Page 7 of Much Ado About a Scot

“And your second marriage was supposed to help in that effort.”

“Aye.”

“Did it help?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” She looked away. “Would you like to see the rest of the house or go to the kitchen for that meal I promised you?”

When his stomach grumbled as if responding to the question for him, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Food sounds nice.”

Isobel nodded, grateful they were no longer discussing her past. “The kitchen it is.” They walked in silence down the short hallway until they entered the kitchen and dining room. Isobel entered the chamber to a scene of welcoming warmth, light, and smells. At the scent of onions and barley stewing in the pot over the hearth, Isobel’s stomach growled reminding her she had yet to eat this day.

Freya greeted her with a smile as she rubbed her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Ye’re back. The market took ye much longer today. Was there any—” Freya’s words died on her tongue as Xander stepped into the space behind Isobel.

“Freya, allow me to introduce Xander Godric . . . my husband.”

Freya’s eyes flared. “Yer husband?” Her voice came out hoarse and choking. “Neel luv naw lie iss in igue on vawsh.” The Gaelic words filled the space between them.

“What did she say?” Xander asked, moving from behind Isobel into the chamber.

There is no remedy or cure against death. Isobel took a deep breath, trying to push her unease away. “She’s being dramatic.” She turned to Freya. “He is here to help us keep our home. Is that not what you want?”

“Aye.” Freya dropped her gaze to her feet.

“We cannot do the work alone. Now, let’s get him fed.” Isobel motioned toward the Birnam Oak table in the middle of the room with four chairs neatly tucked beneath it.

He pulled out the chair on the far side of the table and sat down. Freya ladled barley and onion soup from the pot into a wooden bowl and set it before him before turning away to cut a thick slice of the bread she had baked earlier that morning. Isobel sat in the chair opposite.

“Thank you, Freya. It smells delicious,” Xander said as he lifted his spoon and tested the contents inside the bowl, then smiled. “It tastes wonderful as well.”

Freya gave a half-smile as she placed a second bowl in front of Isobel.

“Where is Jamie? I thought he’d be here with you?” Isobel asked, as the savory scent of the soup enticed her to taste a spoonful. Rosemary, garlic, and onions mingled with the barley and tomatoes in her mouth.

“The lad was tired after workin’ in the fields with you this mornin’ so I put him down fer a nap.” Freya set a thin slice of bread beside Isobel’s bowl then turned away.

“Won’t you join us?” Isobel asked Freya with a hopeful tone.

“Nay,” the cook said as she took off her apron and, after folding it, set it on the chair near the hearth. “I ate earlier with Jamie. Enjoy yer meal. I’ll go check on yer son.”

“Thank you, Freya.”

When she left, Isobel and Xander both stared into their bowls, uncertain what to say to each other. Finally, Xander broke the silence. “Your cook did not seem happy at the thought of you marrying again.”

Without looking up, Isobel replied, “I apologize for Freya’s response earlier. She was with me while Rory and Ezra died. Their deaths were not easy ones. Those memories will haunt us forever. To go through all that a third time would be more than either of us could bear.”

Xander’s spoon rattled against the table as he set it down. A heartbeat later his fingers touched her chin, raising her gaze to his. “It is not my intention to die anytime soon. I’ve been through many battles in recent years and have come out of them unscathed. I am certain I can survive marriage to you.”

Though his words were sharp, his touch was not harsh as Ezra’s had been. Nay, Xander’s touch was soft, warm, enticing. “But what if I am cursed?”

He released her. “What happened to your husbands was unfortunate, but it can only be attributed to sheer bad luck.”

Isobel had been praying that was all that was at play here for the past three years, and yet at times she wondered if the answer was quite that simple. Was there something else she could have done for Rory when he fell ill? Had she pushed Ezra too hard in the fields until his weak heart had simply given out? Was it because of her that they had both died? Would that same bad luck invade her household for a third time?

She cast a swift glance at Xander from beneath her lashes. He looked hale and hearty, but then so had Rory and Ezra.

The air was charged with a heavy silence as they finished their meal. Isobel had planned that they would head out to the fields again and get to work once they were done. They couldn’t afford to waste any time, and yet in that moment, sitting at the table with yet another husband—the emotions she always kept so tightly in check threatened to overwhelm her. Isobel closed her eyes and tried to keep her fear from taking hold as she always did, but tears crept past her lashes to slip onto her cheeks regardless of her efforts.

“Are you all right?” Xander’s voice reached out to her from across the table.