Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isobel slipped out of bed before the sun, pulling her clothes on and wrapping her arisaid over her shoulders like a blanket. She’d been up most of the night contemplating the events of the evening before and what they meant for her future. Marriage was all but out of the question. Now that Miles had publicly rejected her, what self-respecting man would want her?

The only man she wanted was sacrificing himself for his father’s honor very soon if he hadn’t done so already.

She slumped against the cold, stone wall and watched the horizon turn a deep purple as it prepared to welcome the sun. Nothing had changed in the last few weeks, but it felt as though everything had. Isobel was still unwed, a burden on her chief, and a shadow to her friend. And above all, she was still in love with Kieran. Her feelings for him had not ceased with the healing properties of the spring, they had only magnified.

It was entirely unfair.

Twisting her hair into a low knot at the nape of her neck, Isobel watched the deep purple sky fade to the color of heather, soft pink shading the clouds.

McEwan had been underhanded in his dealings with Miles, announcing the offer of Isobel’s hand before the entire assembled clan, and she still smarted from the discomfort of that moment. She had expected more from her leader, from the man who was meant to protect and guide her, but he’d proven himself to be less. He was wrong to use her as a pawn, and she wished she’d had the strength to refuse him as soundly as Miles had last night.

Isobel straightened, pushing away from the cold stone. Why could she not be as strong as Miles? He’d stood his ground before McEwan and hadn’t been stricken to the ground or thrown out of the castle. He’d fled, but that was irrelevant. He’d surely been motivated to protect his mother.

Isobel did not need to be a shadow any longer. She had survived half of the journey to Bongary Spring alone and had learned of her own strength, but more than that, she had come to understand that it was acceptable to lean on another. Kieran’s affection for her had only magnified the warmth and comfort that swelled in her body when she was in his presence. It soothed and filled her fractured heart. Loving him had managed to heal the broken, lonely pieces within her.

Scoffing lightly, Isobel recognized with swift surety that Bongary Spring never would have worked for her. She hadn’t needed to be healed, for love was not a malady. It was love that did the healing.

Horse hooves beat against the damp earth outside, and Isobel’s attention snapped to the familiar men riding from the stables. Kieran and Ian were leaving for the duel.

She was not too late.

She could be strong, too. Bongary had not worked for her, and she was more in love with Kieran than the day she’d left on her fruitless journey. But what was more, Kieran cared for her as well.

Sneaking from the room so as not to awake Marion, Isobel hurried toward the chief’s study and knocked, hoping beyond measure that he was already awake and within his stronghold. When he bid her entrance, she walked in with her back straight and her head held high.

“I have a proposition for ye regarding Kieran Buchanan.”

McEwan’s eyebrows rose, and he indicated the seat across from him at the desk. His eyes were weary, his clothing rumpled as though he’d never gone to bed the night before.

“I will stand,” she said, but she crossed toward him and rested her shaking hands on the back of the chair. Her heart raced, and she gripped the chair tighter.

“Ye’re too late.” His voice was tired but even, and she hoped she’d been correct in her assumption that the chief would do almost anything to convince Kieran to remain. He was a good man and an excellent soldier, and McEwan relied heavily on him.

“Kieran is gone,” McEwan said. “Naething I could say would entice him to forgo the duel. Once the duel is over, he shall have to go into hiding.”

Hope bubbled in her chest, but she remained calm, willing her face not to reveal her eagerness. She was gratified that McEwan had such faith in Kieran’s abilities that he spoke as if Kieran would be victorious. Though it was awful—that killing the other man would force him into hiding—the thought of losing Kieran from this world was worse. Pink skies stretched behind McEwan through the window, and she felt the urgency of her situation. She needed to act fast.

“I believe I can convince him to forgo the duel and return to Moraigh.”

“How?”

“By marrying him.”

McEwan froze. He was likely weighing the value of offering her hand to Kieran against the other alliances he could form. But after Miles’s refusal the evening before, there was certainly no guarantee any other man would take her.

“If Kieran accepts me, we would remain at Moraigh. It is the only home I know, and he has been happy in his work here. There is naething else which would take him away.”

Greed flashed in McEwan’s eyes, and she knew she had him. If he was surprised by her candor, he did not show it. He rose, meeting her gaze. “If ye can convince Kieran to return before he kills the man and marry ye, then ye have my blessing.”

The battle was half won. Isobel bobbed a quick curtsy and fled, mindful of the long sigh trailing her from the chief as she ran down the corridor. The air outside was cold and wet, but the glorious sunrise spread overhead like spilled paint, and Isobel inhaled deeply.

Now she had to stop the duel.

* * *

Marion woke to an empty room, disappointed to find Isobel gone. But since her friend had left on the journey to Bongary Spring, Marion had figured out how to dress herself in the mornings and relied less upon Isobel, which had been good for both of them. Marion’s hair left something to be desired, but she could put it up well enough. And for the errand she had in mind that morning, her appearance wasn’t too important.

The room was dim, the sun peeking over the edge of the earth, sending pink clouds across the sky, and Marion dressed quickly. The little leather book had plagued her, and now that she was aware of its contents, she needed to make certain her mother knew as well.

Slipping quietly upstairs, she knocked lightly on her mother’s door before letting herself into the room. Mother sat up in her bed, a tray of porridge and apricots beside her on the rumpled blankets.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

Marion crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her mother. “I think Father is meddling in something unsafe.”

Mother’s jaw tightened. “What caused ye to think this?”

Marion glanced over her shoulder, ensuring the door was closed and they were alone. “I found a ledger that I canna make sense of. And Father has either kept it hidden or directly on his person, which leads me to believe it must be important, even dangerous if it is found.”

Mother’s eyes widened, her head shaking infinitesimally. “Dinna meddle with this, Marion.”

Cold fear gripped her. “Why no’?”

“Because it’s dangerous. It is much larger than ye or I, and I dinna want ye connected with it.”

“Ye ken what it is?” Marion suppressed the urge to bounce in anticipation. “Is this what ye argued about the day I hid in yer wardrobe?”

Mother’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “I willna say another word. I dinna want to be connected with it, and I refuse to allow ye to embroil yerself with something which can cost ye yer life. Promise me ye’ll let this go.”

“I’m no’ a child, Mama.”

Mother clutched her hand, squeezing her fingers. “Ye’re my child, and I willna allow ye to endanger yerself.”

Marion could see there was no ally to be found here. Her mother was firm, and she was afraid if she argued further, her mother would force her to promise to stay away from the trouble her father was meddling in. She hadn’t promised yet, and she wasn’t planning to.

She looked to the window and the haar gathering over the loch, searching for something to steer the conversation away. “All that fog looks ominous this morning.”

“Aye, and it is,” Mother said quietly. “Kieran has gone to duel in Glen Ellen.”

Marion gasped, turning away from the window. “I didna hear of this.”

Mother shook her head. “He told yer father he was leaving Moraigh when it was complete. He’ll have to go into hiding until the danger of being thrown in prison has passed. ’Tis a shame. Yer father was trying to convince Kieran to stay—he needs his help training—and I hoped he woulda offered Isobel’s hand in marriage now that everything with the Duncans has fallen through.” She sighed wistfully. “I woulda liked to plan another wedding celebration.”

Marion’s stomach sank. Was it too late? Could she ride out to Glen Ellen and stop them, tell Kieran that he should return to Moraigh and fight for Isobel’s hand? She looked to the window, to the rising sun, and suppressed the awful feeling overtaking her.

It was too late, surely.

“D’ye think Isobel woulda been pleased with the match?” Mother mused.

Marion swallowed a scoff. Aye. It was Isobel’s dream come true, and now Kieran and his ill-fated duel had ruined everything.