Recognizing the look of someone who had lost everything dear to them, Will spoke softly. “Where’s yer family, lass?”
Isobel’s eyes filled with unshed tears, her mouth clamped shut as she continued to rub her fingers together. Finally, swallowing hard and blinking her eyes clear, she looked at him again. “There was a fire. They all died—Ma, Da, my two brothers, and my little sister. I was the only one that got away.”
“I’m sorry for yer loss, truly.” He couldn’t think of what else to say to her. If it had been his family, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it, not to anyone. What did one say to an orphan? To someone who had lost all their siblings? To a person who had no home, no family, and no one to turn to? Surely, if she’d had other relatives, or even friends, she could have stayed with them after the ordeal. But, here she was, in another country, all alone. How long had it been since her world was turned upside down?
Hurting for her, Will remained silent, not knowing how to express the horror and misery he felt with her. The air in the hut was heavy, the coolness of the storm outside barely held at bay, thunder rumbling through the sky once more. Glancing down at the bowl in front of him, he suddenly realized it was the only one; she wouldn’t be able to eat until he was done with it.
Picking the dish up, he quickly slurped the soup out, ignoring the spoon and any notions of politeness. As soon as it was empty, he rose, going to the fire and filling it once more. Careful not to spill any of the liquid, he turned, moving to the bed and settling down on it beside her.
“Here. Ye make a mighty tasty soup, and it’ll warm ye right up. Ye’re probably freezing in that wet cloak.”
Snorting, she stood, removing the wet item and laying it on the floor by the fire. “Better?” Not waiting for an answer, she sat back beside him and took the bowl, sipping a tiny bit of broth off the rim.
“Much,” he replied, pleased she had taken his advice.
“Tell me about yerself, then. Do ye have any siblings?”
The conversation moved easily after that, even if it was just trifling things she inquired about. He told her of his family, the farm that they lived on, and other, random tidbits from his life. For some reason, though, he said nothing of Fiona and their upcoming wedding. The omitted truth made him feel uncomfortable, like he should have shared it with her, but he didn’t want to. For the first time since his marriage had been arranged, he was with someone who didn’t know about it. There were no constant reminders of his future family or the responsibilities he would have. Not one time did she tell him he should be happy with his life, or ask what was bothering him. He was allowed to simply be, without any preconceived notions of what that meant for him.
“So, Rowan is hoopin’ and hollering, callin’ for someone to come and pull him out of the mud, and Alastair is shouting down at him, telling him he’s dumber than a lump of cheese.” Chuckling as he told her the story, he watched as her eyes lit up, the sadness of their earlier conversation drifting away from her. “I’m trying to hold the dogs back, so they don’t get stuck, and Da is screaming at Alastair to be quiet while he tries to walk out into the bog and get Rowan. Well, he finally gets out there, angry as hell because Rowan didn’t listen to him and got us all in this mess, and he grabs my brother under the arms and yanks him up outta the mud.”
“Oh, good. I thought ye were going to say they both got stuck.” Giggling, she sipped more soup, her legs pulled up and knees tucked against her chest.
“Not quite. The mud pulled Rowan’s pants and shoes clean off, though.”
“It did not! Are ye serious?”
“Completely. The breeches are still out there, somewhere, as well as the boots. Maw was ready to beat the poor kid when she saw his naked little arse walk into the house.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “I don’t believe a word of it. Ye made the whole thing up.”
“And why would I do that?” he asked, feigning offense.
“I have no idea. But that story is so ridiculous, there’s no way it really happened.” Grinning, she tucked her now mostly dry hair behind her ear, setting the bowl down between them.
“Ye can go out in the bog and check it yerself, if ye’d like. Maybe ye’ll find Rowan’s blasted clothes.” Laughing loudly as she rolled her eyes, he leaned his head against the wall, feeling happier than he had in a long time. There was something freeing about being up here with her, shut off from the rest of the world.
Covering her mouth, Isobel yawned, grinning sheepishly as she looked at him. “It’s getting late. I don’t normally stay up this long.”
“I’m tired, too,” he confessed, though he still felt like he could talk for hours. “I didn’t mean to keep ye up, though. I can go back outside and let ye sleep.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, it’s still rainin’ out there. Ye can sleep in here, if ye’d like. It’ll be dryer and warmer than out in the mud with yer horse.”
“That’s verra kind of ye, but I wouldn’t want to make ye uncomfortable.”
“Ye won’t. Let me get ye a blanket and make ye a bed for the night.” Rising, she went to the chest by the door, rummaging through the things at the very top and pulling a cover from the bottom. Within a moment or so, she’d laid out a small space for him on the other side of the room. An awkwardness spread between them as she turned to look back at him, smiling tightly.
“Well . . . good night.”
“I’ll stoke the fire,” he added, latching onto the first thing he thought of. “See ye in the morning. I’ll try not to wake ye when I get up.”
“I’m up early,” she stated, moving toward her bed.
Not knowing what else to say, Will turned to the hearth, kneeling in front of it and adding some of the logs stacked beside it into the fire. Once he was sure it would last the majority of the night, he rose, looking over at Isobel. She was already in bed, the blanket pulled up around her shoulders and her face toward the wall. Red hair fanned out behind her and Will had the sudden image of flames dancing around her, bringing to mind the fire that her family had died in.
Sliding into his makeshift bed, he covered himself with the blankets, ignoring the hardness of the ground beneath him. It wasn’t lost on him that this might have been the first time since she’d not slept alone since losing everything.
Seven
“Good morning!”
Looking over his shoulder, Will smiled widely, watching as Isobel walked down the hillside, toward the creek he stood in. She carried more heather in her hands, brown dress swishing over the muddy ground with ease, her hair tied back once more. The early light of sunrise shone around her, the storm having passed in their sleep.
“Morning,” he called back, temporarily forgetting the fishing line he’d been pulling in. “Ye weren’t kidding about waking early. I thought for sure I’d have ye beat, but ye were gone before I even opened my eyes.”
“Catch anything yet?” she asked, nodding toward the water.
Remembering the line, he brought the hook on the end up, empty. “I’ve only just started. I dinna know what ye were planning on having for breakfast, but I thought some meat would be better than oats to fuel me for today. Plus, I planned on gathering some reeds for yer roof.”
“That’s what this is for.” Holding the heather up, she flashed him a happy grin. “I’ve been collecting it and reeds for the past couple weeks now. I think I might have almost enough to fix it.”
“You were planning on doing all the work yerself?” Surprised yet again, he looked at her with a newly appreciative gaze. He should have guessed it. Isobel had no problem taking care of herself, in every aspect of life. “Have ye been gathering timber as well?”
“Some. I don’t have the right tools to make what I need, though.”
“How were you intending on putting it all together?” Baiting the hook, he threw it back out into the water, slowly drawing it toward himself, hoping the movement would catch the eye of a fish.
“That’s where ye come in.
” Laughing at his confused look, she turned, laying her bundle on the hill behind her. “Someone shows up with the necessary items and insists on repairing something I haven’t figured out how to fix yet? Of course I would eventually warm up to the idea of letting ye help. Sheila’s not the only one who can tell when someone is a good person with well-meaning intent, ye know.”
“Oh, I see. Ye’re just using me. Is that it?” Chuckling, William was pleased to find that the happiness he’d experienced the night before was still with him. He didn’t know if it was the break from his normal routine, or Isobel herself, but life was truly enjoyable at the moment.
“I suppose I am. Ye seem like a willing participant in my scheme, though, so I imagine that makes it alright.” Her voice sounded so light and cheerful as she spoke, poking fun at their odd relationship.
It felt strange, to see her so open and carefree like this, after the encounters he’d had with her in the daylight before. While the traces of the fearsome warrior woman weren’t completely gone, there was a softness to her features he’d never noticed before. The daintiness of her hands seemed more apparent as she waded into the water and began harvesting reeds, gathering stalk after stalk and bundling them together to take back to the hut over the tiny hill and up the path a little way. Even her hair seemed softer, shining in the light like a halo around her face.
A tug on the line brought him back to his present task and he pulled the fish in with some effort, tossing it up on the shore. The brown trout flopped around, gills working furiously, but finally fell still, giving up the fight. “Would ye like one?” he asked her, poised to throw the line back out. It would be harder to catch anything now with her wading through the water, but he didn’t mind.
Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. “I don’t like fish. Something about the way they smell and how they feel when ye’ve just pulled them out of the water makes my stomach turn and I can’t handle it.”
“Ye mean to tell me, ye’ve never eaten fish before?” he asked incredulously.
“I didn’t say that.” Chuckling slightly, she brought her bundle out of the water and laid it next to the heather. “I have. I found it very delicious. The fact that it was fish was conveniently left out until afterword.” Looking up at the sky, she smiled, remembering. “I have never vomited something up so quickly in my life. As soon as I knew what it was, everything came right back out. I couldn’t stop it. It was awful, but my Ma never made me eat it again.”
“Then I won’t make ye either.” Humored by her tale, he wound the line up instead, happy with his catch for himself.
As Isobel gathered more reeds, moving further down the bank as she worked, Will started a small fire, setting a large rock near the flames to heat up. While waiting for the surface to be ready for him, he descaled the fish with his hunting knife, preparing it for cooking. Finally, he laid it out on the hot surface, his stomach growling in anticipation.
Every time his counterpart returned with her spoils, she would make a face at the smell, but there was laughter in her eyes. He liked to think that she enjoyed his company as well. Even though they’d only really known each other for a day, she didn’t feel like a stranger to him. Their conversation the night before had opened his eyes to many of her opinions and habits. The ease and familiarity he felt around her now seemed like that of an old friend.
Eating quickly so the smell wouldn’t bother her for long, he doused the flames and washed his hands in the creek, straightening and searching for her along the shore. She had worked her way down the water quite far, picking only the longest reeds. She was almost out of sight, her form pinpointed by her hair, the red standing out against the other colors of the highland. Silently wondering if she knew of the waterfall not far from here, he rucked his kilt up and waded through the thigh deep water, beginning his own search for material on the other side of the waterway. Isobel may have thought there was enough material to fix the roof, but it wouldn’t hurt to have extra, in case the job turned out to be bigger than she’d planned.
After a time, when the sun had fully risen above the tree line, he brought his large gathering back across the water, meeting Isobel on the other side. They’d managed to find a good amount of the plant to work with. Once it dried out, it would be ready for the construction work.
“I’ve been storing everything I find on the broken side of the house,” she explained. “Under the old thatch.”
“I thought everything on the caved in side was debris,” he confessed, grateful he hadn’t gone in and cleaned it out the day before.
Shaking her head, she adjusted her hold on what she carried, watching her footing as she stepped over some rocks, heading back toward the house. “I was trying to keep it all dry. There wasn’t anywhere to put it outside, so I cleaned up what I could and covered the new material with the old. It hasn’t done a perfect job, but it works.”
Following behind her, he tried to think of any other woman who was so singularly self-sufficient as Isobel. Only his mother came to mind, the memories of her drive and ability to run their entire home bringing a smile to his face. The images were quickly followed by one of Isobel taking care of a family. Despite her fierce independence, he imagined her as a kind wife and mother, but still a force to be reckoned with. Originally, he would have insisted that she was some type of crazy shrew, incapable of coexisting with others, let alone a husband and children. The prospect of staying with her for two weeks and forcing her to let her home be repaired had made him practically turn green, honor and goodness aside. Now, he found that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with her.
“I have to admit, Miss Delaney,” he stated, looking to where she was ahead of him. “Ye have caught me quite by surprise. Ye are not at all what I expected.” The admiration was evident in his tone and he blushed, suddenly embarrassed.
Glancing back, cheeks reddening as well, she smiled. “Please, call me Isobel.”
“Isobel. If we’re on a first name basis, ye might as well call me Will instead of MacDonald, then.”
“Will. Not William?”
He liked the way it sounded when she said his name, in a way that had nothing to do with her Irish accent. Blushing even brighter, he cleared his throat and explained. “William is my Da. My family calls me Willy, but I like Will for everyone else.”
“Will it is, then.” Turning her attention to the path, her voice trailed back to him lightly, a business-like tone to it. “I hope ye don’t mind, but I have a lot to do today. As soon as we get back, I’ll see to my own chores. I trust ye’ll be fine on yer own?”
“Aye,” he replied, chuckling some. “I’ll be workin’ on the wall all day. I suspect it will be another day or so before it’s done.”
Rounding the top of the hill, they stepped into the overgrown road, passing the bend and catching sight of the cabin ahead of them. It looked strangely inviting now, even in its disheveled state. The silence that wrapped around them as they walked the remaining distance was comfortable and warm, making it felt like a scene from a story book to him. Once again, smoke trailed from the chimney, the trees overhead swaying gently in the cool breeze. He could still smell the scent of grilled fish on his hands—barely—combined with the aroma of reeds and heather, as well as the wet earth.
“Through here,” Isobel said, breaking the spell as she walked around to the broken side of the hut.
Stepping over the base stones of the wall, she ducked beneath the branches of the overgrown trees, skirting the piles of mess everywhere. Once she got to where she was headed—a section of empty space beside the faux wall she’d created—she laid her bundles on the floor, arranging them in an artful pile. Motioning for Will to hand his contribution over, she stacked it as well, dusting her hands off on her skirt as she finished.
“We’ll leave them uncovered for a bit, unless it starts to rain again. That way, they have a chance to dry out some.”
Nodding, he took the chance to really look around the space, noting that several o
f the spots he’d thought were piles of useless straw before were actually more of the piles Isobel had created herself. From the look of it, there really might have been close to enough to fix the roof.
“I think I’ll have to do a bit more clean up before I can start on the wall.” He spoke slowly, thinking as he stroked his beard. “It will be easier to get some of this out before I get rid of that hole. What do ye think?”
“Do whatever ye have to,” she replied, shrugging. “I’d thought that at least the branches would have to be cut down before the wall went up.”
“Aye, I agree.” Looking up, he pursed his lips, a plan of action forming in his mind. Confident that he would be able to take care of everything himself, he smiled at her, feeling a strange flop in his stomach as she returned the expression. “Go do yer chores. I’ve got this handled and will be here when ye get back.”
Eight
The work made time pass quickly. Every day, Will would wake up to discover that Isobel had already risen, her pallet empty and tidied, with a bowl of oats waiting for him on the tiny table. A brief morning of fishing and gathering reeds followed, and then the rest of the day was filled with house work. On the fifth day since his arrival, the branches had been trimmed away, the stores of new thatch moved and stored outside under a couple hides, the inside of the hut cleaned, and the wall stacked back together.
Kicking some of the boulders lightly, Will tested the strength of the wall, making sure it wouldn’t fall over due to bad craftsmanship. It stood strong, though, the rocks leveled and placed perfectly. Even the cap stones on the very top of the wall held strong. All that remained now was the entirely new roof to be created.
Feeling confident and pleased with the work he’d done so far, Will walked around to the front of the house, examining everything with a smile. Pausing, he caught sight of Isobel in the garden, his breath catching while he watched her work. There was something about her that felt so innately beautiful to him, besides the obvious stunning quality of her looks. The longer he was around her, the more apparent it became. Her personality blossomed the more he got to know her and he loved learning little pieces of her life and seeing the way she interacted with the world around her.
Taken Away_A Swept Away Saga Origins Story_A Scottish Highlander Romance_The Swept Away Saga Page 5
