Page 14 of Dark Side of the Laird
After traveling five-hundred years back in time, I was liable to believe anything. Given the number of threats made against myself and Logan since I arrived, it would probably be smart if I did trust my body’s warnings.
I dusted my hands of dirt and stood, turning in a circle slowly as I observed those in the garden. The same clanswomen I worked with each and every day labored tirelessly. Some bent over in the dirt as I’d been, others carrying baskets. A couple of the castle dogs wandered in the pathways, getting pats from a few and swats from others. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. There were no strangers—no Lady Isabella, in particular.
So why did it feel like I was—
There—in the shadows by the wall, near the gate where a path led from the gardens to the inner bailey at the front of the castle stood a figure in shadows. The sun glinted in just the right way so I couldn’t see who it was—but I had a good idea.
Isabella.
So she was there after all. Damn.
I put my hands over my eyes, shading the sun and the outline of her gown came into view. She was spying on me, quite obviously. She made no move to leave after I’d seen her. A shiver stole down my spine, curling its way around my middle. For some reason, I feared her presence more than I’d feared anyone else’s the entire time I’d been there. More than the men who attacked the castle on numerous occasions. More than the king who wished to take me to his bed. More than the dark and cold shifts of air in the secret chamber buried fifty feet below the castle. This woman stood for all that could undo me.
She had the king’s blessing. She had the backing of her evil, powerful uncle. She knew more about this country, this castle, the workings of society than I did, and she was playing by society’s rules.
I was a harlot in her eyes, and she meant to dispose of me. Question was, would she win?
I frowned and removed my hand from shading my eyes. I couldn’t let her win, but I needed some way to push her out. Some way to win this silent battle.
“What’s got ye looking so stern?” Cook said as she sidled up to me.
I glanced at her, watching her stiffen as she saw where I looked. But when I looked back, Isabella was gone and the gate was shifting closed.
“Her, I see,” Cook said.
“Yes. Her.”
“Dinna fash about her, lass. The laird willna take her to wed.”
I cocked my head, suddenly interested. “Why do you say that?”
“She’s kin of the MacDonald of course.”
I was a little disappointed at her answer, hoping she would have given me more than that. Like maybe I was better, or Isabella sucked ass. I nodded. “Does that matter if the king has decided they should be married?”
Cook grunted in disgust. “Dinna underestimate his lairdship. He’s often led the king away from disaster. He but needs to coddle the man a bit more.” She turned away from the gate and met my eyes, her expression thoughtful. I’d never seen her this way before. Cook was all about orders and people doing what she told them. Now it appeared she looked at me as though we were friends. “He’ll need all the support he can get, my lady, if ye know my meaning.”
I thought I did, but one never knew when dealing with people five hundred years in the past. Some things seemed to get lost in the translation. “I’m not sure I do.”
“Might I speak out of turn?” she asked, sidling closer so that no one could overhear us.
“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice just as hushed as hers.
“Ye love Laird Grant, do ye nay?”
I swallowed, frowning and crossing my arms over my chest. “I suppose I’ve been more obvious about it than I thought.”
“We can all see it in the way ye look at him.” She smiled. “He is a mighty fine warrior.”
“That he is.” I nodded.
“If ye love him, dinna let him go.”
I smoothed out my apron, though there wasn’t a wrinkle in it. “I’m not sure I’ll have a choice in the matter. King’s wishes and all.”
“Well, now,” she scoffed. “If we all thought that way, what a sorry mess we’d be. Show him what ye have to offer. Prove to him that he’ll be better for it. Sometimes a man needs a swift kick in the arse to move forward with what is right. They like to mull it over. Seems the only time I’ve ever seen a man jump to do anything was when they were threatened by the enemy face to face.”
A soft chuckle escaped me. My arms fell to my sides. “I guess they like to make sure when they finally act that they’ve made the right decisions.”
