I would like that. My thanks, Laria,’ Isobel said.
‘And you touch nothing without my saying so.’
‘Certainly.’ Isobel lifted the latch on the door. ‘I will come on the morrow then.’
At once pleased and puzzled, Isobel gained her bearings and headed back through the forest towards the keep in the distance. Passing some, she offered greetings as she walked back. All were friendly, many having seen her pass this way earlier with Athdar and some whom she had met when they’d visited Lairig Dubh with their laird on previous occasions. She did not remember all the names, but a number of faces were familiar to her.
She arrived at the gates and was waved through by the guards watching from their posts. Everything along the way was pleasant and welcoming and she saw her mother sitting with Lady Jocelyn and other women at the end of the hall.
So, if all was well, why did she feel the distinct chill coursing through her bones? Why did it feel as though someone had just walked on her grave?
Chapter Four
Jocelyn sat with Margriet and several of her own cousins in the hall, all of them working to repair a large tapestry. It had always been one of her favourites, a scene that included figures of all the animals that inhabited the forests and lakes in the surrounding area. As a child, she would look at this on the wall and make up stories about all the animals, giving them names and occupations. She’d noticed the damaged and fraying corners on her last visit and took advantage of this one to work on it.
This was one disadvantage of Athdar being without a wife—there were simply some things that a woman needed to see to in the keep and village. One of their cousins had stepped in, and oversaw the keep and the duties of chatelaine, working along with Broc. And Laria served as healer and watched over the village concerns.
But Athdar needed a wife. His clan, their clan, needed their laird to marry.
More than that, her brother deserved a lasting happiness. Her heart ached for all he’d lost and all he lived without and the fact that he wanted it, but would not allow himself to hope for it, tore her soul in pieces. That was the reason she had decided it was time to meddle here. Winning or losing the matchmaking challenge between her friends and their husbands meant nothing to her in the face of Athdar’s continued pain and unhappiness.
Everyone deserved the chance for a family. If her husband, the Beast of the Highlands, had found redemption, her brother should, too.
‘Do you think this is wise, then?’ Margriet asked her quietly as they passed threads around the circle of women embroidering. The other women spoke amongst themselves, carrying on conversations about their tasks and their families.
‘Should you even be asking me that question? You know our agreement,’ Jocelyn said, smiling at her friend.
‘You broke all the rules when you brought me along on this mission of yours,’ Margriet replied, resting her hands on her lap and pausing in their work. ‘You cannot expect me to sit back and observe when my daughter is part of your plot.’
‘Margriet, there is no plot. We know Isobel is attracted to Athdar and he to her. I wanted to see if there is any true spark before encouraging this match to proceed.’
‘But he has sworn not to marry again. How do you think to overcome that?’ Margriet asked.
‘I think the better question would be how do we get your husband to accept a marriage between them? Neither one has got over their incident.’ Margriet blanched at Jocelyn’s words, her pale skin going even whiter at the mention of her husband.
Rurik and Athdar’s first meeting and the altercation that followed Athdar’s stupid behaviour and insults had led to Jocelyn’s forced marriage. For some male reason, the eventual happy outcome between her and Connor had not smoothed the road between two of the important men in her life and her connected family. Each of them gave the other the respect they deserved due to their roles and positions, but it was a begrudging deference and nothing more.
‘He is protective of her,’ Margriet said. ‘He did not take Connor’s suggestions for possible matches any better. Rurik yet sees her as a child. If he has time to consider the good things about a marriage between them...’ Her words drifted off into silence as they each contemplated Rurik’s reaction.
Jocelyn snorted first, laughing aloud, and then Margriet joined her, gaining the full attention of the rest of the women there. Greeting their puzzled looks with a shrug, Jocelyn waited until everyone had returned to their own conversations before speaking again.
‘Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?’ Jocelyn asked in a whispering voice, not really wanting an answer.
If Tavis MacLerie had asked permission to marry Marian and Duncan’s daughter Ciara, it would have been refused. If Ciara’s betrothed had asked permission to break their arranged marriage to marry another, it would have been refused. Sometimes it was better to take matters into your own hands than doing the proper, formal thing.
‘That may be premature, Jocelyn. We do not even ken if this is anything more than a mere attraction between them. If my daughter is to marry, I want her to be happy in that marriage.’
‘True. Which is the reason I invited her, and you, on this visit. To see how they are together. In a place where he is in charge and not affected by Connor’s, or Rurik’s, presence. To see the real man that Athdar is.’
They fell back into companionable silence and worked on the tapestry for some time before seeing Isobel enter the hall. Jocelyn had been pleased when her brother offered to escort Isobel himself to the healer’s cottage and from the blush in her cheeks and smile on her face, it had been a good idea.
‘Lady Jocelyn,’ Isobel said, with a bow of her head as she approached. ‘Mother.’
Margriet held out a needle and threads to Isobel, who took them and sat on a chair next to her. Isobel’s skills with a needle were excellent, but her other talents were more impressive and would be a boon for any man lucky enough to wed her. She had a level head, was intelligent and kind. She had grown into one of the best chess players amongst those in the family who played, beating her father and Marian with ease now. That demonstrated her logical mind and ability to see how things worked and progressed.
‘Did Laria have anything to say?’ she asked.
‘Nay, not much. I told her if there was anything else she needed, to speak to you.’ Isobel lifted the material closer to her and then glanced up at Jocelyn. ‘She is not a friendly person, is she?’
‘Nay, she is not,’ Jocelyn answered. ‘But she is skilful and has always worked for the good of the clan.’
She watched as Isobel absorbed the meaning of her words. Laria’s temperament had never been the same after losing her two children, but what woman would be unchanged by such tragedy? Still, she worked tirelessly to provide herbs and medicaments to anyone in need. Jocelyn’s father and Athdar after him always provided Laria with a living so that she able to continue her work.
‘Her gardens must be impressive when in full bloom,’ Isobel said. ‘I asked if she will teach me about her work while I am here.’
‘Did you?’ Margriet asked, putting down her needlework. ‘Why? You have never shown an interest
