Page 70 of My Duke, The Stranger
Now, as was proven, she had waited too long…
“Please, Your Grace!” Mr. Pembroke chased her down the hallways. “There is a storm coming! If you wait, I will inform His Grace and?—”
“There is no time!” Isolde was still dressed in her evening slip. She had not bathed. She had not eaten. But she cared not. She had one thing on her mind, and that was reaching her father before it was too late.
“He is sure to wake soon,” Mr. Pembroke told her. “No doubt when he does?—”
“You can tell him yourself where I have gone,” Isolde explained as she rushed down the stairs. “But I will not wait. And you cannot stop me.”
Mr. Pembroke rushed in front of her and blocked her path. “Nor will I try…” He held his hands out to try and slow her. “Butplease, at least allow me to fetch you a riding cloak. You cannot possibly go out as you are.”
She clicked her tongue, her worry rising by the second. But a quick glance down at herself, another at the window which showed the encroaching storm, and even Isolde was not such a fool as to ride from the estate dressed so poorly.
“I will meet you in the stables,” she told him. “But hurry, Mr. Pembroke. If you are not there in five minutes, I will leave. Know that I will.”
Mr. Pembroke still looked bereft with concern, but he turned and rushed up the stairs. As soon as he was gone, Isolde turned and hurried through the manor and in the direction of the stables.
She had failed in helping her father. She had become distracted by her own situation. She had not done her duty, and that realization was crushing.
But one thing that she could and would do was be there for him. And there was nothing in the world, no storm too great, that would stop her.
Cassian woke to the sound of someone knocking.
He thought it was a dream at first; the sound was distant, and he kept his eyes closed while praying it would leave him alone. Warm and comfortable in bed, he’d had the type of sleep that he did not want to wake from. In fact, it was the type of sleep that told of a piqued mood, the comfort found not so much a result of the bed itself but of how his life was going.
Last evening had been a revelation, of sorts. For so long he had fought within himself, not sure what he wanted, determined to do what he believed to be easy, even if it hurt those he cared for… those he wished that he did not care for.
But his conversation with Isolde had changed all that and finally he was willing to concede that caring for others, that being true to himself and his feelings, was not something to be feared. The pain, the suffering, those were bearable so long as he had someone in his life who was there for him.
So, he lay with his eyes closed, smiling gently, ignoring the sound of knocking because he did not want such feelings to end…
“Your Grace…” The door popped open and he recognized Mr. Pembroke’s voice. “Please, I am so sorry to wake you, but it is imperative that I do.”
“Someone better be dying, Mr. Pembroke,” he groaned as he rolled over. “And if they are not, you have just volunteered to take their place.”
“I would never ordinarily wake you, Your Grace.” Mr. Pembroke’s footsteps crashed against the floor as he hurried into the room. “But this is urgent, and I know you will want to be told.”
“Told what?” Slowly, Cassian rolled over and forced open an eye.
The room was dark, more than it should have been. Morning had come, but the light that crept through the closed curtains was dull and gray. A storm was coming… and a moment of listening alerted Cassian to the blowing of winds.
Mr. Pembroke stood over him, his face pale, his eyes pleading.
“A messenger arrived at the estate not ten minutes ago,” he began, speaking quickly. “It was sent from Her Grace’s family’s cottage, her sister. It told of their father, whose illness has gotten worse.”
“It has?” Cassian sat up. “Does Isolde know?”
“That is why I am here, Your Grace.” Mr. Pembroke fidgeted with his hands, and he could not look Cassian directly in the eye. “I told Her Grace of the message, and without waiting for further instruction, she rushed to the stables and took a horse. She left just five minutes ago?—”
“What?” Cassian was up and out of his bed before Mr. Pembroke finished speaking. “She rode out alone?”
“I tried to stop her, Your Grace,” Mr. Pembroke hurried to explain. “I tried to ask that we wait for you to wake, but she would not listen. I hardly managed to convince her to wear a cloak before she took off. She is…” He grimaced. “She is incorrigible.”
Cassian chuckled bitterly. “She is that…”
He thought quickly, deciding that such news was not nearly so tragic as it might be. Isolde cared deeply for her father, the type of love that he envied, as well as respected. What was more, Cassian knew he ought not to get in the way. If anything, he should encourage it. After all, that she cared so deeply was one of the reasons that he loved her so.
“I will go after her…” He nodded slowly. “But Isolde should also be with her father, and I would not get in the way. A bath first, perhaps breakfast. Then I will ride out, hopefully arriving after she’s had some time with him.” Another nod of confirmation. “Yes, I do not wish to suffocate her or punish her for doing what is right.”
