She was in her bed alone. It had been a dream. A nightmare, to be precise.
Taking a shaky breath, Isobel sat up. It was still dark. In her addled dream-state, she’d pushed the blankets and pillow to the floor. Leaning over, she picked them up, hoping that she hadn’t cried out in her sleep. Though they weren’t next door, there were other servants asleep on this floor. If one of them had heard her, she would be mortified.
Drawing the blanket over her head, she shut her eyes determinedly, but after that nightmare there was no chance sleep would return. Instead, she lay quietly thinking. What if her dream was trying to tell her something?
She had never had a prophetic one before, but her maternal grandmother, Helen, used to have them sometimes. And that dream had been so intense, it didn’t feel normal.
Her grandmother used to say that her dreams of the future were of little use as they were confusing, their meaning often murky and unclear until the things they depicted had come to pass.
Pulling the cover tighter, Isobel shuddered. Her dream had started just as tonight had ended, with Matteo coming after her in the hallway. But it hadn’t been him at all. What she’d seen in her dream had not been a man. Instead it was a mask, a shell covering something dark—a creature of shade and shadow. Not human.
The realization settled into her heart as her long suppressed instincts flared to life. Something was wrong with the count’s son. The gathering shadows she’d seen in his eyes earlier were not some trick of the light.
It was black magic. And of all people, she would know.
How could this have happened? The Montgomery household, indeed all of England, was supposed to be her haven. She had left all memories of magic and spellcraft behind in Highlands. What was left of that life, of her legacy, was buried with her grandmother. And then there was her vow.
She had promised her mother on her deathbed that she would never again do magic, and wouldn’t consort with others who did. She had sworn to go to her grave a normal woman.
For a time, when she was quite small, Isobel had embraced everything magical. Her grandmother had been adamant that she be trained in her craft, as had her own mother and grandmother before her. One of her daughter’s, Isobel’s aunt Moira, had also been trained.
But Isobel’s mother had not wanted that life for herself. She always said one witch in the family was enough, and two was already too many. But she hadn’t objected when grandmother Helen had decided to teach Isobel magic. Not until Moira had died.
Every other day from the time Isobel was six until she was twelve years old, she would spend afternoons with her grandmother. While her father took care of her classical education, grandmother Helen would teach her about herb lore and basics of spellcraft. They would tramp through the woods near their home, collecting herbs, rocks, and occasional insects or small animals.
Isobel had never learned what actually happened to those small animals. At the time, she had been dying of curiosity, eager to learn the upper-level spells that required such a sacrifice. Growing up around farm animals had taught her not to be sentimental about such creatures. But her grandmother had told her she would learn what was needed at the right time.
But that time hadn’t come. Her aunt had died and all lessons had ceased. Her grandmother had been so upset, but even Isobel’s father had agreed that it was for the best in light of what had happened.
From that day, Isobel had been taught to fear her gift and what might happen to her if others learned of it. And judging from the way the local villagers had turned on her grandmother, she was right to do so. Even Isobel, a mere child, hadn’t been immune to their nasty looks and the whispers that followed her whenever she went into the village.
She clutched the pillow tighter as pain filled her chest. She fought to push the hurtful memories away, but last night’s meal had brought all those long buried feelings back to the surface.
What was she going to do about Matteo?
In reality there was little she could do, save avoid him. She hoped he let her.
Chapter 4
It was another unseasonably fine day, and Isobel couldn’t stop herself from taking the children out of doors. But she quickly came to regret that decision when she felt the weight of his stare on the back of her neck.
Isobel resolutely kept her eyes on the children, but Amelia, more attuned to the moods of the adults around her, seemed to sense her tension, She would sneak glances behind Isobel and fidget with her skirts. Isobel tried to reassure the child by smiling at her as their reading lesson continued.