Only when she finished her telling did he speak.
“You must indeed go back,” he declared, his voice sounding braver than he felt.
Without doubt, he would miss Isobel's company. The realization – more painful than he expected – crept into his mind and settled next to the grief that lingered for his wife.
“Do you understand why I must leave?” She gazed up at him, the need for his approval apparent in her eyes.
He put his hand atop hers. “Of course I do. You must follow your heart.”
“I love him so much,” she whispered.
“I know. I have always known it.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Go to him with my blessing, Isobel. I wish only for your happiness.”
“Oh, Elias. I don't know what I would have done without– ”
He touched a finger to her lips. “It has been my honour, truly. I've never doubted your gratitude and have taken much pleasure in your company. Let us simply agree that we helped each other through a sad time and will always share a special friendship.”
“Always.” Isobel brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “You're a true knight. What will you do? Stay at Stanford?”
“If I may. For a while at least.”
“Of course. Treat it as your home and stay as long as you wish.”
“Thank you, my lady. Now, we had best return. It seems you must prepare for a journey. You will take Archer, of course.”
“Oh, but I can't. He belongs to you.”
“Aye, and I will never ride the sorry beast. Take him, Isobel. It would please me greatly.”
~ ~ ~
Although it could not compare to the pain she'd felt at leaving Glendennan, Isobel's departure from Stanford Manor still tugged hard at her emotions. Moira wept unashamedly, and even David had softness in his eyes. Hugs were given with words of reassurance and Isobel's heartfelt promises to return. She found the courage to smile as she left, and inwardly congratulated herself on her self-control. Then she made the mistake of looking back to see Elias standing at the gates; a strong, solitary figure with an aura of sadness about him.
Her self-control crumbled, and tears fell without restraint.
The ride back to Glendennan took almost four days. They talked of many things as they travelled. Bernard described the wedding ceremony, giving more details of the terrible fire that followed, including Sam and Felix's involvement. He explained how dogs were used to track the criminals to the cave, how Sam had died on Bernard's sword and the rest, including Felix, had been hanged.
Isobel wept again when she heard about John hiding in the cellar. She could only imagine the horror the poor child had endured, and silently vowed to spend time with him upon her return.
At dawn on the fourth day, the ancient fells of Westmorland could be seen off in the distance, draped in the fresh growth of bracken and heather.
Isobel's heart quickened at the sight of them.
Three hours later, she pulled Archer to a halt at the top of the pass. Nestled in the valley below her stood Glendennan, the harshness of its auld grey stones softened by the gentle touch of early spring. She took a deep breath and tried to slow her frantic heartbeat.
“Are you alright?” Bernard pulled his horse over to hers.
“No. I'm terrified.”
He smiled. “I admit to feeling some anxiety myself.”
The confession prompted an unasked question. “Where does he think you are? What did you tell him?”
Bernard grimaced as he urged his horse down the road. “He thinks I'm visiting a sick uncle.”
Isobel halted Archer outside Angmar's cottage. “Bernard, wait. I wish to speak with–”
The door opened before she finished the sentence and Angmar stepped out into the sunlight.
“Welcome home, child,” she said. “You've been missed.”
“It's good to be back, Angmar.” She looked up at Glendennan's walls. “How does he fare?”
Angmar nodded toward the hills. “He's up there, waiting for you.”
Isobel frowned as she followed the old woman's gaze up to High Tarn. “How can that be? He doesn't know I'm returning.”
“He loves you.” Angmar smiled. “In his heart, he will wait for you forever.”
Chapter 25
The last time Isobel had ridden the trail up to High Tarn, it had been covered in snow. That day, the church bells had rung across the frozen hillsides announcing Christ's mass, and an eagle had soared above them in a bright blue sky. High Tarn's mirrored surface had rested like a dark jewel against pale skin.
Today, Archer climbed the trail with surefooted ease. A soft breeze teased the fronds of bracken, while the sun played hide and seek with the clouds. Isobel looked up, hoping to see the silhouette of an eagle. But the skies were empty of golden wings.
As she drew near to the plateau, her fluttering stomach clenched tighter. The anticipation of seeing Robert again was close to unbearable. It all seemed like a dream. Isobel pinched herself, just to be certain.
Lucas came running over to greet her, his eyes wide as he helped her from the saddle. “My lady.” He glanced over at the tarn to where a lone figure sat at the water's edge. “With my whole heart I welcome you back. My lord will be beyond happy to see... I mean, to know you are returned. He has suffered much since you left.”
Isobel flinched inwardly at the squire's verbal slip. Her eyes followed the direction of his glance. “You may take Argyle and go, Lucas.”
He frowned. “Oh, nay, my lady, I cannot. Lord Montgomery will need –”
“I insist.” She was about to experience the most intimate and important moment of her life. Other than a dappled gelding, there would be no spectators. “I'll take good care of him. I promise.”
For the rest of my life.
The glint of a tear arose in the boy's eyes. He nodded. “I understand. 'Tis you he needs more than anything, in truth. Even so, I shall wait at the bottom of the trail to escort you both back to Glendennan. My duty dictates that at least.”
Isobel smiled. “Very well. Thank you, Lucas.”
Alone at last, she looked to where Robert sat. What now? How should she approach? Should she call his name, or go quietly?
Quietly, she decided, thrusting aside the temptation to run to him. Her legs trembled as she walked, her footfalls soft on the new grass. Her poor heart had apparently lodged itself in her throat, where it thrummed a shaky rhythm. She paused several strides away, trying calm her turbulent emotions as she studied the man she loved so well
Motionless, Robert sat on a large, flat rock, his face lifted to the sky. Despite the sun's warmth, he wore a dark cloak, which did not quite conceal his obvious loss of weight. The noble lines of his face seemed more prominent, his shoulders not quite as broad. The breeze toyed with his dark curls, which now reached past his shoulders, teasing them across his brow and cheeks.
A sob lodged in Isobel's throat. Over the months they'd been apart, his grief had surely mirrored hers. He, too, must have believed they'd never be together again.
Then, to her surprise, Robert turned toward her, his sightless gaze seeming to linger on the spot where she stood. A small frown played on his face as he rose to his feet.
“Tell me, Angel,” he said, looking back across the valley. “Is it not a splendid view from here?”
She held her breath. Did he truly know she was there? No. His mournful sigh a moment later confirmed it. She remembered what Bernard had said. Robert only imagined her presence at his side. His heartbreaking fantasy almost drove her to her knees.
“'Tis a sight for God's eyes,” she whispered, tasting the tears that tumbled freely down her face.
Robert drew a harsh breath and looked back toward the sound of her voice. “Heaven help me, Isobel,” he muttered. “The grieving mind is a torturous thing. I hear you speak as if you were truly at my side. Would that you were. I'd be blessed above all men if I could hold you just one more time.”
Isobel let out a quiet
sob. “All you have to do,” she said, “is take two simple steps forward.”
All colour left his face and he staggered as an agonizing groan escaped him. “Ah, Christ. What cruel jest is this? Is my sanity gone at last?”
“No!” She stumbled toward him and captured his hands, her heart aching at his expression of agony. “No, my beloved. 'Tis no jest. I'm here. I am returned to you.”
There came a moment of utter silence. Even the breeze paused, it seemed, waiting for Robert's response. A tear slid down his cheek as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Tell me I do not dream.”
“No dream could ever be this wonderful.” She stepped closer. “Hold me Robert, please. I've waited for so long.”
“Isobel?” With an anguished cry, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Oh, my love. No, it can't be real. It can't be. I'm sleeping or drunk. Dead, even.”
“Hush.” She pressed against him. “You're not sleeping, and neither drunk nor dead. You're alive and holding me. Oh, Robert, I have missed you.”
At first he said nothing, but held her so tight she could barely breathe. His own breath, hot and desperate, brushed across her ear. Then he pulled back, seeming to look at her through his dark, sightless eyes. Trembling, his hands explored the outlines of her face.
“If you are here, then you must already know,” he said. “You must know what has happened.”
Isobel tilted her head back to look at him. His eyes had not changed physically, yet she could tell they were vacant of light and unfocused. She traced her fingertips around them. “I know everything.” Her voice held no pity. She had learned, from Bernard, that Robert abhorred sympathy. “Do you see anything at all, my love?”
“Very little.” He blinked. “My world is grey. Sometimes I see movement, like shadows in the mist. Other times I see a flash of light and even a hint of colour, but it lasts only a moment.”
“Perhaps those moments indicate that you are healing.” She pressed her lips to his jaw. “Why, in God's good name, did you not send for me?”
He groaned, his arms folding around her again. “I'm not the man you knew, Angel. I could not, in good conscience, ask you to return. For one thing, I can no longer protect you. Indeed, 'tis me who needs protecting, though they dare not fuss over me too much. I've become quite the evil lord, for I spit on their sympathy. Nor do I want yours.” He stroked her hair. “Who told you?”
“A mutual friend. He told me about Joanna too.” She rested her head against his chest, listening to the beloved thud of his heart. In the pause that followed, she imagined she could hear his mind working too.
“Bernard,” he said, at last. “There was no sick uncle, was there?”
“No, no sick uncle.”
He fell silent again, and Isobel lifted her head to see a frown on his face.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I'm wondering how long you are able to stay, now that you possess your own holdings.”
She heard the fear embedded in his words. “My holdings are well taken care of, my lord. They have no permanent need of me there.”
“Hmm.” His frown deepened. “Joanna left me because of my blindness. She couldn't live with a cripple.”
The bitterness in his voice drew fresh tears to her eyes. “You're no cripple, Robert. Besides, Joanna didn't love you. I love you with all my heart.”
His expression relaxed as he gathered her close. “So, you'll stay? You'll stay at Glendennan?”
“I'll be at your side always, if you'll let me.”
He groaned. “I've prayed for it every day since you left, but we must marry. I want you as my wife, Isobel.”
“I've prayed for it too.” A sudden dreadful thought crossed her mind. “Will Edward allow it?”
Robert gave a wry smile. “I'm blind. Such an impediment does not stand me in good stead for finding a suitable match of the king's choosing. I doubt there'll be any resistance to our union.”
Tragedy had left its scars on Glendennan. Isobel noticed them as soon as she entered the bailey. The stables had been rebuilt, but several beams on the ramparts still bore scorch marks. Moreover, an invisible aura of sadness seemed to envelope the castle.
If Robert knew of its existence, he said nothing. He brushed Lucas's offer of assistance aside and took Isobel's arm as they crossed the courtyard.
Memories rushed in as she gazed up at the grey walls. It seemed like only yesterday she had departed this place with Elias. She shivered, a flutter of nausea squeezing her stomach.
“What's wrong?” Robert's hand tightened on her arm. “Why are you trembling?”
“Memories,” she replied, with a sigh. “It's a little overwhelming.”
His step faltered. “Are you having doubts about returning?”
“Oh no, my love, never that. I was only thinking of the day I left. How sad I was.”
“We're together now, Isobel. That's all that matters.”
“I know.” She guided him through the main door. “Where would you like to go, Robert? Your office?”
“For now, you may lead me to the great hall. Judging by the voices I hear, it must be lunchtime. Our arrival is timely.”
Isobel smiled. “You're hungry, my lord?”
He chuckled. “Only for you, Angel. But there is something I must do.”
When they entered the hall, a tangible ripple of shock ran through the room. Isobel heard it in the gasps from the people seated there. Mary dropped the platter she carried, burst into tears and pulled her apron up to her face.
Isobel hesitated, her mind suddenly captured by a memory of the first time she stepped into the hall on Robert's arm. The crowd had hushed then also. Her grasp on his arm tightened and he placed his hand over hers.
“Bernard must not have told them of my arrival,” she muttered.
“I'm sure he did,” Robert said. “My presence here is likely what shocked them. It has been many weeks since I stepped over this threshold. Until today, I desired only my own company.”
Struck by a humbling thought, Isobel looked at Robert. Losing his sight, she realized, had come second to losing her. He had mourned her, and deeply.
By the time they reached the dais, silence had descended like a curtain. With Isobel's guidance, Robert took his place at the table, but remained standing.
“By the grace of God,” he said, “Lady Isobel has returned to Glendennan. She has returned to me.” He took a shaky breath. Isobel sensed his fight with emotion and slipped her hand into his, feeling the grateful squeeze of his fingers. “In thirty days, following the posting of the banns, we will be married. Please, everyone, welcome my lady home.”
The silence lasted not even a moment longer. Without exception, everyone rose to their feet and cheers filled the hall. When he kissed her, the applause from the crowd almost shook the walls. Robert chuckled against her mouth. “I think they approve, my love.”
At that moment, Isobel felt a sweet surge of rightness. It seemed that her tilted world – their world – had been brought back to level. In an instant, the sensation vanished, but it left a feeling of reassurance behind.
Then she noticed John and felt her heart skip.
The child lingered by the fireplace, watching them. He looked pale and dejected, his big blue eyes wide and sad.
“John,” she murmured, and Robert's eyes narrowed.
“The lad missed you,” he said. “We've been a miserable pair.”
Isobel smiled and beckoned to the boy. He hesitated, eyeing Robert with something akin to guilt, and then made his way toward them.
“John!” Isobel stooped down to hug him, relishing the feel of his small body against hers. “I have missed you so much. You've grown, sweetheart.”
“I know. I got some new shoes.” He lifted a foot to show her, and then whispered, “Is it true?”
“What fine shoes they are. Is what true?”
“That you and Lord Montgom'ry are gettin' married?”
She l
aughed. “Aye, it's true. Didn't Lord Montgomery just say so?”
“Will that make him happy again?”
“Aye, lad.” Robert spoke from behind her. “That will make him very happy.”
John smiled and scrubbed his nose with his fist. “I'm glad you came home, Lady Is'bel.”
Chapter 26
By nightfall, the spirit of Glendennan had already shrugged off its cloud of melancholy. Hushed whispers became hopeful voices, and laughter ran unchallenged through the halls of the castle. Yet, even as the essence of Glendennan renewed, shameful secrets were laid bare within the grey walls.
The two men met in the office that evening. Robert listened in silence, his gut twisting as he listened to his friend's sad confession of treachery.
“I trusted you,” Robert said. “Of all who ever served me, you've always been my most trusted.”
“I know it, and it near kills me to know I've destroyed that trust. I can't tell you how much I regret what I did. It has burdened me like nothing else ever did. I will accept any punishment you deem fit. Death, even.”
“If Edward finds out that you forged his signature, death is exactly what you will face.” Robert rubbed his fingers across his forehead, trying to process the depth of his friend's deception. “Christ save us, Bernard, what you did is tantamount to treason. The letter is on my desk somewhere. Give it to me.”
Bernard handed it to him. “Do you mean to tell him?”
Robert heard a hint of trepidation in Bernard's voice. “I mean to burn the damn thing, but you'll have to help me.” He turned and held the letter over the hearth, feeling the warmth of the flame against his hand. “Is this good? I can drop it here?”
“Aye, and I'm humbled, my lord.” Bernard's voice shook. “I'm don't deserve such leniency.”
Robert dropped the letter to burn harmlessly in the fireplace. “Don't underestimate my disappointment, Bernard. The decision was not yours to make, but it took courage to confess what you had done.” His mouth twitched with a smile. “If I had my way, you'd be hanging from the curtain wall by your thumbs. But I was instructed to go easy on you.”
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