Page 47 of Taming the Highland Misfits

“Aye, well, forgive me, Isla,” Finley said indifferently. “But I really dinnae care about the bones o’ lovely kind ladies. The chamber might be a bit cold, but I have a blanket an’ a cloak, an’ we can keep each other warm.”

Isla giggled. It was a very tempting thought! Then she stopped abruptly. “Wait, Finley.” She caught his arm, suddenly looking fearful. “That church is along the main road to my father’s house.”

“How far away is it?” he asked, frowning. “Is it very close?” He was trying to work out the distance in his mind.

“About a quarter of a mile, I think.” Isla replied. She stood indecisively for a moment, thinking. “What if there are guards there?”

Finley watched her, saying nothing, not wanting to pressure her. He doubted if any of Robert Thomson’s guards would have been posted so far from his house. It would not be a tragedy if they could not use the hiding place he had suggested; they would find somewhere else. He had been in worse predicaments.

20

As Isla stood looking towards the road that led to her former home, she suddenly felt the weight of the sadness she had borne for years crushing her. She was so accustomed to carrying that particular emotion at the back of her mind that usually it did not bother her too much, since she had become adept at burying it under her daily activities. However, hearing the details of the death of Finley’s mother had brought all the sorrow back again tenfold.

She had not realised that she was standing as still as a rock until Finley took hold of her arms again, his brow furrowed with anxiety. “Isla?” he asked fearfully. “What is wrong, hen? Have I done somethin’ tae upset ye?”

Startled out of the nightmare of her thoughts, Isla turned away from him and took a few paces down the road. Her head was buzzing; she had to clear it.

Finley followed her, puzzled and afraid. Had he upset her in some way? Had she begun to resent him for some reason? It had been a particularly awful day, and perhaps Isla thought that he had forced her into dealing with Iain. He replayed every word he had said to her in his mind. but he could honestly find no fault with what he had done. He had given her every chance to back out, but she had firmly refused to.‘No,’he thought,‘I am no’ tae blame this time.’

He began to feel a little irritated, then remembered that Isla was in the same position as he was, the difference being that he had finally had the mystery of his mother’s death solved. This must be torture for her.

It was indeed torture, and as hard as Isla tried to shake herself out of the cocoon of misery that had enveloped her, the tighter it gripped her. However, she had to do something, she told herself. They could not stand here all night waiting for her to make a decision.

“You have done nothing to upset me, Finley,” she replied, turning around to face him as she pinned a smile on her face. “I am being silly. I doubt my father would send his guards out half a mile from the house on the off-chance that I was wandering about. Let us go to the church.” She gave a half-laugh. “Maybe St Elfgiva will help us.”

Finley nodded in agreement, even though he could tell that something was still not quite right. Isla looked as though she was forcing herself to look cheerful.

Then Isla squared her shoulders and they began to make their way to the church, keeping their horses to a walk. The sound of galloping hooves might have aroused too much noise and suspicion. Accordingly, they made slow progress.

“I still miss my mother,” Isla said abruptly, sighing. “Even after all these years.”

Finley had not been expecting this sudden outburst, but then the events of the evening had no doubt brought back all her bad memories, he realised.

“I understand,” he murmured. “Would it help tae talk about her?”

Isla smiled at him. “Did anyone ever tell you what a kind man you are?” she asked.

“Aye,” he answered. “You did. It isnae true, but thank ye. Tell me a bit more about her. D’ye know I never really managed tae talk tae her. I was always hammerin’ things an’ drownin’ out her an’ Ma’s conversations, but I remember seein’ her givin’ some honey cakes tae the orphans that the church looked after. They were well enough fed, but they never got many treats.”

“I remember that,” Isla said fondly. “Did you know that when my father imported wool, she taught some of the local ladies how to knit so that they could make little cardigans and jerseys for their families?”

“Aye, I remember that my mammy was goin’ tae make one for me,” he answered. “She had just started it when she died.” For a moment, his face fell, then he recovered himself and went on: “I kept it. I still have it tae this day.”

“She was going to teach me when she died,” Isla told him sadly, as she cast her mind back to the day when she had found her mother sitting in her own private parlour with a huge ball of wool.

* * *

“What is that stuff, Mother?” Isla asked, puzzled, pointing at the great ball of cream coloured fuzzy strands.

“That is wool,” Edina replied. “And I am going to use it to make a jersey for you to keep you warm.”

Isla touched the wool cautiously, and smiled to find that it was soft and warm under her fingers. She picked it up and laid her cheek against it, then smiled, loving the feel of the fluff against her skin. One thing still puzzled her, though.

“Is this the wool that grows on sheep?” she asked, frowning.

Edina nodded.

“Then how -” she scratched her head and pointed. “Why does it look like that?”