Page 71 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“Attentive? To anyone in particular?”
She waves a hand. “In general.”
“So no one in particular that you noticed?”
As she walks in silence, her hand slips into her pocket. Looking for her mints. When I met Isla, she had a nervous habit of popping them, arising from her asshole of a husband insisting she had bad breath. A habit rooted in shame and humiliation became an anxious compulsion, one she’s been breaking. Seeing her reach for the tin, though, tells me that my question makes her uncomfortable.
“Isla?” I say. “Do you know who that note was for?”
She shakes her head.
“But you have a suspicion?”
“Violet,” she blurts. Then she clenches her fists. “And I fear that says more about me than her, so you ought not put much faith in it. I thought I sensed a tension between her and Ezra, one that might speak of a hidden attachment. But I did not see anything overt, and I fear I…” She swallows. “I hoped to see an attachment. Ezra seemed a decent fellow, and she seems so sad.”
Isla wanted to see a sign that Violet had a new love, proof she was over McCreadie, and she’s uncomfortable because that hope would only partly be rooted in concern for Violet.
“I knew of the broken engagement, of course,” she says as we walk. “It was the cause of Hugh’s estrangement from his family. He made a hard choice, and it cost him. But I did not ever consider how it affected Violet. I had very little contact with her, only passing in social circumstances. Now I understand what she went through, and the man who put her through that is…” She swallows.
“A very dear friend of yours.”
She nods. I haven’t pressed her to admit how she feels about McCreadie. Part of me wants to push, but a bigger part realizes she’ll push back, possibly by shoving her feelings even deeper into hiding.
She slows to touch an overhanging branch, shielding her expression. “Is it wrong that I am not furious with Hugh? Am I being deliberately obtuse? Or, worse, one of those women who absolves a man simply because she knows him.Oh, he did not mean it. You do not understand him.”
“Except”—I lower my voice—“you do understand him, and you know he did not mean to cause her pain.”
“He was thoughtless,” she says, abruptly resuming her walk. “Youngand careless and inconsiderate, and Iamangry with him for that. But I also understand that he did not foresee the consequences for her. Young men never do.”
“I get the sense he sees them now.”
She nods. “He does, and that is why we were together earlier. Because he is feeling melancholy and wished to talk. He wanted to believe Violet had moved on with her life and understood they would have been a poor match. But I am not sure they would have been. Perhaps not the most joyful of unions, but better than—” She clears her throat. “Better than most.”
“Hugh wants more from a marriage,” I say softly. “And I’m sure he told himself he also wanted more for Violet, but as you say, men don’t think about such things. It was an arranged marriage, and that brings in all new levels of blame and guilt.”
“All that blame goes to the woman,” Isla says. “It is as if Hugh changed his mind about buying a horse. No one else will want that horse because clearly it is deficient. At best, you can hope to sell it cheap.” Her voice goes harsh. “We are nothorses.”
I take her arm and hold it as we walk.
“I fear…” She trails off before trying again, her voice a little firmer. “I fear… Oh, I do not even know how to say this.”
“It’s just us, Isla. Nothing you tell me goes back to Duncan.” I lean around her to meet her gaze. “You know that, right?”
She nods, her eyes glistening. “I do, and thank you. I know how close you and my brother are, and I appreciate that I do not need to worry about that.”
“He tells me nothing that you say to him in confidence either. Just as I’m not worried about you sharing something I said in confidence. We’ve worked all that out, thankfully.”
We worked it out with a stumble. A serious one. I confessed my truth—about time traveling—to Isla first, and that hurt Gray, more than I would have expected.
Isla walks in silence until we can see the lake, and then she blurts, “I fear the broken engagement was my fault.” Her head jerks, as if she is trying to pull back the words. “Not entirely. But partly. Then I think that, and I am…” She struggles for a word. “Uncomfortable. It feels like hubris.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
“I kissed Hugh. It was awful.” Her eyes widen. “Not the kiss.” A choked sound that isn’t quite a laugh before she flushes. “That was not awful at all.”
“You kissed Hugh this morning?”
“What?” She stops and turns to look at me. “No, not this morning. Before my marriage.”
