Page 34 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

Seven Years Earlier

Pettercairn, Scotland

D ays.

It had been days since Isla’s wedding and not a word from Tavish.

Granted, Gray had confined Isla to her bedchamber. A footman tracked her every movement the one hour a day she was permitted to stroll in the garden.

But still . . .

Tavish was resourceful, and Gray’s servants bribeable.

Why hadn’t he contacted her? What had Gray done?

Fear for Tavish kept Isla up most nights. Sleep, when it did come, was fitful. She would race through dark woods, screaming for Tavish but never finding him, before awaking with a lurch, heart thudding and throat dry.

Gray refused to speak with her.

In retaliation, on day three, Isla stopped eating.

Tray after tray was sent down to the kitchen, strawberry tarts and roasted pigeon untouched. Isla controlled so little in her world. But her meals she could rule with an iron fist.

Cast me out , her actions screamed. I dare you.

Tavish wouldn’t care if she were illegitimate. If Gray renounced her, then she could join her husband. They could run away and start their life together.

On the sixth day, Gray stormed into her room, a footman at his heels carrying a tray laden with Isla’s favorite foods.

“You will eat,” he demanded. “I grow tired of this childish display of temper.”

Isla merely stared at him—light-headed with hunger, limbs weary—hoping her gaze appeared as dead as she felt.

“I will eat when I am no longer a prisoner. Until then, you can watch me starve and know that your uncaring hand has caused it.” She turned to look out the window.

Gray had ranted for another five minutes. Isla ignored him.

Her stomach knotted in pain, but she scarcely noticed. Her heart felt fractured and shattered in ways she hadn’t known hearts could break.

Set me free , she silently pleaded. Let me find solace with the one person who loves me.

The next day, a doctor arrived. He listened to her pulse and bled her a little.

“We must balance the melancholic spirit,” he said to Gray, as a footman carried the bloody bowl away. “She merely needs rest and food. That will see her right as rain.”

Gray had nodded, but his hazel eyes remained turbulent and watchful.

Isla met his gaze boldly over the doctor’s shoulder.

I dare you , she said with her expression. Cast me out, Gray.

Her brother looked away first, a frown between his brows, arms folded across his chest .

He didn’t cast her out.

Isla wasn’t sure if she should be encouraged that he still retained enough human decency to care about her welfare, or furious that he preferred control over all else.

On day eight, her fifth day of not eating, the gnawing hunger penetrated the fog of her grief. Her body demanded to live. Isla ate a small bite of a scone and then crumbled the rest so Gray wouldn’t know.

She did the same on the ninth and tenth days.

On the eleventh day, she discovered a note under a plate of shortbread.

Isla found Tavish waiting at the old bridge—the one that crossed over the River Southcairn and led to Cairnfell—just as his note had said he would.

Night had fallen hours ago, but Isla would know the cant of her beloved’s head anywhere.

Just that single glimpse—

How she had missed him! Her husband! Her love!

Isla raced down the path, the tears on her cheeks from both happiness and relief. The handle of her valise sat heavy in her fist, biting into the wedding ring on her finger.

His note had been terse and simple, written in their cipher:

Meet me at the old bridge on Wednesday at midnight.

Isla hadn’t known, at first, how she would accomplish the deed.

But just the day before, Gray had called off the footman guarding her door. And in a show of obedience, Isla began eating again yesterday and today.

Thankfully, the lack of a guard meant she could slip out of the house to meet Tavish. To run away with him.

She hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt as she packed her bag with all the items she could manage. Her possessions were meager, but fribbles like pretty frocks and bonnet ribbons mattered little when the entirety of her future trembled in the balance.

Tavish stood tall beside Goliath, caped greatcoat falling to his ankles, saddle bags bulging.

Somehow, though it had not even been two weeks, he looked older. His demeanor more upright and rigid. His eyes more seeing.

What had happened? What terror had Gray enacted?

“Tavish!” she whispered on a hoarse voice, dropping her bag and sprinting to him.

He lifted her into his arms, spinning around. She grabbed his head and kissed him, tasting her tears on his lips.

At last!

He had found a way!

They were free!

She would climb onto Goliath, and they would ride off to a new life together—just the two of them. No more need to conceal their love. No more Gray and his cruel truths and hateful words.

Jubilation made her giddy. She covered his face in kisses, her lips desperate to touch every inch of his skin—the crease of his closed eyelids, the smooth patch beside his earlobe.

“You’re here,” she breathed. “I love you. I missed you. Hallelujah, you’re here!”

It was a miracle she had survived so many days without him. She couldn’t hold or caress him sufficiently. Finally, after one last deep kiss, he pulled her hands from his body.

Of course. They needed to be on their way.

She looked up into his shadowed face.

“I’m ready to go with you. You didn’t say, but I brought my valise.” She gestured to where she had dropped it on the path. “Let me grab it.”

She pivoted, but he stayed her with a gentle hand at her elbow.

That was her first clue that anything was amiss.

“Isla . . .” he began, a catch in his voice.

A chill dropped down her spine. She turned back to him.

Something was wrong.

“What happened?” She clutched his fingers in hers. “What did Gray do? ”

Tavish . . . crumpled. There was no other way to describe it. His shoulders pitched inward, and he shook loose her hand, his arms dangling useless by his side. The shadowy features of his face puckered.

In the dim moonlight, the glitter of his eyes found hers.

“I’m leaving, Isla.” He said the words quietly, but they still struck Isla with a bracing thwack .

I am leaving. No we .

She refused to accept what he might be saying.

“I know, love. That’s why I’m here. I’m leaving with you.”

Silence.

And then—

“Isla . . . I can’t . . .” A breath. “I can’t take ye. Not yet.”

“What do you mean, Tavish? Of course, you can take me. You have your inheritance. You would buy a commission, you said, with a little set by for us.”

He winced. “There is no money, Isla. Callum spent my inheritance. He lost it. Gambling.”

“Pardon? How is that even possible?”

Tavish laughed, a terrible, caustic sound that resembled Gray too much for her liking.

Isla flinched.

“I don’t ken how it’s possible, but Callum managed it.” Tone so bitter. “I’m paupered, Isla. I haven’t two sous to rub together, much less funds to support a wife.”

Isla blinked up at him, unable to truly fathom what he was saying.

“But you’re leaving.” She pointed to the saddle bags thrown over Goliath’s rump.

He nodded.

Isla took a step backward. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“Isla . . . I am enlisting.”

“Without a commission?”

“Nae. With a commission.”

“But . . . but you just said there is no money for that.”

He sighed, as if defeat sat heavy on his shoulders. “Isla . . .”

It hit her with blinding clarity. “Gray. Gray is forcing you away.”

He nodded again. A sharp up-down movement .

“He offered to buy me a commission provided I leave and never return. Immediately.”

The betrayal took a long moment to land.

It started as a buzzing in her head that quickly migrated to a strange panicked quaking of her limbs.

“I’m taking Callum’s horse,” he continued on a sharp laugh. “I didn’t ask him if I could. It’s the least my dear brother can do to repay me for his selfishness.”

This bitter Tavish was new to her. A man whose words emerged as barbed spikes.

“But . . . but what about me? I’m your wife.” She hated that her own voice sounded small and shaking.

“Ye will be safer if ye remain here.”

“Safe? How will I be safe?!”

“Has Gray harmed ye? Ye said he wouldn’t.”

The image of Gray rose—looming over her in his study, his words battering like a fist. Our mother. A whore. And you, her bastard get.

“He has broken my heart, Tavish! Matters are not—”

“But has he hurt ye?”

“No. Not physically, but—”

“Then ye will be safe here.”

“I don’t feel safe!”

“But ye will be.”

No!

Tavish wasn’t listening. He didn’t know that she was illegitimate. That Gray despised her for it. Before this moment, Isla had thought Tavish wouldn’t care about her parentage. But now . . . when he appeared so ready to turn his back on her before even knowing that critical bit of information . . .

“We’re married, Tavish!” She lifted her left hand, pointing to his wedding ring gleaming there. “You can’t leave me! Again, I’m your wife ! You have an obligation to me.”

“I ken that, Isla. And I want us to be together, but I require an income before we can set up a household together. That’s why I’m taking this commission.”

The panic spread to Isla’s heart. She feared the organ would punch through her chest and collapse to the ground at her feet, her lifeblood pouring loose.

“And giving me up?! Permitting Gray to buy you off?”

“No!” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “That’s not what I’m saying. I will find a way to return for ye, Isla. I’m not planning on holding to my word with Grayburn.”

“I cannot stay here. Gray is . . . or rather, Gray told me . . .” The confession of her illegitimacy froze on her tongue. She couldn’t risk Tavish turning away from her, too. “I cannot bear it!”

“Isla, I can’t take ye with me at the moment. I am to report to Shorncliffe in Kent for training with the 92nd Highlanders. There isn’t a place—”

“Officers take their wives on campaign.”

“Aye, they do, but I know nothing of the mechanics of it. Ye will simply have to wait until I can save the necessary funds and find a way to send for ye.”