Page 4 of Taming the Highland Misfits
She cast one glance behind her to see his face, almost purple with fury, glaring at her as he limped along with one hand holding an injured knee, the other clenched in a fist and waving in the air. Isla almost laughed out loud, but restrained herself and focussed on riding out of the big front gate of their mansion to freedom.
In front of the guarded grounds of the big house sprawled miles of open countryside, populated only by hundreds of sheep and dotted with the occasional farm cottage. To its eastern side lay the town of Inverblane. It was a mixture of cottages, little shops and businesses, and the big houses of prosperous merchants and sea captains.
As it was situated on the north side of Aberdeen on the North Sea coast, wild winds constantly battered the town and the lands around it. Even now the trees were howling in protest as they were tossed willy-nilly in the gale. There was rain in the air; Isla could see it in the dark grey clouds above her that were scudding speedily across the sky, propelled by the same gusts that were blowing into her face as she rode along towards the town.
Isla relished the wind in her face; it gave her something to fight against, something to distract her from the thought of the hostile forces gathering around her. Her father was a brute and a bully, but he was the least of her worries. She knew that her betrothed, Iain Crawford, the tavern keeper’s son, was weak-willed and feeble-minded when drunk, which was most of the time.
However, he was a big man with a reputation for aggressiveness, and he could inflict whatever kind of violence he wished on her; marriage would be his shield, since women had few rights once the vows had been said. Once they had lain with each other the institution would protect him since the marriage could no longer be annulled, and she would effectively become his property.
The very thought made her feel nauseous. She could not and would not sacrifice her virginity to that loathsome slug. Her mother would never have forced her to; she knew that for a fact, even though she had died before Isla’s tenth birthday.
Isla smiled as she remembered a day when she and her mother had been playing on the shore, collecting seashells and interesting stones for Isla to display on her windowsill. She had made Isla put on her strongest, stoutest pair of leather boots, because some of the shells had broken and jagged edges.
“I cannot tell you how many times I cut myself standing on seashells,” she had said once, letting out a long sigh. “My mother had a special pair of shoes made for me so that I would not come home bleeding every time I went to the seaside!”
Isla had giggled. She could not imagine her elegant mother as a little girl with bleeding, dirty feet. However, Edina had assured her that she had been a girl once.
“Were you naughty sometimes?” she had asked. “Like me?”
Edina laughed and hugged her, then kissed her forehead. “Oh, no!” she had answered, “I wasmuchworse than you. Do you know that I once found a wee frog and put it in my Nanny’s bed? I did it to make her laugh, but she screamed and jumped out of bed, then started to cry. She cried for a long, long time and I felt terrible.”
Isla stared at her mother, her eyes wide. She could not imagine her doing anything so dreadful. Looking back, Isla realised that she had always been a happy, innocent child until she lost the one person who had meant the world to her.
“Why do I not have a nanny?” she had wondered. “My friends all have one.”
Her mother had given her a tender smile as she rubbed her hand over the top of her daughter’s silky hair. “Because I could not bear to share you with anyone,” she had answered. “You are too precious to me.”
Isla had hugged her mother tightly. She could still remember her scent; a mixture of lavender water and something else warm and earthy that was all her own. In fact, every time she smelled lavender, a stab of pain would assail her. Isla missed her mother every second of every day, but for some reason, the pain was worse today. Perhaps because it was close to the anniversary of her death.
She climbed down from Raffy and draped her reins loosely over a hitching post, then went into the fabric seller who did business on the main street. She was well-known there since her father sold them wool, and she was on friendly terms with the staff. She had no particular reason for going there other than to kill a bit of time chatting with the owners, but she could hardly say that to them.
As soon as she entered, a big, grey, hairy dog of indeterminate breed came to meet her, barking a joyous greeting. Isla knelt down, allowing her face to be washed by a huge wet canine tongue. She giggled heartily as she screwed her eyes shut to keep the dog’s saliva out of them.
“Hello, Jack,” she said indulgently. “Are you pleased to see me?”
She stood up and ran her hands through the animal’s rough grey fur. Jack’s tail was wagging so fast and so hard that it was almost a blur. Isla felt a wave of love and a stab of jealousy as she looked at him. In some ways it must be wonderful to be an animal; his needs were simple and few. Jack would never have to concern himself about the following day, because he lived in the here and now with no concept of the future. He would never have to worry about being forced into a disastrous marriage. He had enough to eat, a roof over his head, and people who loved him. What more did he need to keep him happy? He was just a dog, and at that moment, Isla envied him.
She straightened up, still laughing at Jack’s antics, then remembered that she had to invent a reason for visiting the shop.
“Mornin’, Mistress Thomson.” A small, round-faced woman in her middle years appeared behind the counter and smiled at her. “My goodness, our Jack is fair fond o’ you!”
“And I am fond of him too,” Isla said, smiling as she scratched the top of the big hound’s head. “I think I need a big dog like him to keep me company.”
May Moffat, the owner of the shop, laughed. “Well, ye are no’ havin’ my Jack!” she said firmly. She was not afraid; Jack was a member of her family who would never leave her.
“Is there anythin’ I can do for ye, Mistress?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“Yes, thank you, May,” Isla replied. “I need a yard of linen suitable for embroidery, and some threads too.”
“I didnae know ye sewed,” May said, surprised, as she went to fetch the goods Isla had asked for.
“I have a lot of free time these days and I need something to occupy my hands.”
May, who knew Isla’s situation, looked at her pityingly. It was clear that she did not need embroidery threads. She needed to escape. “Mistress,” May said cautiously, “it might no’ be my place tae say, an’ please tell me if I am speakin’ out o’ turn, but I couldnae help noticin’ that somethin’ is worryin’ ye. If ye ever need a friend tae talk tae, I am here, an’ anythin’ ye say tae me will stay between us, I swear.”
Isla smiled but shook her head. “Thank you, May, but that will not be necessary.” She bent down and patted Jack’s head again. “I always feel a bit sad when the anniversary of my mother’s death is near.”
“Oh, I see,” May replied. “I remember her. Such a lovely lady.”
