Read Online When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats - Free Book Online Page B

blue serge gown and a white headdress. From this distance, Isabail could not be certain, but the gown looked painfully similar to the one she’d lost. Unable to help herself, she picked her way down the slope and then marched across the field toward the woman, determined to see if it was truly hers.
    As she got closer, it became clear that the woman was at least a score of years older than Isabail. Her hair was hidden beneath a linen wimple, but her skin was thin and pale, her bones sharply defined in her face. Still, it was not her age that sapped Isabail’s anger away; it was the elegant way the woman carried herself—like she’d been born to privilege and expected no less.
    “Lady Elisaid?” Isabail guessed.
    The elderly woman ceased her stroll along the burn bank. “Aye?”
    It was indeed Isabail’s gown draped over the other woman’s body—the size, especially in the bosom area, was a trifle large. But as Lady Elisaid’s faded blue eyes turned to her, any demand she might have uttered for its return died on her lips.
    “I am Lady Macintosh, cousin to Archibald, Earl Lochurkie,” she said instead. “Your son has seized my person in hopes of ransoming me for political gain.”
    Actually, she doubted he intended to ransomher, but accusing him of more villainous goals at this moment hardly seemed polite.
    “He neglected to mention your presence to me, Lady Macintosh. You are John Grant’s sister, are you not?”
    “Indeed.”
    The lady waved her over. She kindly said nothing about the obvious stains upon Isabail’s gown, for which Isabail was grateful—if pressed she was not sure she could refrain from pointing out the lady wore stolen clothing. “Walk with me awhile.”
    Isabail gave the invitation some thought. She was fully prepared to dislike Lady Elisaid—for the simple fact that she was the MacCurran’s mother—but she was not above using any and all methods at her disposal to win her freedom. Perhaps a mother could influence the man where a sense of fair play could not.
    Isabail fell into a step alongside Elisaid MacCurran.
    “Were you wed to young Andrew Macintosh?” the older woman asked.
    “Aye.”
    “An unfortunate death that was, to be felled by a wound gained at a faire. How long had you been married?”
    A twinge of sadness pinched her just beneath her breast. She hadn’t thought of Andrew for several months. “A year and a month.”
    “And there were no children?”
    “Nay,” said Isabail softly. “We had not been blessed.”
    The older woman shot her a curious look. “It upsets you to speak of him. My apologies. I assumed it was an arrangement, not a love match. Your father gained a powerful ally in the Macintoshes.”
    “It was an arrangement,” Isabail confirmed, “but we were well suited.”
    Although Andrew had been dead for four years, every moment of their time together was a treasured memory. The handsome, capable man had swept her off her feet, professing his love from the moment they met and treating her with an honor and respect she’d been unaccustomed to. The year she had spent with Andrew had changed her irrevocably—for the better. She’d gone into the marriage a shy, tentative girl and left it a confident, sure woman.
    “You’re young to be a widow. Have you considered another marriage?”
    Isabail shrugged. “I’m in no hurry to wed again. My dower estates were given to me to hold, and they more than pay for my keep. Playing chatelaine to my brother kept me busy.”
    Lady Elisaid’s expression was shrewd. “Your cousin has a wife and you no longer have a household to run. Surely that suggests you are open to new arrangement.”
    Isabail frowned. “Such thoughts are premature. Although I have recently put aside the colors of loss, I still mourn my brother’s passing.”
    “My son needs a good wife.”
    Isabail stopped short and stared at the older woman. Was she truly suggesting . . . ?
Surely not
.“Your son stands accused of murdering my