Taken Away (A Swept Away Saga Origins Story)

Eleven

"How many people do ye think will be there?" Isobel walked beside him, staring around the path as they descended down the mountain. She sounded excited, but there was also an uncertainness to her tone, like she was worried she would run into someone she knew and would rather not see.

"Sixty?" he guessed. "It will be all the families that help with the crops. We're spread out a bit, but we still call our little settlement a town. It's nothing grand, like a Laird's homestead and lands, but it's enough for us. Life is peaceful. Or, at least it was, until ye showed up and turned everything on its head."

"Ye don't seem so bothered by me now," she teased. The amusement on her face quickly melted away though, replaced by nervousness. "Do ye think they'll like me? Yer family, I mean."

"I think they will love ye," he responded truthfully.

"Even though everyone says I'm a witch?"

Understanding suddenly filled him and he felt as if he'd been kicked by the horse, he'd been so blind to what was bothering her. Of course she was worried about leaving her home. Everyone in the town thought she was a witch. They could shun her, or worse, accuse her. The possibility hadn't occurred to him, he'd been so focused on what to do about Fiona. There was no way he'd be able to leave Isobel by herself now, not when there was the threat of someone taking it upon themselves to say she slept with the Devil.

"It makes no difference to me what people say about ye," he reminded her, trying to sound calm and as if he'd already thought of this. "It won't matter to those who count either."

She nodded, her brow furrowed, and patted the side of Arth. It was a motion of reassurance and Will wanted to slap himself for being so inconsiderate to her plight. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that everyone was already forming opinions on Isobel. They'd had weeks to talk about what she might be up to. Even worse, he had been up there for so long, they were probably talking about what she'd done to him as well.

Ditching his plan to fix everything entirely, he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Isobel, I need to tell ye something."

"Hmm?" Pulled out of her own thoughts, she looked over at him, eyebrows raised.

"It's something I should have told ye earlier, but I dinna ken how. I dinna ken how to do it now, to be honest." Grimacing as the look on her face became somewhat alarmed, he pushed on, not wanting to lose his nerve. "There's a woman in town named Fiona. She and I . . . have a past." The last bit came out lamely and he felt as though a thousand voices in his head were screaming at him in his failure.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell the woman that he was engaged to marry someone else in just a month's time and that she would be at the party tonight. He couldn't look at her and tell her he had lied by omission. How would she ever be able to believe anything he'd said to her? She would look at him and know he was a liar, just as he knew whenever he saw his own reflection.

"A past?" She sounded confused, her eyes narrowing as she continued to watch him, stopping her movement down the path.

"Meaning we were . . . together?"

"Are ye tellin' me, or askin' a question?"

She folded her arms, frowning. It was more than easy to imagine what she must have been thinking, all the ways she was planning revenge on him for lying.

"Telling." Swallowing hard, he took another deep breath.

"Well, ye're not together now, are ye?" Her tone held a hint of many emotions. There was some anger, as well as sadness, and a surprising amount of panic.