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“Isla,” Mary sighed in relief.

Alisdair watched the two women, their eyes bright with unshed tears, and yet Isla’s face had lit up with the widest smile he had ever seen on her—genuine, unguarded, real. He had seen her smile before, but always with some restraint behind it, some awareness of being a stranger among strangers. With her own family, she finally let go.

He suspected he might come to regret letting Mary Sinclair through his gates, in any number of ways, but none of them would be worse than missing the chance to see that devastating smile on his wife’s face.

“I didnae ken if I would find ye, Isla.”

“I am here, Mary.”

“Ye are. Ye truly are. I wasnae sure if the rumors…” Mary looked at Alisdair.

“Mary.” Isla cleared her throat. “This is Laird MacLeod.”

Mary looked up at him, wide-eyed, then glanced at Isla in silent question.

“Alisdair…” Isla hesitated for a moment. “He is me husband.”

There was something in the way she said it that made Alisdair’s irritation flare. It sounded very much like a mix of disbelief and regret.

Mary looked at him again in appraisal and also fear. She trusted him less than he did her. Yet, despite all that, she curtsied elegantly, not losing her manners.

“Thank ye for allowin’ me to enter, me Laird.”

Alisdair shot her a cold look. He didn’t like the timing at all. A Sinclair so conveniently showing up at his gates again.

“I daenae often allow Sinclairs in me castle,” he growled.

She took a step back and grabbed Isla’s hand, terror flickering in her eyes. “I… came to see me cousin,” she stammered.

Silence ensued. All eyes were on them.

Alisdair felt Isla move between him and her cousin, but he kept glaring at the woman.

“Ye only have yer cousin to thank,” he said sternly. “Ye are her guest.” He felt Isla look at him, but he ignored her and turned to his aunt. “Auntie, make sure that me wife’s guest is comfortable.”

With that, he turned around and walked away.

“Ye seem to be collecting Sinclairs,” Duncan teased, hurrying after him.

Ewan caught up to them. “Isla isnae a Sinclair, but her cousin… I’m nae sure ye did well by letting her in.”

Alisdair ignored them. Not long ago, any Sinclair who dared approach his gates would have met with nothing but his wrath. Until Isla had ridden up to his castle. Somehow he had ended up married to one Sinclair and sheltering another, simply because his wife had asked him to.

He was in much deeper trouble than he had signed up for.

Isla watched Alisdair walk away. She felt the urge to throw one of the cabbages piled in a carriage nearby at his head, but she held back because she wouldn’t waste produce on him. Also, she did not want to give Mary reason to ask any more questions.

“Let’s go to me rooms,” she said, taking her cousin by the hand.

They stepped into the drawing room, where she ordered some food to be brought in.

Mary looked around but said nothing. Isla knew what she was thinking. These private chambers were quite different from the squalid hole her uncle had put her in.

“Oh, Cousin.” Mary clasped her hands together. “It is true, then. Ye married Laird MacLeod.”

Isla nodded.

“I kent ye were daring, Cousin,” Mary chuckled. “But to ride to our enemy’s castle…”