The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1), Hildie McQueen [reading books for 5 year olds TXT] 📗

new sketchbook on her bed. The book was beautiful, the paper of the best quality. Instantly her mood lifted a bit as she leafed through the book, touching each page and considering what different scenes she’d draw on each one.

It had to be Beatrice who’d purchased it. She’d hug her sister and thank her in the morning.

When she went to the dressing table, atop it was a beautiful wooden box that was tied closed with a green velvet ribbon.

Slowly she untied the ribbon and let out a breath at seeing a beautiful art set of pencils and chalks in an array of colors.

Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Had the peddler carried this? Strange that such items would be on a peddler’s wagon.

The gift was not from Beatrice but from Darach. Intuitively, she knew it. There were other things in the room. She found a necklace in a black velvet bag on the table next to the bed, as well as a buttery soft set of gloves. Across the bed was a soft linen robe with lace on the cuffs.

The elaborate gifts didn’t touch her in the way they would have when he must have ordered them from the peddler. These kinds of things could never take the place of his love or faithfulness. Instead, they were a stark reminder of the absence of such things.

She placed everything on the bed atop the dressing gown and wrapped them.

When Annis came, she handed her the bundle. “Please get rid of these. Perhaps put them in the laird’s study.”

While Annis was gone, she undressed and loosed her hair. There was a knock on the door and Isobel let out a long breath.

She opened it to find Lady Mariel. When she motioned for the woman to enter, she shook her head. “I only came to wish ye rest and tell ye that tomorrow we will take our first meal in my sitting room as has been my custom and perhaps now it can become yers as well.”

“Thank ye,” Isobel said.

Lady Mariel passed her son in the corridor without speaking to him. Darach looked tired. She was sure with all that happened, he needed to seek his bed.

“Sleep well Isobel,” he said meeting her gaze.

Without response, she closed the door and leaned on it. “I will not cry,” she murmured.

Chapter Nineteen

When Beatrice walked into the family parlor and found it empty, she wanted to squeal with joy. It was by far her favorite room in the entire keep. Large windows allowed one to look out to the sea just past rocky hillsides. In the distance, sheep grazed without care under a blue sky with a cloud here and there, seeming to be placed just right by an artist.

A table and pair of chairs by the window gave her the perfect place to sit and pen a letter to her parents. Already two nights had passed since her sister’s humiliation and a sense of heaviness remained thick in the home.

What she’d tell her parents eluded her, so she waited for inspiration on how to start the letter. As much as she appreciated, Isobel’s offer to help her write it, her sister was not in the right frame of mind to do so at the moment. This was her project to complete, and it had to be carefully written.

She curled into one of the chairs, tucking her feet under her, and sighed happily. It was the perfect place to think. She tapped her chin with a finger while looking out the window considering how to plead her case.

Her family could not know what happened, that her sister had been humiliated by the laird. Not that it would be anything that would affect things. Afterall, they’d married her off without care if it was a love match or not. However, her mother would be upset at hearing that Isobel was dejected.

Smiling, she sighed. Perhaps she could convince her mother of being courted. It could mean Lady Macdonald would travel there immediately just to ensure the courtship was with someone they approved of and to ensure she didn’t do anything inappropriate. She was after all quite impulsive at times.

“Who should I choose?” Beatrice said out loud.

At hearing a door open, she peered around the chair but didn’t see anyone. Deciding the person must have been looking for someone, she went back to peering out the window.

A few moments later, distinct footsteps made it known someone had entered.

Beatrice peered around the chair again. It was Duncan. The massive man had entered making little noise.

Despite being tall, with bulging muscles all over, he moved with an assured fluid grace.

“Miss Beatrice,” he said by way of greeting.

“Mister Duncan,” Beatrice replied, a shiver traveling through her. “I can leave if ye require privacy.”

He shook his head and looked down the blank parchment and quill. “I came searching for ye actually. I am going to North Uist the day after tomorrow and can escort ye back home.”

“I am about to write a letter to my parents. My sister needs me here, so I plan to remain for a while longer. I cannot bear leaving her right now.”

Instead of a reply, he kept his gaze averted, peering out the window to the scenery. “I can deliver that letter then.”

“Thank ye. I will write it now.”

He finally met her gaze, and she could not keep her eyes from widening. Like his brothers Stuart, Ewan, and Gideon, he had dark brown hair and the same face structure. However, his eyes were not like the others. One was the familiar hazel, while the other a dark brown.

Keeping his eyes downcast, he turned away. “Tomorrow is fine. I will not leave until after last meal.”

She reached for his forearm to stop him from walking away. “Yer eyes,” she began. “They are quite unique. My eldest brother, Evander, has eyes like yers, two different colors. One is blue, like mine, the other is brown.”

It was as if he didn’t believe her and searched her face waiting