Page 6 of Much Ado About a Scot

“You put everything you owned up as collateral for the seed?”

Isobel frowned at the accusation in his voice. “I had no other choice. I will not steal, nor will I allow my child to starve.”

Xander was staring at her with a curious expression on his handsome face, and she suddenly felt as though he was seeing every imperfection: her sun- and wind-weathered skin; the tumble of chaos that was her hair; her gown that was not only several years out of date, it was worn and threadbare in places as well. Her embarrassment faded as anger took its place. “Don’t you dare make judgments about me until you’ve walked in my shoes.”

Something that might have been respect flickered in his eyes before it was gone. “You’re correct. I know nothing about you or your life. And I doubt marrying me was easy for you, given your situation.”

“It wasn’t,” she admitted, her voice low and intense. “So now that you know how desperately I need your help, will you stay and help me?”

*

Isobel stared at him, waiting for his answer. Her gaze sent an insidious, coiling heat into the pit of his stomach. Her farm, her needs, her life were more than he’d bargained for. And yet, he’d promised to help her for a short time. If he reneged on that promise, he knew he would remember the desperate look on her face for the rest of his life.

Working her farmland would leave him little time for his mission of spying on her neighbor and those he entertained. Still, he wasn’t the kind of man who turned away from a challenge either. Could he help her and figure out if Bothwell took shelter at Dunbar Manor, plotting his next attack on the king?

Xander wasn’t afraid of the back-breaking labor. Training for war was far more taxing than harvesting grain. What he feared was allowing his emotions to creep past his guard. Isobel was the kind of woman he would have chosen for a wife himself, had he ever had the opportunity. She was strong, resilient, and quite beautiful—even in her simple, unadorned, and ragged dress. Though her hair was restrained, he could imagine that it would fall in a luxurious tumble across her shoulders when released. Unbounded, her dark hair would frame a face of beauty. Despite the shadows beneath her eyes, her skin glowed with vitality. Her lips were generous and soft.

But it was her eyes that would be his undoing. They were brown, but no ordinary brown. They were wonderfully expressive eyes that were the color of golden topaz that sparkled in the sunlight and darkened with fear. They were dark and filled with shadows right now—shadows he could eliminate with a few simple words.

He had certainly done harder things than contain his emotional reactions before. He had proven on the battlefield that he could focus on the task at hand without grieving for his fallen comrades.

“I’ll stay.” But Xander vowed silently to keep his distance from Isobel and her troubles for the next two months.

Chapter Three

Isobel and Xander walked the rest of the way in silence until they came to Gladmuir Hall. Isobel always loved the sight of her home, sitting atop a rise in the land, surrounded by fields of golden rye and barley ready to harvest. The house was a two-story structure with a steeply sloping roof and a row of narrow chimneys lining either side of the roofline. Smoke drifted up from one of the chimneys, most likely from the fire in the kitchen hearth as Freya baked the daily bread. Jamie would be with her. Just the thought of seeing her precious child after even a short separation made Isobel smile.

“Let us go inside,” Isobel said as she stepped aside at the doorway, allowing Xander to precede her into the house. She was grateful she had not married a drunkard or a thief, but someone who was down on his luck. Stepping inside after him, she breathed in the scent of woodsmoke and cut flowers. She didn’t have much, but what she did have she was proud of. He stepped from the entry hall into the sitting room on the right. Sunlight came through the window to cast the room in yellow-gold light that made the four chairs arranged at the edges of a somewhat threadbare rug seem somehow more elegant than they were in reality. A bookcase with two shelves was within reach of the chairs, yet there were only a few volumes on the shelves. A small wooden table between two of the chairs boasted a vase of wild roses that brought a late-summer sweetness to the air.

As Xander looked about the room with a frown, Isobel’s stomach tightened. “What I have I will gratefully share.”

His features softened as his gaze lit on her. “You have a lovely home, Isobel. I was merely thinking how much of a burden you have carried on your shoulders with the farmlands we passed and with the maintenance of this house all alone. Most women could not have done that.”

His unexpected compliment unsettled her but not nearly as much as the admiration that reflected in his dark eyes. She bristled against the emotion that threatened. “You must not know very many women then, because those I know will do anything to protect what is theirs.”

He stepped closer and took her hands in his. “Am I included among those whom you must protect now, Isobel?”

She swallowed roughly as the warmth of his hands snaked up her arms. “Of course. As the villagers warned in the marketplace, I have difficulty keeping my husbands. I’d not have you die on me as the others have before you.”

“How did they die?”

Isobel forced her thoughts away from the effect his nearness had on her breathing, convincing herself that her response was not a result of his touch but at the thought of her dead spouses. “Saint Anthony’s Fire took Rory,” Isobel responded, her words thick. “And Ezra had an apoplectic fit and died shortly after.”

“Saint Anthony’s fire?” Xander frowned. “Is that why you are so determined to harvest the grain before mold can form on the rye?”

She nodded and took a step back. “He proved eating the grain that sits too long in the field can kill you.”

“And yet you and your son were not affected?”

“What are you insinuating? That I was somehow responsible for his death? How dare you.” Isobel pulled her hands from his. “I loved my husband and would never bring him harm. Jamie and I were spared because I had just given birth and spent most of my time nursing our son. Rory took his evening meals at the Graham estate. The laird’s sister and several of their servants also died from eating the same foul grain.”

“What did you do when you realized the grain was the cause?”

“Against David Graham’s wishes, I burned the fields to make certain no one else suffered the same fate.”

“Which is why you needed to buy new grain the following year, and why you put your estate up as collateral.”

Isobel straightened. “As I said, I did what I had to do to protect those I loved.”