Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton
Chapter Twenty
Isobel had borrowed one of Marion’s gowns for the evening, and the vivid purple fabric was just the right shade to highlight the color in her cheeks without making her pale skin pallid, like Marion’s yellow and red dresses both had done. She allowed her friend to gather her hair high on her crown, curling a lock and draping it over her shoulder. Marion offered the use of her few cosmetics, but Isobel feared they would make her look like the wrong sort of lady and refused them. Her cheeks were warm from her anxiety, already giving them the appearance of a little added rouge.
“Are ye nervous?” Marion asked, gripping her by the shoulders and staring into her eyes with wide intensity.
“Aye. I canna help but think of seeing Miles beside the creek and his complete unawareness of who I was. Am I a fool for agreeing to this match?”
Marion wrinkled her nose. She was likely thinking the same as Isobel, that she had no choice in the matter. “Perhaps he was too busy to remember. Why was he in the forest?”
Isobel paused. “I dinna ken. I didna ask.”
A smile curved Marion’s lips. “Yet ye’re so offended by his lack of acknowledging ye. For all ye ken, he could be offended that ye didna ask his business.”
“It was his land,” Isobel said in defense, though the point was justly made. She pressed her hands to her tight stomach, wishing the pressure would relieve some of her worries.
“Shall we go down?” Marion asked kindly.
Isobel nodded. She followed Marion to the corridor and down the spiral staircase, her anxiety growing with the rise in volume as she made her way toward the great hall. They paused on the floor above, the walkway before them open to the hall below with a clear view of the tables laden with platters of meat, dishes of jellies, pies, and rolls.
“Do ye see him?” Marion asked, snaking her arm through Isobel’s and pulling her close. She gasped lightly, pointing to the man and woman being led to the table of honor by her father. “Is that him?”
“Aye,” Isobel whispered. Miles had a kind smile. She had noticed that about him at the creek, and she could see it plainly now. He was genially listening to something McEwan was saying, his hand around the arm of the woman at his side, an older woman with white hair and the same kind eyes.
“Is that his mother?”
“She appears to be,” Isobel said.
“Shall we go down and ask?”
Isobel laughed, tearing her gaze away from Miles and squeezing her friend’s arm. Her gaze swept the hall quickly as they turned to descend the stairs, and she tried not to feel disappointed that she didn’t see Kieran. She shook the thought away. Tonight she would be formally meeting her husband. Bongary or not—she needed to let Kieran go.
The table of honor had two remaining empty seats when they approached, located on opposite ends, though the two matrons present claimed the very end seats. McEwan was flanked by his guests of honor, his brother Brian, and the Duncan laird Miles, and gave the women no sign of noticing their arrival.
Marion’s mother rose to greet them. Her beautiful smile was somewhat strained, and Isobel looked past it, finding Miles beside an empty seat, the older, white-haired woman just on the other side, making up the end.
“Ye’ll be beside me, Marion,” her mother said, guiding her away to the seat in between herself and Simon.
McEwan watched Isobel closely as she passed before him, and she was discomfited by his attention. She pulled the chair out, and Miles glanced up, his vibrant eyes widening when he caught her gaze.
He seemed to recover from his surprise quickly, helping to push her chair in as she sat. “We meet again, Miss McEwan.”
“Aye.” At least the man had remembered her name. Though, it was hard to forget in this castle. “I find it odd that ye’re surprised by that.”
“I shouldn’t be,” he agreed. “I’ve had a lot on my mind of late. Ye did mention that I’d see ye here.”
“But ye didna ken that I would be in the seat beside yers.”
He smiled. “I hadna realized I would be so fortunate as that.”
Isobel fought the small grin on her lips and glanced up to the rest of the tables, her rebellious gaze searching for Kieran in the sea of merrymakers. Never before had she seen the great hall so lively nor the table of honor so full. She was glad to be at the far end, away from Simon and his father. She never had a good feeling around either of the Kilgannon McEwans.
Miles shifted to speak to the chief, leaving Isobel to pick quietly at the fowl and bannocks on her plate. She could reach for a number of different pies, jellies, or meat, but her stomach was in knots.
She faced the woman on her right. “I’m sorry I havna had the privilege of an introduction, but I am Isobel McEwan.”
The woman turned the same kind, blue eyes on Isobel that Miles possessed, and she felt instantly comforted, as though this woman’s eyes were a lighthouse in a tumultuous storm, quietly anchoring her.
“Mrs. Duncan, lass. I wouldna expect ye to ken who I am.”
“’Tis a pleasure, Mrs. Duncan,” Isobel said, dipping her head softly.
“The pleasure is mine.” Mrs. Duncan took a sip of her wine before turning back to her dinner.
“Are ye enjoying Dulnain?”
“Oh, aye,” Mrs. Duncan said. “The loch is beautiful. It is so peaceful.”
That was an interesting choice of word. Peaceful. Isobel eyed the woman before returning to her meal, picking at her bannock and sipping her wine. She agreed that Loch Gileach was a beautiful place, but to call these lands peaceful meant the woman was either ignorant or too hopeful, neither of which were safe.
“How are ye related to the chief?” Miles asked, surprising her.
Isobel had been lost in thought, pushing her food about her plate as she considered the older woman beside her. She set the fork down, folding her hands in her lap. “Distantly, aye. My father was his cousin.”
“Was?”
Isobel didn’t clarify. “I’ve spent a large portion of my life at this castle. I’m glad I’ll always live nearby.”
He nodded absently. “Have ye a beau?”
She looked at him sharply. McEwan must have heard the question, for he looked at her, his eyes born of steel. Isobel swallowed. Something was most certainly off about this arrangement.
“Nay,” she said, bringing her glass to her lips again. At this rate, the wine she was using to distract herself was going to steal her wits for the evening. She set the glass down, folding her hands again and willing them to remain still.
“’Tis hard to believe,” Miles said, shooting her a kind smile. “Such a lovely lass as yerself.”
She would have thought him attempting to charm her, but he lacked the edge of suggestion that shaded a compliment with vulgarity. He merely appeared to be kind.
She smiled at him then, her heart opening up to the idea of marriage to this kind man. She was unsure exactly what their situation was, beyond the truth that McEwan wished for this match, deeply, but she was prepared to accept that Miles Duncan was nothing like the men who’d torched her house and stolen her parents from her much too soon. He did not appear to be the sort of person who would purposefully hurt a dog, let alone another human, and Isobel was grateful that it was he who was lined up to become her husband and not a brute.
Kieran stepped into the great hall and stood by the door, his hand clasping his wrist in front of him in a lazy, patient stance. He watched McEwan, his mouth firmly refusing to show any emotion, and Isobel’s stomach flipped over.
Drat the man. Must he arrive at the precise moment that Isobel was coming to terms with her future? His gaze slid to her, and she cursed silently. His eyes were fierce, and the feel of his lips under hers came to her unbidden, flashing in her mind with no provocation. She sucked in a breath, tearing her gaze away, and forced herself to focus on Miles.
“Do ye often go to the forest so far north of yer estate?”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “I ken the oddity of my behavior, but I’ve decided to journey to each house that lives within the bounds of Dulnain and meet each person under my care.”
Isobel’s eyebrows shot up. “For what purpose?”
He shrugged. “So I might better meet their needs in the future, and so I can report their wellbeing to my chief.”
Isobel was impressed. She wanted to ask more about his plans, but McEwan stood, calling attention from everyone in the room. The din quieted, every face in the room giving him their attention.
“Join me in welcoming our guests, Brian and Simon McEwan of Kilgannon.” He gestured toward his brother and nephew, and the room roared, shouts and whoops bouncing off the high, stone ceiling. McEwan stood proudly, waiting for the room to quiet before he gestured to Miles. “And join me in giving a hearty welcome to Miles Duncan, Laird of Dulnain.”
The men hollered, but the sound was less jovial than the McEwans received. It was to be expected, but Isobel hurt for Miles’s cooler greeting all the same. Kieran shouted, and she was grateful he’d joined in for Miles. His lackluster praise for Brian and Simon was obvious to her, but she was certain it had gone unnoticed by all others.
McEwan commanded the room again, lifting an arm and silence fell immediately. “Did anyone believe there would come a day when we welcomed a Duncan into our home?”
Murmuring met him, and he gave it a moment before continuing. He was usually eloquent, and tonight McEwan was putting on a performance. That much was absolutely clear, but Isobel didn’t understand why.
“Not just any Duncan sits at my table tonight. We have the man who has the power to put this feud to rest. Miles Duncan, should he so choose, has my blessing to wed one of our own, to unite our clans, and in so doing unite the lands and end the controversy that has plagued us for too long and stolen too many lives.” He turned, smiling kindly at Miles, though there was a decided calculation in his gaze.
Miles went rigid, his knuckles whitening over the handle of his dinner knife. He didn’t appear as pleased with this situation as Isobel expected, and that further drove home the truth she’d considered earlier: Miles had not made an agreement to marry her.
She wondered if he’d made any agreement of marriage with McEwan at all.
“It is my fortune to present to ye Isobel McEwan.” McEwan crossed to the back of her chair and pulled it out so she could rise, and she stood on uncertain legs, every pair of eyes in the room on her. “If it be pleasing to ye to end this feud, of course, ye have my blessing and the pride of Moraigh.”
McEwan stepped away, and the room fell silent. Isobel’s cheeks heated, and she found a pillar to focus on in the distance, unwilling to meet anyone’s gaze. She would only be met with disdain from Miles, surely, and pity from anyone else. She longed to close her eyes, to pretend this was not happening.
It was no small wonder McEwan had stressed the importance of Isobel attending this wretched dinner. He’d planned to set her on a platter before her enemy and publicly force Miles’s hand in marriage. If Miles refused him now, he was ultimately saying that he did not sanction peace between their clans. McEwan had made that abundantly clear.
No one refused a treaty with McEwan and continued toward peace. It was unheard of. The man was prideful to a fault.
Miles stood, and the room grew so quiet Isobel could hear herself breathing.
“I thank ye for the great honor ye’ve bestowed upon me. It is with peace in mind that my mother and I attend this dinner, and we hope for a harmonious future between our clans.” Miles avoided Isobel’s gaze, smiling instead at the McEwans situated around the tables before them. He didn’t address the marriage, and Isobel’s heart pounded heavily, fear creeping in.
If Miles refused her, would McEwan blame Isobel?
“Must ye return home,” McEwan asked, “or can I tempt ye to remain and sample my whisky?”
A beat too long passed before Miles responded. “I’m fond of whisky. I can be persuaded to remain for a drink. If my mother does not object?” He looked her way, and she shook her head, though Isobel found it odd. What man ever asked permission from his mother? Based on McEwan’s expression, he found it strange as well.
But he was clearly trying to salvage the evening, and he ushered Miles away. McEwan paused, shooting a look back at Isobel. “Join us.”
She nodded, turning immediately to do as she was bid. Passing Kieran as she left the great hall, she glanced up, and his steady gaze held hers. He looked angry, and she wondered why, but she was only a few steps behind McEwan, and she couldn’t stop and ask.
She felt his gaze linger on her back as she walked away, and she had the oddest notion that her night was only beginning.