Page 46 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

Tavish kept a tight arm around Isla’s waist as he spoke with the man. Her greiting had been replaced by a chilling silence. A sort of lethargic melancholy that worried Tavish far more than her weeping ever would.

Isla didn’t so much as twitch when the innkeep asked, “Would Mrs. Balfour like a bath to be drawn?”

Tavish nodded for her and then followed a maid to their bedchamber. He studiously did not look at the single bed to the left of the door. Why torment himself? Isla would never be joining him there. Not now. Not ever.

He waited until the maids had finished pouring hot water into a hip bath before turning for the door.

“I will sort this out, Isla, and convince Grayburn to see reason. Don’t despair. Not yet.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, gaze dead and unseeing. “Thank you for . . . for all of this.” She gestured at the room.

Silence descended.

Tavish didn’t know how to reply. My pleasure certainly felt out of place.

He went with, “I’ll be in the bedchamber through the wall there with Ross, if ye have need of me.”

She didn’t reply, merely nodded, her face splotchy and eyes bloodshot.

Ross raised an eyebrow when Tavish knocked on his door.

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” Tavish said, entering the room.

To Ross’s credit, he spent the rest of the evening acting as if Tavish didn’t have a wife sleeping on the opposite side of the hearth.

And just as he had many times in the past, Tavish blew out the lamp and lay down to sleep beside Ross. Brothers in arms and all that. At least they were on a mattress this time and not wrapped in their greatcoats on the hard earth.

Neither of them spoke. They merely listened to the creak of floorboards and the scuttle of some rodent in the attic overhead.

Finally, Ross sighed. “The problem, Balfour, is that ye don’t want a different wife, do ye?”

“Nae.”

“Ye want to find a way to keep the one ye have.”

“Aye.”

If Tavish could establish an income, he might be able to provide for Isla—a way for them to move forward together. Or, if she refused him entirely, it would distract him from the pain of losing her yet again.

He felt more than saw Ross nod. “I’ll ask around for another investor.”

The olive branch . . . the kindness of it . . .

A rush of emotion surged in Tavish’s chest. “Thank ye, Ross.”

Ross didn’t reply directly, just turned to his side, away from Tavish .

“Don’t even think of giving me a wee cuddle,” he said over his shoulder. “Save it for that bonnie wife of yours.”

Tavish chuckled. “Goodnight, Ross.”

Castle Balfour glowed in the fading sunlight.

Tavish was unsure if he was happy to be home or dreading the coming confrontation.

Would his family be any more welcoming of the belated news of his nuptials than Gray had been?

Truthfully, events could go either way.

Isla rode behind him, her hands clasped around his waist, her head drooping in weariness between his shoulder blades.

In some ways, their travel south had been a depressing repeat of their journey after tying the knot of their handfasting.

The same road. The same horse, even. But this time, instead of the intoxicating hope of their longed-for future together, Tavish shouldered the leaden weight of Isla’s despair.

Tavish pulled Goliath to a stop before the castle’s front doors, dismounting and turning to help Isla down.

She slid off the horse with a soft groan, her feet wobbling as they hit the gravel.

His poor lass was unaccustomed to riding for such long periods.

Tavish clutched her to him for a brief moment, ignoring the enormous eyes of the groom who had come to take Goliath away and likely recognized Lady Isla in the process.

Every servant in a twenty-mile radius would have a report of this within days.

Who knew what the local gossip mill would make of it.

It remained to be seen if Tavish and Isla could keep the truth of their marriage and eventual divorce hidden. Though without Grayburn’s ducal assistance, news of their divorce would land in the scandal sheets almost immediately.

More to the point, without Grayburn’s support, what would become of Isla? Tavish would never force her to remain in their marriage, but neither would he cast her out into the world .

Bloody hell, but this was a mess.

“Come,” Tavish wrapped an arm around her, turning for the stairs to the front door.

It opened with a clack .

“Tavish!” called Elsie.

“Finally!” yelled Edmund.

The twins raced down the stairs, only to come to a stumbling halt once they realized Tavish had his arm around a lady.

For her part, Isla pushed away from him, a hand tentatively going to her crumpled bonnet before attempting to smooth her pelisse, the fine garment heavily wrinkled from their journey.

Tavish took her hand and wrapped it through his elbow.

“Who’s this?” Edmund frowned, looking at Isla.

Elsie elbowed him. Hard.

“Ow! What’s that for?” he scowled at his twin.

Elsie rolled her eyes. “Lady Isla,” she curtsied, pretty as a picture.

Bless Mariah. She had obviously been instilling manners in one of the twins.

“Lady who?” Edmund said, far too loudly.

Elsie leaned into her twin’s ear to whisper. Tavish heard Grayburn and sister and recognize her from church services . To his credit, Edmund’s eyes widened as she spoke, his gaze darting between Tavish and Isla before landing on the place where Isla clutched Tavish’s elbow.

“Why does Tavish have a black eye?” Edmund asked.

Elsie shrugged.

“Oh, gracious! There ye two wee hellions be,” Mariah said, coming to the door. “Why are ye yapping at Tavish—”

Mariah broke off with a start as her gaze landed on Isla and then fluttered up to Tavish’s swollen eye.

The butler, Jameson, finally appeared, his gray hair fluttering in his haste to reach the door.

“So sorry, Lady Mariah.” The man panted. “I was polishing silver in the kitchen and didn’t hear the bell . . .” He, too, trailed off.

Tavish smiled, though he was rather sure it came off as more of a grimace. He hazarded a glance at Isla. She was staring past Mariah’s shoulder, her gaze unfocused, face sagging in exhaustion .

Mariah—good, gentle Mariah—walked down the steps and took Isla’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Lady Isla. I think . . .” She cleared her throat. “A servant from Dunmore delivered a trunk here a few hours ago without saying a word. I’m rapidly gathering the trunk is yours.”

“Oh,” Isla said, the merest puff of sound.

Her eyes filled with tears. Tavish had never been a violent man, but witnessing Isla’s misery yet again . . .

More than once over the past two days, he had imagined lying in wait for Grayburn and burying a bullet in his thick skull. Anything to enact retribution for Isla’s pain.

“Thank ye, Mariah,” Tavish murmured.

His sister nodded, glancing once more at his black-and-blue face. “Come. Let us get ye settled with a wee bit of dinner in your bellies. Afterward, I’m sure Da’ will have questions.”

“Ye’ve gone and married who?!” Lord Northcairn sat forward in his leather armchair, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Surely, I didn’t hear ye right just now, Tavish. Because no son of mine would act with such incredible stupidity.”

Tavish barely avoided rolling his eyes at the irony in their father’s accusation.

In the chair opposite their father, Callum set his tumbler of whisky down on a side table with a clatter.

For her part, Mariah stared into the fire, her feet tucked against the stool where she sat.

Only Tavish was standing, a glass of much-needed whisky in his hand.

Candles cast long shadows on the walls. Two floors above them, Isla slept in a guest bedroom. The house had been in such an uproar after Tavish’s arrival, it had taken some settling before he had a chance to face his father with the news .

“Seven years ago, I married Lady Isla Balfour,” Tavish repeated. “A handfasting. Outside Stonehaven.”

Callum pinched the bridge of his nose.

Mariah closed her eyes, as if in pain.

Their father, however, lurched to his feet, his expression a thundercloud.

“Married? Ye married a spawn of that . . . that . . .” He glanced at Mariah, censoring what would likely have been a spectacularly profane epithet.

“After everything that Grayburn has done to this family. His cruelty to Mariah and dishonor toward your brother. Ye would betray us all by allying yourself with . . . with . . . them?!”

“Allying myself?!” Tavish snapped, the strain of the past week catching up to him. “I assure ye, Grayburn is no happier about this than yourselves!”

He resisted mentioning that Isla wasn’t actually a Kinsey, in the end.

So technically, Tavish hadn’t allied himself with them .

He doubted that wee detail would matter to his father.

Or if it did, Lord Northcairn would crow the fact of old Grayburn’s cuckolding from the rooftops, ensuring everyone knew of Isla’s illegitimacy.

“ Och , that’s a fine lie to tell yourself, lad!”

“Is that what happened to your eye?” Callum asked. “Grayburn’s displeasure?”

“Nae, this is courtesy of my friend who was courting Lady Isla.”

Mariah made a helpless noise of distress.

“Lady Isla and I intend to divorce on the basis of desertion,” Tavish continued.

“Divorce?!” Lord Northcairn turned a rather alarming shade of puce. “Divorce?! Ye would add scandal to betrayal, after everything we have already endured? Have ye no sense of your duty to this family at all?!”

“Da’,” Callum said, reproof in his tone.

Tavish clenched his jaw, tossing back the last of his whisky. Bitter words stacked on his tongue, angry accusations about his own inheritance and Callum’s ruinous behavior and their father’s utter disregard for Tavish’s future.

Tavish swallowed the vitriol down. He wanted his father’s cooperation, not a fight.

“My goal is to keep the fact of my marriage and divorce quiet. ”

“Out of the newspapers, you mean,” Mariah added.

“Precisely. If all is done with discretion, then there will be no scandal, particularly if I had some assistance with the matter.” Tavish glanced meaningfully at their father.

Lord Northcairn made a sound of disgust. “I’ll have none of this.” He drew his hand in a sharp line. “The fact that ye married a Kinsey at all is beyond the pale. Ye can both rot in your disgrace! Ye and your wife will be out of my house and my sight by morning!”

He stomped from the room, shutting the door with a boom that rattled the window panes.

Silence echoed in the aftermath.

Crossing to a sideboard, Tavish poured himself another finger of whisky. He could feel his siblings staring at his back.

“Da’ will come around eventually,” Callum said. “Give him a few months to grow accustomed to this news.”

Tavish gritted his teeth. He didn’t have a few months. There were problems to solve now.

“So it was Grayburn who purchased your commission.” Mariah said the words as a fact, not a question. “Not a distant, generous uncle.”

Tavish nodded. A single slice of his head.

“Grayburn knew? About your marriage?” she asked.

“Nae. He merely knew there was a connection between Isla and myself. He learned of our marriage three days ago and cast Isla out.”

“What will ye do?” Callum asked.

“Divorce her, if Grayburn will agree to take her back under his wing. It’s what Isla wishes.” Tavish turned back to his siblings. “I have little beyond the funds from my commission to offer her. It’s not enough to support a lady. Not at the moment.”

Callum winced. “Ye ken I will be eternally sorry about your inheritance, Tavish. Someday, somehow, I will find a way to make it up to ye.”

Tavish clenched his jaw at the apology offered far too late. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Ye don’t want to divorce her,” Mariah intuited.

Tavish laughed. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Mariah.

Isla doesn’t want me. It will take some weeks, perhaps even months, to sort out, particularly with Grayburn being recalcitrant and Da’ refusing to help.

I had hoped that we might stay here in the interim, but .

. .” He sent a telling look at the door their father had just slammed.

Tavish drained his tumbler in one long gulp.

Perhaps if he got drunk enough, he could forget his difficulties for a few hours.

Though he doubted there was enough whisky in all of Scotland to make him forget the bleak despair in Isla’s eyes at the thought of being well and truly stuck with him for a husband.

“Ye have nowhere to go,” Mariah said. Again, not a question.

“Nae.”

His sister rose to her feet, hands smoothing her gown. “I believe I have an idea. A wee way that Callum and I can help.”