The Devil's Den: A Nicole Rayburn Historical Mystery Book 2 (Nicole Rayburn Historical Mysteries) by Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro

Author:Irina Shapiro & Irina Shapiro [Shapiro, Irina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Merlin Press LLC
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Isobel

August 1540

Isobel resolutely tried to purge Rachel’s words from her mind, but as the weeks passed, her fears visited her in her dreams. Again and again she woke in the night, terrified and drenched in sweat, her mouth open in a silent scream, her hand on her growing belly. She dreamed of a red-haired woman sinking beneath the waves, her pale face disappearing from view as she drifted to the bottom, eager to leave the world of the living behind. And a child. A dark-haired boy, his eyes filled with pain as the breath was extinguished from his tiny body. Where were they, Jonathan’s wife and son? What had become of them?

Unless Beatrice had really thrown herself in the lake and taken the baby with her, there had to be a grave, a marker, something to attest to the fact that these two people had existed. The simplest way to discover the truth would be to ask Jonathan outright, and Isobel had opened her mouth numerous times, about to utter the question, but something always stopped her, and that frightened her the most. She was afraid to ask because she wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of the lie or the truth.

Isobel wanted to rage at Rachel Collins, to accuse her of lying and of slandering honorable men, but deep inside, Isobel was certain Rachel had been telling the truth, at least the truth as she knew it. Something had happened at Montrose Abbey last September, something no one spoke about but that still haunted the island and was now stalking Isobel, because if it was true, then the Devlin men were to be feared.

When she attended church, Isobel looked more closely at the men and women who packed the pews. It was an unusually hot summer, the sun blazing from a cloudless sky for weeks on end. Packed into an airless building that reeked of sweat, the villagers perspired in their fustian and woolens, eager to leave as soon as the service was over. They bowed to Jonathan and tugged their forelocks in obvious servitude, but hardly anyone ever looked at Isobel, besides the vicar, who was always deferential but stern and unfriendly. Not someone she could ever turn to if she were in need of a confidant.

What did the villagers know? Isobel wondered as she allowed Jonathan to hand her into the closed, stifling carriage after the service finally came to an end on the last Sunday in August. She was so hot, she could barely breathe and wished she could yank off her close-fitting hood, the veil, and the coif beneath. Maybe they knew nothing, she decided as the carriage rattled toward home, not a hint of a breeze penetrating the leather-covered windows. They would believe whatever they were told and dare not question the private business of their lord and master. Such speculation could prove dangerous, especially since Master Knox had a house in the village and might hear their rumblings.

Isobel reflected again on

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