Page 34 of Much Ado About a Scot

After the excitement from the early morning died down, and before they would spend the rest of the day making preparations for the feast, Xander, Isobel, Jamie, and other members of Gladmuir Hall had made their way to the local parish and attended the late-morning Sunday service and the fiery sermon given by the local minister, Reverend Brown.

Several times during the service, Xander caught the gazes of the villagers not upon him, a stranger in their midst, but on Isobel. When they left the church building, he heard whispers the villagers thought he and Isobel could not hear about her being a witch. Jamie ran ahead of them, exploring anything along the way that caught his eye as they made their way home.

“Does this happen to you often? The villagers calling you a witch?” Xander asked with a frown.

She shrugged, but the panicked look in her eyes told another story. “Only when I go out in public. They all believe I used magic to rid myself of Rory and Ezra. Most likely they are waiting and watching to see if I will do something to rid myself of you.”

His past experience with his brothers-in-arms and their wives and charges of witchcraft brought a cold terror to tighten his throat. She wanted to brush off the accusations, but he knew they could bring her terrible harm if reported to the right person. Perhaps he could petition the king on her behalf. It would be best to find a solution before the situation escalated further. “I’m not going anywhere. If they try anything, they will have to go through me first. I’ll protect you and Jamie.”

She stared at him. Bewilderment filled her gaze. “You hardly know me. Besides, defending me could cause you harm as well.”

“Do not add me to your overwhelming list of worries, Isobel. I can handle myself.”

Frowning, she turned away. “Come, let’s catch up to Jamie, then we won’t have to hear what they say at all.” Isobel picked up the front of her skirt and set a brisk pace that Xander immediately adopted.

Isobel had tried to hide her fear, but he’d seen the panic in her eyes when the villagers had called her a witch. Xander stewed over her situation while Isobel, Freya, and the workers he had hired started preparations for the feast. He was no help in the kitchen, and needing something else to occupy his mind, he opted for physical labor. He spent the rest of the morning until the afternoon sealing off the passageway in Isobel’s front parlor. He’d taken the ladders down from all the entrances, and destroyed them, making using them again impossible. Then he sealed the wall in Isobel’s parlor with wattle and daub. The mud, straw, and manure mixture would take a few days to dry before it would effectively work as a barrier, but since there was no way to access the passageway any longer, Xander wasn’t too concerned.

Another conversation that concerned him was the one he had heard between the Earls of Atholl and Gowrie. If they intended to harm Isobel or Jamie, he had to be ready to stop them. To do that, he needed Rhys’s help. Xander left the house for the barn. He would saddle Arion and ride to the place where he and Rhys had arranged to meet this afternoon to share information away from curious eyes.

Less than an hour later, he waited amongst the trees at the edge of the village for Rhys to arrive. While he waited, he had time to reflect back on what he’d been too busy earlier to think about: Isobel.

He didn’t want to keep lying to her, and so he’d told her a partial truth. He also didn’t want to hurt her, but he would when it was truly time for him to leave. Usually he manipulated situations to his benefit and gave no thought to the aftermath he left behind. He didn’t only take. He tried to compensate for some of the hurt he would eventually cause by giving those people whose lives he touched something they wanted or needed in return.

But with Isobel, giving her what she wanted and what she needed didn’t seem to assuage his guilt. In fact, it only increased it. He tipped his head back, to stare at the dappled light coming through the leaves overhead.

Should he risk everything and tell her the truth about why he was here? Would doing so make either of them feel any better about the situation? Or would she shut him out even more than she already had today?

He released a frustrated groan. He was terrible with relationships. That was why he preferred to be alone, with no one expecting anything more from him than what he and his sword could provide. His life had been simpler when all he had to worry about was staying alive.

He’d also been achingly alone.

Hoofbeats sounded behind him. Xander’s hand moved to his sword.

“Bad day with the wife?”

Xander relaxed when he recognized Rhys’s voice and turned in the saddle to see his friend behind him on his horse. A smile warmed the chiseled perfection of Rhys’s features. Rhys always smiled easily. It did not seem to matter whether they were at war or among the courtiers in King James’s great hall, enjoying life to its fullest seemed to come easily for his friend.

“If you must know, aye,” Xander snapped as he came alongside, wishing he had a sliver of Rhys’s passion for finding the joy in everyday situations. “Much has happened since you left this morning. What did you find in Haddington?”

“I sent the servants you requested to Gladmuir Hall already. They were eager to help. And though you did not request it, I also sent a piper, a drummer, and a mandolin player for the festivities tonight.”

“Eager as always to spend my money, I see,” Xander said, his own lips twitching with amusement. “I see you are determined that we all have a merry time as long as someone else foots the bill.”

“You’re richer than all of us. It seems only fair.”

“That’s because I know how to live simply.”

Rhys’s smile grew. “That’s why you need me at your side to help ease your pouch of its weight and make certain you have a little fun in this life.”

Xander frowned. “I won’t rise to your jabs. Now tell me what you found. For I have news to share myself.”

Rhys’s brow arched. “I’m intrigued, but I will share first. In the shire records I found a copy of the land agreement that was recorded on March 13th, 1541.”

“Did you bring that copy with you?”

“Nay,” Rhys said. “That was what took me so long. I had to wait for a scribe to make a copy.” Rhys reached inside his doublet and withdrew a rolled sheaf of parchment. “The section that was obliterated in Isobel’s copy says that the Graham estate must pay the Seaton estate one-tenth of the share of their profits every year after the harvest is sold in order for Gladmuir Hall to continue to thrive.”

“After Isobel’s grandfather died, the estate has received nothing,” Xander said dryly. “Meaning that Graham owes Isobel far more money than she borrowed from him.”