Page 23 of Dark Side of the Laird
“Well, I’ll be honest.” She whirled. “I am.”
To say I was shocked was an understatement. I kept my mouth clamped firmly closed, afraid of how I might comment. I was ready to toss her out the window to be done with her games. Emma didn’t play games. She was clear and to the point.
Isabella smiled, though it was rough around the edges. “Ye see, my laird, this is not what I want either. I was perfectly content at my family’s seat. Perfectly content to flirt with warriors and dance at feasts and walk the gardens of my mother’s home. But now I’m here. Told I must marry a man I know nothing about other than he’s a fierce and callous man and everyone seems to hate him.”
I narrowed my eyes, not trusting her sudden change in attitude. She walked to the window and stared out—almost longingly. I wasn’t buying it.
“I dinna want to be here,” she whispered. “I dinna want to marry ye.”
“Then why did ye not tell the king?”
A sad smile formed on her thin lips. “’Tis not my choice. My uncle has deemed it so. My mother’s brother rules our house. And he petitioned the king who agreed. What am I to do? What am I to say? Nothing. I must comply.” She cast me a pitiful look. “Imagine when I arrived to find ye already in love how much further I sank into despair. I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused Lady Emma. ’Twas not because I have an evil soul, I swear it.”
All lies. The devil could take lessons from her. “Ye would have me believe that ye’re sincere?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at her hard, trying to see into the depths of her dark and cunning eyes.
“Aye. I pray ’tis so.”
I scowled, detesting the way she attempted to play me for a fool. “And what would ye have me do?”
She shrugged and her dress slipped slightly off her shoulder. “I suppose ye’ll fight every step of the way not to marry me.”
I nodded.
“Then spare me the embarrassment of doing so and…”
“And what?”
Her eyes lit up as though she’d just come up with a grand scheme. “Handfast to me,” she said in a rush. “We’ll not lie together, and after the year ye can send me home on the grounds of never conceiving. Ye’ll need an heir. I won’t tell.”
I shook my head. “There is no plan that leaves ye here for a year that I’ll agree to.”
“Why?” she pouted.
“Ye’re not dense. I’m certain ye can figure that answer out.”
“My uncle,” she stated with a frown.
“For one.”
“Then what do ye suggest?”
“I will reason with the king.”
She nodded, looking off into the distance as if contemplating what he said. “Will he be reasoned with?”
I shrugged. Even if Hell froze over I wouldn’t discuss my political strategies with this she-devil.
“A drink, then,” she said. “Please.” Lady Isabella eyed the whisky. “Do not men bond over a drink?”
“I’ll not get sotted like your guards.”
She laughed, and let the dress slip a little more down her other shoulder as she headed toward the whisky. I did not appreciate her attempts to seduce me.
“I did find that to be rather out of sorts. But I promise I’m not asking for it. Simply a promise over a drink,” she said.
“And what promise is that?” I asked, guarded once more.
“That ye won’t…dispose of me in a way other than sending me back north.”
