Joanna Fulford by His Lady of Castlemora

wouldn’t be so hard: he was gentle and patient. What more could she ask for? Why on earth had she panicked like that?
    The passing minutes provided no clear answers. In the meantime there were other matters requiring attention. When she had regained her composure she quit the bower and went to the hall. As she entered she saw her father speaking to one of the servants. He dismissed the man and then waited for Isabelle to approach. For a moment he surveyed her critically, his gaze quizzical.
    ‘Is it done?’
    Crossing her fingers under the folds of her skirt she nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Good.’ He paused. ‘I pray for a happy outcome.’
    ‘And I.’
    That at least was true. It went against the grain to lie to him but there was no way to explain what had taken place with Ban, even had she felt so inclined.
    ‘Succeed in this and your future is assured.’ He squeezed her arm gently. ‘I would see you safely settled and soon.’
    ‘You will, my lord.’
    ‘I hope so, but I suspect that time is running out.’ As she opened her mouth to protest he silenced her with a finger to her lips. ‘It’s the truth and it must be faced. The pains in my chest occur more often now and the effects last longer. Before I die I should like to see Lord Ban your acknowledged husband.’
    A lump formed in her throat making it harder to speak. ‘He will be, and long before then.’
    ‘I hope you’re right.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Incidentally, I think him a better man than your last.’
    ‘So do I.’
    She thought there was no possible comparison; Ban was everything that Alistair Neil had never been. Her behaviour this morning had been foolish beyond belief. She vowed then and there that it would not be repeated. All she wanted now was to forget about the past and move on.

Chapter Eight
    O ver the next few days, Ban used some of his time to better familiarise himself with the layout of Castlemora, committing to memory the location and function of its various buildings and the immediate environs. Local knowledge was going to be essential to his plans. He also made a point of meeting regularly with his men and listening to what they had to say. They mixed more freely with the household servants and had also ventured into the village nearby, and he knew they could be relied on to keep an ear to the ground.
    ‘Murdo and his crew are not well liked hereabouts,’ said Jock. ‘They’ve a reputation for brutality and the villagers fear them.’
    ‘As well they should,’ replied Ewan.
    Inevitably the mercenaries were everywhere in evidence at Castlemora but, although they eyed the Glengarron retainers with ill-concealed dislike, they had offered no further insult.
    ‘It seems that three of them raped a local lass and got her with child,’ Jock went on, ‘but when the case was brought they swore blind she’d given her consent. It was her word against theirs. When the judgement went against her, the lass killed herself and the bairn with her.’
    Ban shook his head in disgust. ‘Their kind has no conscience and obeys no laws but their own, or perhaps Murdo’s.’
    ‘Him they fear, my lord, and with good reason apparently.’
    ‘So I imagine.’
    ‘He takes good care that their more questionable deeds occur well away from Castlemora and that there are no witnesses. Any who speak out are invariably punished or else they meet with an accident.’
    ‘I dinna much like turning my back on the scum,’ said Davy.
    ‘Their kind is better kept in plain view,’ replied Jock.
    Davy eyed Ban quizzically. ‘Will we be staying here much longer, my lord?’
    ‘For a while yet,’ said Ban.
    His men exchanged knowing grins. He returned a smile. They had guessed his interest, although not the depth of his involvement and he couldn’t tell them. Much as he disliked keeping them in the dark about his intentions, he had no other option at present. The situation was too delicate to share. Although matters hadn’t got off to the best