Page 39 of Devil Black

Yet Meg, who had gone out to direct one of the courses, returned and shut the door as if against an invading army.

Lachlan MacElwain, their sole guest, exchanged glances with Dougal and straightened in his chair. Isobel, her heart leaping, looked to her husband also.

Dougal stirred, a small, ironic smile touching his lips, picked up the dirk with which he cut his meat and slipped it neatly into his sleeve. “Leave it to the impolite MacNabs to disturb my dinner,” he drawled. “Well, Sister,” he continued to Meg, “and have you left them on the doorstep?”

“In the hall,” she replied, only the glitter in her eyes and the high color in her face betraying her emotion, which Isobel could not quite identify—terror, or excitement?

And surely she saw anticipation in her husband’s eyes. Lachlan looked thoughtful but not appalled. Was Isobel, herself, the only one frightened by this awful development?

Dougal looked at her, just as if she had spoken the question aloud. Three days had passed since that night they had spent together and yet apart, in her bed, and they had not had relations once. The wild thought now blossomed in her head: perhaps, finding he had no use for her, Dougal would just hand her over to MacNab after all.

Yet, on his feet, he turned to one of his retainers. “Alert the men, if they are not already aware of our…visitors. Make sure everyone is armed, and close the gates.”

He looked at Meg. “How large a party has MacNab brought?”

Meg shook her head. “Not large: just himself, the abominable Bertram, and two attendants.”

Dougal’s smile sharpened. “Very bold—or very foolish.”

Lachlan, now also on his feet, said, “You cannot take him prisoner, Dougal, nor murder him. In all conscience—”

“I have no conscience, a fact MacNab knows right well. And I have anticipated this from the first.” He turned to Meg. “I will see him there, in the hall.”

Meg nodded, and her eyes moved to Isobel. “Shall I stay with your wife, upstairs?”

Dougal feigned great surprise. “Why would you do that?”

“To keep her out of MacNab’s sight, of course.” Meg asked Isobel directly, “Will he recognize you?”

Isobel nodded, but Dougal gave her no chance to speak.

“You think I mean to hide her? But nay, Sister, I will not hide my wife. Why should I, indeed?”

Now Meg and Lachlan exchanged incredulous stares.

Lachlan spoke, “Because she is Bertram’s affianced wife, whom you stole?”

“Nay, but she is not. I apprehend ’tis one Catherine Maitland for whom they have come looking—my wife’s sister, in truth. Well, Wife, will you greet them with me?”

Isobel narrowed her eyes on his face. So, he meant to brazen it out, did he? And yes, he had anticipated this with great relish, but she had not, and she felt terrified, as if she might lose what little dinner she had taken.

“Come.” Dougal stepped to her side and offered his arm. “You look beautiful, as always. It might be better, however, could you manage to look a bit less frightened.”

“Impossible!” Isobel’s lips felt stiff, and her throat had gone tight.

Now they all stared at her.

“She will be ill,” Meg predicted.

“She will faint,” Lachlan wagered.

“Nay, she has more backbone than that.” Dougal’s arm, beneath her hand, felt like rock.

She gazed up into his eyes. “Perhaps I would do better to wait in my room.”

“Perhaps you would. Yet, Wife, word of your presence has obviously got round the district at last, and now we must play this out. MacNab will not rest until he lays eyes on you. ’Tis best faced now.”

“What must I say to him?”