Authors: Stephanie Sterling
“Where’s Ross then?” Roan groaned, looking around the hall for his newly appointed tanist. People certainly didn’t seem to be gathered as if waiting for a new round of speeches to begin.
“Ah, aye, well -” Isla stuttered, the color in her cheeks darkened.
One corner of Roan’s mouth rose in a half smile. He raised a curious eyebrow. “Aye?” he prompted, when Isla seemed disinclined to continue.
“I may,
possibly
, have been mistaken about that,” she muttered.
“About what?” Roan grinned, but he had worked it out by now. “Ye would nae have lied to yer Laird now would ye?” he chuckled. Isla blinked up at him sweetly.
“Why? What’s the punishment for lying to one’s Laird?” she cooed.
..ooOOoo..
The trial of Tavish MacEantach took place the following morning. He was, of course, found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. The sentence was to take place two days after the trial, to give Tavish the time to prepare for his fate, to send for a Cameron priest if he chose, and to give the MacRae’s time to erect the gallows.
It was not, Roan reflected grimly afterward, the best way he could have started his Lairdship.
“He knew, everyone knew,” Ian was saying, as he sat with his sister, drinking tea after being invited to visit with her. She’d said that she wanted to spend as much time with her brother as she could before he returned to Castle Cameron. Ian suspected that she just wanted the gossip. “Before they even led him in, everyone knew.”
“What do ye mean? That twas nae a fair trial?” Isla frowned. She couldn’t believe that Roan would be guilty of such a crime, no matter what the circumstances.
“Nae, I dinna mean that, Carrot,” Ian shrugged, and helped himself to a biscuit. “Twas hardly an impartial court that Tavish had to face, but even Donaid and I accept that he’s guilty.” Isla watched her brother’s face darken. His skin was still mottled with bruises. “Stupid bastard,” he spat, helping himself to a second biscuit, and not minding his language at all in front of his sister.
“And how - how was he?” Isla asked, she had a most morbid curiosity about the whole affair. She couldn’t help feeling a little responsible in some ways, and she couldn’t quite forget that she had once had feelings for the condemned man - that was why she was questioning Ian and not Roan.
Her brother finished his current mouthful of food thoughtfully. “He’s -” Ian paused and washed down the crumbs with a great gulp of tea. “Tis almost like he’s already dead,” he said gravely. “His body is there, but his mind is not with us anymore.” Ian shrugged his board shoulders. “I’m not saying he does nae deserve it. Tis just hard to watch.”
Isla nodded her head quickly and leaned forward a little in her seat. “I - I ken I should nae do, but I - I feel sorry for him” she confessed nervously. “Is that wrong?” she blurted. Ian’s hand had stopped midway to the plate of biscuits.
“Of course nae.” He gave her knee a brotherly pat. “It just means yer human,” he paused. “Although, I dinna ken ye want to go telling Roan that ye still have feelings for yer old fiancé - who attacked ye and killed the man’s surrogate father, along with two dozen other members of his clan…”
“I dinna have feelings for him!” Isla wailed, and then glared. “Oh for goodness sake, just take the plate, Ian,” she snapped, tired of vying for her brother’s attention with a pile of shortbread.
Ian coughed and settled back in his chair. “Ye do - maybe nae
those
kinds of feelings,” he qualified quickly, seeing the look on his sister’s face. “But Tavish was an integral part of yer life for a number of years. Ye might very well hate him - but that will nae make things any easier.”
“Thanks, Ian,” Isla sighed sarcastically. “Tis just what I wanted to hear.”
After Ian left, Isla found herself wandering down to the stables. She hadn’t had the chance to ride in ages, and the pretty mare Roan had bought for her when he was still trying to regain her good graces was probably impatient for some much needed exercise. Besides, a good ride would hopefully give Isla a chance to blow the cobwebs and confusion from her own mind. At least, that was what she was hoping.
She waited in the castle courtyard while the groom saddled her mount, trying to stop her thoughts from becoming too depressed. What right did she have, after all, to feel gloomy and miserable when it was Tavish who was facing the gallows?
Sighing heavily, Isla didn’t even notice when the groom arrived with her mare. He gave a gentle little cough and Isla came to her senses, apologizing quickly and allowing the young man to help her up into the saddle.
“Off for a ride?” called a voice that Isla knew well. She smiled tentatively and nodded as Roan appeared from out of one of the adjacent buildings. Her husband sighed wistfully, and glanced out of the castle gates. “I wish I could join ye,” he declared earnestly, which earned him a stern sounding cough from the elderly gentleman who was following in his wake.
“But duty calls?” Isla supplied for him. She felt a guilt tingle of relief when Roan nodded. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts to work out her feelings. “But I’ll see ye this evening?” she added, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts indefinitely.
“
Hopefully
,” Roan grumbled, shooting a disgruntled look in the direction of the gray-headed man who was accompanying him - and was standing tapping his foot quite pointedly now. “Enjoy yer ride then, Isla. Be careful,” he said, looking with longing as his wife and the groom trotted out of the courtyard.
Enjoy her ride
… Isla wasn’t sure about that, everything seemed shrouded in shades of gray, all the color of the countryside seemed to be dimmed, and all of the sounds muted. She could almost believe that the shadow of death loitered over the land of the MacRae’s, watching and waiting to strike.
Isla rode for longer than she meant to, it wasn’t until her groom murmured something about them heading back before it got dark that she even realized how long they’d been out. Time had lost its meaning. She was waiting with Tavish for the final moment of judgment. She hated the connection she felt with the man, but she couldn’t seem to sever it.
She wanted to confide in her husband. Roan had this almost magical ability of being able to set things right, but Ian had warned her against discussing the matter with her husband, and she was inclined to trust his judgment on this occasion. What could Roan do after all?
Nothing.
Her husband couldn’t do anything. That was the conclusion Isla was forced to reach. Roan had done what he had to do, and that was why Tavish was facing the gallows. Isla spent the remainder of the day, and the whole of the one that followed, feeling distanced from her husband.
As she slipped into bed the following evening, Isla couldn’t help but watch the clock. It was only a matter of hours now. Tavish was to be hung at dawn. Isla wondered how he would pass his last night. Somehow she didn’t think that she would be able to sleep. She doubted that he would manage to either.
“Roan?” she whispered, pushing back the quilt covers and suddenly getting back out of bed.
“Mmm?” He lifted his head with a murmur from the book that he was reading by the fire.
“I want to go and see him.”
“Ye want to go and see -” Roan began to ask, but realization hit him before he could get the whole sentence out. “Nae!” he barked, snapping the book shut.
“Roan, please?” Isla begged. “I have to I - I canna explain, tis something I need to do. If I dinna then I ken I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Roan. Please?” she begged him. She watched him frown, and then took a hesitant step forward when he stood up and turned away from her, moving towards the fire.
“Isla, I canna let ye,” he said, in a soft, strained voice. “Nae now. Maybe if ye’d asked earlier,” he looked at the clock on the mantle. “Twould be cruel to disturb him this late,” he grunted.
“But Roan I need -”
“What do ye need, Isla?” he snapped, turning so swiftly he caught his wife by surprise. “Closure?”
“I - I dinna ken, perhaps?” she mumbled weakly.
“Because tis a man’s life we’re talking about, Isla,” he said harshly. “I’m nae going to let ye go down to see MacEantach and kindle his hope, or his lust, or his anger - his hatred, whatever it might be - just because ye think that it might make ye feel better.”
“That’s nae fair, Roan!” Isla squeaked, but it her heart she knew that there was some truth to what her husband was saying. It wasn’t comfort that she wanted to give Tavish, or forgiveness, it was peace of mind that she wanted to take from him, and she was afraid Roan was right, it was wrong of her. “I - I just dinna ken what to do to stop it from crushing me,” she cried, taking a wary step forward and then accepting Roan’s embrace when he offered it to her.
“Poor darling,” he whispered against her hair, rocking her in his arms as though she was a child. “Time will heal this pain,” he promised sagely. “Until then ye have to bear it.”
“And if I canna?” she croaked.
“Ye can,” Roan said, with such certainty Isla felt a little better. “Yer strong, and if there is ever a time when ye dinna feel strong enough, I’ll carry the burden for ye,” he said gently, pulling her against his chest.
Isla stayed nestled in her husband’s strong arms for as long as it was possible. Even if Roan couldn’t understand exactly how she felt, just being held by him was soothing in its own special way. However, just as Isla was beginning to doze, standing in his arms, he murmured something about going to bed and she jerked wide-awake again.
Roan sighed heavily, and rubbed his hand up and down Isla’s back, trying to massage the sudden tension out of her muscles.
“Ye need to rest,” he said quietly, leading her back to the bed.
“I will nae be able to sleep,” Isla argued sadly, but she didn’t resist as Roan helped her back under the covers.
“Try?” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, almost paternally, before stripping off his shirt and breeches and wandering around to the other side of their bed to join her, extinguishing the candle before getting in beside his wife.
They laid in the dark, in silence, for several minutes and then Isla rolled onto her side to face her husband. “Roan?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Are ye asleep?”
There was a paused. “Aye.”
“
Roan
,” Isla hissed. She felt the mattress give as he shifted position, also rolling onto his side, so that they were peering at each other through the inky darkness.
“What is it, Isla?” he yawned.
“Are ye angry?” she blurted. She listened to him sigh. He was doing that too often lately. She wanted them to be happy and carefree again! But she feared that wasn’t going to happen for quite sometime.
“In general or with -”
“With me?” Isla interrupted.
“Why would I be angry with ye?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Isla, ye have to ken, ye’ve been the one thing keeping me going this last week!” He reached for her suddenly, pulling her into his arms.
“Truly?” she sniffed.
“Aye! Isla, ye ken that, I told ye -”
“I just feel so - so lost and confused,” she whispered shakily. “Like - like tis all my fault somehow,” she confessed hoarsely, shuddering as she spoke the words aloud.
“What? Nae!” Roan yelped. “Why would ye even think that?” he growled, clutching her tighter.
“Because I
kenned
what Tavish was like, and I kept quiet, I made ye keep quiet,” she whimpered, tears trickling silently down her cheeks. “If I had nae been so worried about keeping everything a secret this could nae have happened!” she hiccuped. Hindsight could be a truly terrible thing.