted. She’d clearly struck a nerve.
He curled his hands into fists, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “She never even saw me.”
Isla nodded in understanding. Not a grieving lover, then. No misplaced blame on Alisdair. Gavin was obsessed, had always been obsessed with a woman who had never looked at him twice.
There was no reasoning with a man like that. She had to escape.
“She was loyal to him,” he spat, startling her. “I could tell she was unhappy in their marriage. I could have freed her, but she didnae even give me a chance!”
His eyes flashed with fury, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. His fingers tightened around the robe, knuckles white.
“She was mine!” he hissed. “She was mine and was given to him.”
A madman who thinks he was owed something that was never his.
Isla knew that type. She had grown up with one.
“And ye had to watch her marry Alisdair,” she said in a sympathetic tone.
“Aye!” Gavin growled. “I had to watch her smile at a man who didnae deserve her.”
Isla nodded, her fingers slipping around the chair. She needed something, anything. She was not leaving this cabin without a fight.
She felt a loose nail. She gritted her teeth and worked at it. It would take time to pry it loose from the old wood, but it was better than nothing.
“She was always loyal to Alisdair. And then they announced that she was carrying his child.” Gavin’s face twisted with malice.
Isla pulled harder at the nail.
Keep him talking. Buy yerself more time.
