Page 36 of Much Ado About a Scot

She’d worn her finest cream-colored gown for tonight—a gown she had remade from one of her mother’s dresses into a more modern style, then had embroidered the paneled front with flowers in rich shades of rust, amber, green, and gold.

David Graham appeared beside Jamie. “Might I sit here with you?” the older man asked, more to Isobel than the little boy.

Isobel was grateful for the distraction. “Of course. We are delighted to have you and all your household with us tonight.”

“Master James,” Graham said in a cheerful voice as he sat next to Jamie. “My Aberdeen terrier whelped four pups a few weeks ago. Would you and your mother like to come see them on the morrow?”

Jamie’s eyes went wide and filled with excitement. “Can we, Mummy? Please?”

“We would be honored,” Isobel said, confused by the laird’s behavior. Why was he being so kind?

“If you are a very good boy and help your mother with the rest of the harvest, and if she says it is all right, I’ll give you your pick of the litter.”

Isobel smiled and nodded her agreement. “That is very kind of you.” A puppy would at least help Jamie have something else to cling to when Xander left.

Jamie’s squeal of delight rang through the night as he and David Graham talked animatedly about how to care for a puppy. Watching the two of them, Isobel frowned. She didn’t know what to make of the change in her neighbor in the last several hours. He seemed less terrifying than he had in the past, and he certainly seemed to care for her son. Had he truly changed, or had she? Had she put her own fears and mistrust upon him, making him a monster only in the realm of her own mind?

Isobel was startled from her thoughts by the feel of a hand upon her arm. “Would you care to wash before our meal?” Xander asked, motioning to the servant who stood beside her with a basin of rosewater.

Isobel dipped her hands into the water then dried them on the white linen towel offered by a second servant. She met Xander’s gaze. There was a raw, unveiled passion in his eyes. Her breathing sped up; her heart beat faster. No one had ever looked at her that way—as if he wanted to possess her very soul. The thought sent a white-hot bolt of heat straight through her. Instinctively, she raised a hand to her throat, feeling the rapid, rabbit-like dancing of her pulse. She was determined to keep her distance from him, yet her body betrayed her.

Freya and the male servants appeared, carrying pots of soup that they ladled into the bowls before them. The savory scent of fish and herbs filled the night air as the first removes were brought forward.

“I’ve been looking forward to spending this time with you all day,” Xander admitted as he tasted the fish broth. “As you have, Isobel.”

“I haven’t—” She wouldn’t lie to him, not when she wanted the truth from him. “I’ve been looking forward to the feast. But I’ve been too busy all day to give you much thought.”

“Are you trying to hurt me with your words?” His hand that had been resting on the table clenched into a fist. He lowered his voice so only Isobel could hear. “Do you think that simply because I chose not to tell you everything about myself that what we shared was not the truth? All of it was real, at least for me it was.”

She was grateful Jamie and David Graham were still engaged in an animated conversation so neither of them could see the sudden tension between herself and Xander. She lifted her spoon to her lips but tasted nothing. She didn’t know what to say. Sympathy and guilt tightened her stomach. Setting her spoon down, she turned to him. “Have you considered that your leaving might devastate me as much as if you had died?”

His fist relaxed. “Aye, I had considered that.” He slid his hand below the table and found her cool fingers, curling his fingers around hers. “Would you have given anything to have one more day with Rory?”

She was startled by the question, but answered honestly. “Aye.”

He stroked his thumb against the back of her hand. “Then can I not ask the same of you? Can we not have this one last night together and not worry about what might happen when morning comes?”

She was spared from answering when the soup bowls were collected and wooden plates set in their place. Moments later, Freya and the servants appeared with a variety of meat dishes. At the head of the procession was a roasted boar garnished with apples and roses, followed by roasted peacock with its tail plumage reassembled and its beak set afire so that it appeared to be breathing fire. Behind the main dishes came perfectly garnished venison, chickens, gammons, salmon, and fried black pudding. The display was met with applause and exclamations of delight as the dishes were paraded around the tables before being set on the carving table to be sliced and served. Meanwhile, other servants refilled the wine goblets.

Despite the crowd around them, Isobel’s desire erupted, thickening with every stroke of his thumb against her flesh.

“Your cheeks are flushed,” Xander said softly.

Flushed. She was on fire. Hurriedly, she lifted her goblet to her lips and drank deeply, using the motion as a distraction to get her emotions under control. When that didn’t work, she picked up her utensils and took several bites of the meat she’d been served.

With a knowing smile, he released her hand and went back to enjoying his own meal.

Was she fooling anyone but herself with her denials? The truth was, she hadn’t needed or wanted one more day with Jamie’s father, not if it meant prolonging Rory’s agony. He’d known he was dying. He’d told her to let him go and to move on—to allow herself to find love once more. He hadn’t wanted her to continue in this life alone.

But could she continue to indulge her feelings for Xander when he would leave her very soon? Could she ever trust him, knowing he had lied to her from the start? Or did any of that truly matter any longer? With a soft sigh she came to her decision. She would give herself one more night to make memories that she would hold on to in the quiet days ahead.

Isobel reached for Xander’s hand and, holding it tight, she said, “One more night.”

After the final removes of tarts, sweet haggis, syllabub, and marzipan cake were served and thoroughly enjoyed by all, the tables were cleared and moved so revelers could enjoy more wine around the bonfire. David Graham and many of those from his household gave thanks for the celebration and headed home. Isobel took Jamie upstairs and put him to bed before rejoining Xander and the others. She allowed him to take her hand in his as they stood before the fire. It was not Samhain, but the bonfire was worthy of that harvest celebration.

The moon rose overhead as Isobel stared at the fire that bathed the celebration in a silver glow that was broken only by the red-gold fingers of flame that danced toward the sky. The musical strains of a piper, a drummer, and a mandolin player blended with the sound of cheerful voices as they mingled about the fire.

The fire was a symbol of cleansing. Isobel closed her eyes and sent up a wish that this fire would do that for her—to help her let go of her past misfortune and to begin a new future free of debt and worry. The harvest had gone well so far. After a few weeks of drying, she and Brodie could thresh then winnow the grain. For a moment, her spirits dampened. Her future and Jamie’s were still not secure. Not until the grain was sold and her loan paid in full. But she could do nothing about that tonight.