When the Laird Returns by Karen Ranney Read Free Book Online

was that he felt a kinship to Gilmuir strong enough to pay a fortune for it and marry a stranger. A man of honor, perhaps. Or one whose stubbornness was the match of her father’s.
    Her prayer was simple. Help me .
    God spoke to her, not in a booming voice, but in the sudden image of Alisdair MacRae extending his hand to her. The sun seemed to sparkle behind his beautiful eyes, and his smile was an answer of sorts.
    A man who’d helped a stranger. One whose eyes had narrowed when her father spoke of her, who had halted Drummond’s words with a curt command. A man to respect, perhaps.
    Was it enough to respect a husband? Somewhere there must be another, softer emotion, one borne of laughter and friendship.
    There were signs of love at Fernleigh, but it existed in the engaging smile of one of the maids as she waved to her sweetheart in the stables. Or when the cook kissed Angus, the carpenter, then shooed him from the kitchen with a pat on his rump.
    But there was nothing of happiness in her mother’s face and little amusement to be found in her smile. A lesson, perhaps, in that realization. Money, power, and privilege did not bring happiness.
    Today, however, her father seemed pleased enough.
    “The Drummond’s being a right pleasant sort,” one of the servant girls had remarked earlier in the corridor outside her room. “He even smiled at me when I brought him his porridge.”
    “It’s best not to trust in his good nature, Mary,” her companion cautioned. “His moods change with the wind.”
    But it seemed as if her father was not about to change his mind. She was going to be married in a matter of hours.
    Turning away from the window, Iseabal walked to the rectangular straw basket that would serve as her trunk, holding her clothing along with the necessities of her wardrobe. In the bottom were the most precious of her treasures, her sculpting tools and those pieces she’d retrieved from Robbie this morning.
    Her hands, lightly touching the flat top of the trunk, felt cold, her fingertips almost numb. But then her stomach whirred as if a thousand bees had taken up residence inside her.
    What would marriage bring?
    The sameness of her solitude, no doubt. A feeling of being alone in a vast sea of people. She would be expected to be pleasant and silent, smiling and mute. Not an appreciable difference from her current life, except for the added duty of the marriage bed. If she were lucky, her new husband would be kind. If not, she would simply accept her new existence.
    But surely there was more to life than endurance?
    She began to pace the length of her chamber, counting out the steps from one wall to the window and back again. From childhood she’d understood that the reason for a union mattered little, be it greed or pride or revenge, only that her father would choose and she would obey.
    But it did not mean that she welcomed the future. She knew life at Fernleigh, accepted it as she did the changing of the seasons. Even her father’s rages and the unforeseen nature of his cruelty were expected. She had learned the confines of her life as well as she knew the dimensions of her chamber.
    Her mother entered the room suddenly, her face wreathed in a bright smile. In her arms she held a petticoat decorated with thin yellow stripes, and a dark blue shortgown, or jacket.
    “I’ve finished,” her mother said, spreading the garments carefully over the bed. On the cuffs of the coat and on the hem of the petticoat, Leah had embroidered tiny thistles and stalks of heather. A neckerchief of pale yellow, fastened with the Drummond brooch and her mother’s blue beads, would complete her wedding attire.
    Iseabal traced a finger over the silk threads, feeling the mist of tears. Perhaps she would cry after all.
    “You must have been up all night,” she said, talking past the constriction in her throat.
    “My daughter is being married,” Leah said softly. “I would gladly do as much a thousand times over.”
    Iseabal