The Inheritance by Irina Shapiro

took a sip of cider.  It wouldn’t fix her marriage, but it was a nice moment and she would cherish it.  Rory took something out of his pocket and came behind her.  She felt him put something around her neck, and looked down to find a piece of pierced crystal on a leather thong.  The crystal was small and almost circular, but it had an indentation on one side and was a little pointier on the other, resembling a heart.  She looked up touched by the gesture. 
    “Happy birthday, Isobel.” 
    Isobel kissed his cheek and dropped the heart-shaped crystal inside the neckline of her gown.  She didn’t want anyone to see it.  It was her little secret. 
    “Did y e make it yerself?” she asked.
    “Aye, I did.”
    “Surely, there is someone ye meant to give it to,” she felt a little shy accepting such a personal gift from him.
    “Na y.  I forgot about it until I saw ye this morning and I kent it had to be ye.”
    “We ’d better go, Rory.  I’ll be missed.”  She rose to her feet reluctantly, and he gave her his hand as they climbed back to the path.  Isobel held her breath as he helped her mount her mare, and she still felt the warmth of his hands on her waist as they turned back toward the castle.  They couldn’t be seen coming back together, so Rory let her go on, while he went the other way.  Isobel rode through the castle gate feeling vastly better than when she left an hour ago. 

Chapter 13
     
    Rory didn’t follow Isobel back to the castle after they left the cave.  He watched her trot through the gates, then turned his gelding in the opposite direction, digging his heels into the horse’s flanks and sending it hurtling through the fields, his emotions raging within him.  He needed a good gallop to clear his spinning brain.
    His physical attraction to Isobel was normal, but what he felt transcended that.  Her childlike delight at seeing the firelight play over the lavender crystals , and her surprise and shyness at his gift, touched his heart.  Isobel was different from the girls he normally met.  Most of them saw him as a good prospect for marriage, taking in his looks and high position within the clan.  They unashamedly tried to lure him with their charms, and although he enjoyed their attention and witty repartee he hadn’t met one he liked well enough to wed.  He wasn’t immune to their beauty, but the sly, calculating look in their eyes put him off.  He knew it was time to think of marriage and family, but every time he imagined himself coming home to a wife, she seemed to bear an uncanny resemblance to Isobel.
    “Y e stupid fool,” he cursed himself. “She is John’s wife.  She can never be yers, and showing her any kindness will only put her in danger.”  Rory knew that John would take great pleasure in hurting Isobel if he thought Rory would be hurt in the process.  She was already fragile due to John’s treatment of her, and now she knew about Joan.  He couldn’t subject her to more humiliation or ire from John. 
    “Keep y er distance, lad,” he said through gritted teeth, and turned his horse back toward the castle. 
    As he rode past the village, his thoughts turned to Lorna.  She was long gone, but the memory of her remained, filling him with longing for feminine comfort.  He met Lorna when he was seventeen and visiting a friend in the village.  He was walking back to the castle when he saw her standing in her dooryard, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.  She was a handsome woman in her late twenties, whose husband had died not six months before. 
    “Hey, lad die.  Will ye give me a hand fixing the roof, I’m that afraid of heights.  I have some fresh currant cake and a glass of milk for the kind soul who patches that leaking hole up there,” she said with an inviting smile.  Rory felt his stomach rumble with hunger and made for the ladder.  The roof took moments to fix, and he found himself sitting inside her cozy cottage enjoying fresh