THE HEIRESS
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EPISODE 39
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From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
Duke Francis died two days later.
Isabelle had insisted that they at least try to
wring what they could of the antidote from the
rug in the duke’s study, but it was not enough
to save him. Sam and his men had chased the
Germanians throu-ghthe castle, but Leopold
had used the secret pa-ssages and service
corridors to evade them. Had the foreign
prince been foolish enough to attempt an
escape throu-ghthe main courtyard, he would
have come up against the full brunt of Lord
Callum Winters’ men. Unfortunately, it seemed
that the Germanians had warned him in time,
allowing Leopold to instead sli-p out a back
door, where his minions awaited him on
horseback.
Desperate for an antidote, Isabelle sent all the
Kentshire men she could muster after him.
Unfortunately for her, the extent of Leopold’s
plotting was confirmed when her cavalry,
supplemented by Lord Winters’ men, came up
against a sizeable line of Germanian troops
stationed mere miles from Inverloch. Marcus
confirmed that his scouts had been monitoring
their movements, but that they seemed to have
marched in the night, sprouting up as suddenly
as dandelions in the rolling fields on the
Kentshire side of the Germanian border.
Thankfully for Isabelle, Marcus, Lord Winters,
and Sam took on the task of dealing with the
Germanians and preparing the castle to defend
itself, allowing her to spend every waking hour
with her father.
Duke Francis deteriorated quickly, unable to
speak, eat, or drink without coughing up thick,
sticky gobs of blood. Isabelle remained by his
side, holding his icy hand and mopping the
sweat from his brow even once he sli-pped into
the too-still sleep of the dying. Father
Hammond arrived to perform his last rites at
dawn of her second day at home and the duke
sli-pped into the afterlife shortly thereafter.
Isabelle had known he was gone before the
healers did, his fingers giving hers one final
squee-zebefore the duke loosed his final,
rattling breath.
Isabelle shrouded herself in black for his
burial, which took place with little delay, as
was the custom in the north. While the castle
prepared for the funeral feast and the
townsfolk donned their black armbands,
Isabelle, Sam, Lord Winters,
and the other
Kentshire nobles that had arrived in time
braved the early winter winds for the castle
graveyard.
As her father’s coffin was lowered to the sound
of Kentshire bagpipes, Isabelle couldn’t help
but wonder whether she’d made the right
decision. She could have saved his life by
sacrificing her own, but marrying the monster
that had murdered her father was unthinkable.
She’d throw herself from a cliff before she tied
herself to such a man for the rest of her life.
Perhaps it was selfish of her to not even have
considered Leopold’s offer, but she knew that
her father would never have forgiven himself
had he lived only to see her carried off to
Germania as Leopold’s brood mare.
So she’d stood there and watched her father’s
coffin disappear into the ground, buffeted by
the wind as a hole opened inside her heart. A
hole filled with cold, empty, soul-crushing
loneliness. He was gone. The only man she’d
ever loved was gone. She’d never hear him
laugh again.
They’d never square off over his
study desk again. She’d never get to learn what
he thought of whomever she decided to
marry…
The wind hissed throu-ghthe dead gra-ss of the
frozen graveyard, all the other mourners save
for one having long since returned to the
warmth of the castle. Sam Winters lur-ked
beside the graveyard archway, using the stone
as cover against the wind,
watching over her
as he had since the moment they’d left
Highcastle Palace. He stood as silent and still
as a statue, his back turned to grant her some
privacy.
The howling wind wasn’t enough to hush the
mournful sound of the bagpipes that still
echoed in Isabelle’s head, even though the
pipers themselves were long gone as well. It
whipped the shawl from her hair, as it had
throu-ghout the ceremony, tugging at her heavy
black mourning dress as it twisted around her
ankles. It had dried her tears, whisking them
away before they could track down her cheeks
as she stared at the mound of black earth
covering her father’s casket.
She’d gotten to say goodbye, but not in the
way she’d hoped. She’d hoped he’d be alive to
walk her down the aisle at her wedding. She’d
hoped he’d be alive for the birth of her first
child, so he could bounce the little wonder on
his knee and coo like an old hen.
She’d hoped he’d be alive.
The tears started anew as she sank to her
knees, pressing her gloved hands against the
soft mound of earth.
“Oh Papa,” she sobbed. “I miss you already.”
So she cried. She cried her heart out for the
man that had raised her, the man she’d fought
with and loved with all her heart, the only man
she’d ever really trusted. He was gone now and
she would be for-ced to face the cruel world
alone, for the rest of her life.
Or until she married.
The wind to-re at her shawl again and she
for-ced the thought from her head. She’d think
about the mess she was mired in tomorrow.
For now, she wanted to spend what little time
she could with her father before the cloudy day
darkened into night.
So she lay back against the black mound of
earth until her sobs abated and the wind
howling in her ears somewhat numbed the
hole in her heart. When the grey afternoon light
began to fade, she rested her hands against
the earthen mound once more, whispering her
goodbyes to her father as she rose. She
brushed away what little dirt the wind had left
behind on her skirts, fighting down her sorrow
and pain so she could walk into the great hall
as the new duchess, not a dirt-stained little
girl.
She’d taken ba-rely two strides back towards
the castle when a cloaked figure detached
itself from one of the graveyard trees. Halting
in her tracks, Isabelle looked towards the
archway for Sam, but the big northerner had
disappeared. Seeing her hesitate, the stranger
pulled back his hood.
Isabelle blinked in surprise when she was met
with a head of sandy curls.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, the
cold nearly setting her teeth to chattering as
she approached where Prince Graham waited
for her on the path back towards the castle.
“I came to pay my respects,” Graham said,
glancing towards the grave, but not moving out
of Isabelle’s way. She said nothing, holding his
green-eyed gaze.
“It’s two days’ ha-rd ride from Highcastle,”
Isabelle said flatly, “So I very much doubt that
you’re here solely on my father’s behalf.”
That little spark of admiration flitted across his
face before he looked away, towards the ba-re-
branched trees surrounding them.
“I followed you,” he admitted finally. Isabelle,
too tired for such games, stepped around him.
“At least do me the courtesy of clapping me in
irons after the guests have departed,” she said
darkly. “For that is the only way I’ll ever return
to Highcastle.”
He caught her arm, his hand warm throu-ghthe
icy layers of her mourning dress.
“I’m not here to arrest you,” he said. “I followed
you because I wanted to ensure you arrived
safely.”
“That sounds like a load of hogwash,
especially from the man who locked me in my
room to keep me in Highcastle,” she snapped.
But she found she was unable to shake off his
hand, the warmth too welcome for her frigid
skin.
“I shouldn’t have done that, I-” he started.
“You’re right, you should have helped me!”
Isabelle said, glaring at him.
“I was trying to help you-” he said, only for her
to cut him off again.
“By allowing your father to deliver that news?
By ordering your guards to haul me away like
some criminal?” she demanded. “You have
some nerve, coming here at a time like th-”
“I’m the only reason you even reached
Inverloch,” Graham said, raising his voice if
only to cut her off.
“Samuel Winters is the only reason I reached
Inverloch,” Isabelle snapped.
“Then ask Sam why he rushed you away from
your camp outside Dunwood,” Graham
persisted. “My father sent an embarra-ssingly
large cohort of men to bring you back. I
headed them off and ensured that you kept
running, by having my scouts nip at your heels
whenever Sam slowed.”
Isabelle glared at him, searching his green
eyes for the truth. But Graham’s face was not
shuttered as he looked at her, no hint of
duplicity to be found. For the first time since
she’d met him, he seemed genuinely troubled
and upset, all traces of his trademark
arrogance wiped away.
“I’m sorry,” Graham said, his eyes finding hers.
“For everything.”
Isabelle swallowed. Then shivered.
“I should return to the feast,” she said. But
before she could set off again, Graham had
removed the ermine-lined cloak from his
shoulders to dra-pe it around hers. He fell into
step beside her, their boots crunching along
the frozen path. Isabelle tried not to savour the
warmth, her shoulders relaxing into the soft
lining of the cloak. It was a simple gesture,
but it was so decidedly unlike the cold,
calculating prince who had locked her away
from her father…
She wouldn’t think about that now.
They walked in silence until they reached the
entrance hall, Graham pulling open the door
before her.
“Feel free to enjoy the feast,” she said,
returning his cloak. Even the air inside the
castle was chilly, bi-ting into her shoulders
when the warmth of Graham’s cloak left them.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing to her before she
walked away. Over Isabelle’s retreating
shoulder, Graham exchanged a look with Sam
Winters, who was leaning against the far wall,
apparently having waited for them.
Graham had followed the group of mourners,
keeping his distance until all the others had
left. When Isabelle had sunk to her knees
beside her father’s grave, he’d been unable to
stay hidden, lur-k-ing between the gnarled old
trees. Sam had nearly throttled him when he’d
approached, but somehow Graham had found
the words to convince the northerner to let him
be the one to watch over Isabelle instead.
Graham had a feeling Sam knew just how
instrumental the prince had been in ensuring
their safe, unhindered arrival in Kentshire.
He watched Isabelle pause in the middle of the
entrance hall, her eyes straying towards the
great hall, where the feast had begun without
her. The quiet sounds of the mourners floated
throu-ghthe marble-floored hall and her
shoulders slumped before she turned towards
the stairs.
She was tired, so tired. She would face them
all tomorrow. She couldn’t face the burden of
accepting their condolences and smiling as
they reminisced about her father. Besides,
they’d all turn up tomorrow for the second day
of feasting, Marcus could tend to them tonight.
She took the stairs wearily, climbing towards
her bedchamber. Resting a hand against her
father’s closed door as she pa-ssed it, she
fought back tears once again before seeking
the sanctuary of her childhood bedroom. She
leaned back against the door, her eyes closed
as she savoured the silence, before something
creaked.
She let out a little yelp when she realized that
she was very much not alone.
To be continued…..