Charles Swan was late.

For all of Isabella's life, her father had been late only a handful.

Cleanliness, godliness, and punctuality he would say.

Therefore, it struck Isabella as especially odd that her father was late to something of this importance. She flashed a smile at her future mother-in-law, Elizabeth Montgomery, as she lifted the lemonade to her lips.

It was a lovely spring afternoon and it had been Jake's idea to invite their parents for lunch at their country club to celebrate their recent engagement. Their fathers had met at a variety of social events in the past decade, the upper class flying together like birds of a feather, but never as future in-laws.

Isabella looked at down at her watch and frowned. He was 10 minutes late.

Jake and his father were discussing Jake's younger brother Tom, and his upcoming internship that he was starting over the summer with Bank of America.

Finally, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father striding towards them, a large smile on his face and a bottle of wine in one of his arms.

"Michael, Elizabeth, so good to see you!" he exclaimed gallantly, reaching out to shake Jake's father's hand and give his mother a brief kiss on the cheek.

"Isabella, you look lovely," he said, moving to give his daughter a kiss on the cheek from where she stood next to Jake. He gave the future bridegroom a hearty handshake as well before they settled into their chairs.

A server was instantly on hand.

"Sir, would you like that corked?" he offered stiffly.

"Yes, what have you brought for us, Charles?" Michael asked, peering at the bottle.

"It is a Domaine Leroy Richebourg, Grand Cru 1949 from the Cote de Nuits in France," the wine connoisseur explained.

Isabella blanched.

That was a $5,000 bottle of wine from her father's cellar.

"That must mean you have good news from the SEC?" Jake said with a grin like a wolf.

Charles grinned indulgently, unable and unwilling to sufficiently mask his excitement. "Ah yes, I was at the office waiting for the call to come, my apologies for the delay. The rule change was unanimously approved by the SEC," he answered.

"Wonderful!" Michael cheered.

"Lovely! And what does that mean for your firm?" Elizabeth asked politely.

"Broker-dealers our size can now use our modeling to calculate our net capital requirements for market and derivatives-related credit risk," answered the Goldman Sachs executive.

Jake, appearing eager to impress his future parental figure, couldn't help himself from adding, "Basically it'll reduce our costs by allowing us at our firms to use our own internal risk management practices. With this rule change, our deductions for market and credit risk will be lower. We'll be able to reallocate capital to fund different business activities and better manage our own risk."

Isabella and Jake, both in their jobs on Wall Street out of college had discussed the potential rule change, keeping an eye on it as they planned their engagement and wedding.

Whereas Jake was thrilled, Isabella was ambivalent for the most part. If her father and fiancé, some of the smartest people she knew, thought it was a good move, she was hard-pressed to go against them and the rest of Wall Street. It wasn't directly related to her line of work of her wedding, so she did not have the brain space to consider it too thoroughly.

"Hear hear! Now, back to my lovely daughter and her soon to be husband," Charles said charmingly, raising his glass filled with one of the world's most expensive wines. "To nothing but good times!"

~O~

At his childhood home in Glasgow, they had had a set of blue silk pillows that rested on the couch. They sat propped against the beige couch in their sitting room and weathered the upbringing of three small children with no major stains or tears, a remarkable feat now that he considered it. In all of his upbringing, his mother had never once thought to replace them with something new.

He had woken up from a dream involving those pillows, which was odd in itself. However, as his fingers ran up and down the length of Isabella's bare back, he slowly came to understand why they may have come to his subconscious.

Her skin was soft and smooth and as he stroked her rising and falling back, he smiled as he realized why he had had a bizarre dream about his mother's decorating choices.

She was soft as silk.

Truth be told, it was possible that all women felt like this, but as he brushed his fingers up and down, up and down again, he was not totally convinced.

As his fingers moved mindlessly, he smiled to himself.

He craned his neck awkwardly to look down at his wife, careful to not move his body. As far as he knew, she had fell asleep against his chest and had not moved an inch. He wasn't sure if it was all the whisky or if she usually slept like the dead but the thought made him grin in amusement.

Despite his best efforts, his movements had disturbed her. She shifted a few inches before nuzzling into his chest with a small but discernable exhale out her nose.

He froze until he was absolutely certain she was still asleep.

While he was admittedly inexperienced, his preliminary conclusion was that waking up with a beautiful naked woman curled around him was a pleasant way to start the day.

He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear, smiling.

Perhaps they could be a marriage built on more than just respect.

Isabella awoke to the sound of arguing.

Blinking in confusion, she looked around, finding herself in an incredibly comfortable bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. There was a slight chill to the air, making the thick blankets surround her all the more cozy. She rubbed at her head as she looked around, feeling a deep ache behind her eyes.

She could hear rumbling voices somewhere in the house. She could hear Edward's low voice arguing with another, higher voice. As she rubbed her face, she could distinctly make out a few words.

"This is illegal! Ye cannot marry someone to get around government laws, MacDonald!"

Isabella was immediately alert.

She recognized MacLeod's voice. It seemed he had decided to pay the newlyweds a visit, and not necessarily to congratulate them on their newfound happiness.

Edward's response was inaudible to her but equally as impassioned.

With an audible groan, Isabella pushed herself out of the bed. Her lazy limbs moved quickly in the cold air brushing against her skin. With a growl and no time to consider anything that had happened the previous night, she grabbed one of the thick wool blankets off of the bed and wrapped it around her naked body and stalked out of the room.

"Awa' and bile yer heid!" Edward exclaimed angrily.

"Edward, honey?" she called, following the noise, her voice raspy from sleep. She felt like an idiot but ignored the urge to roll her eyes as she turned the corner to find the two men in the doorway.

Edward turned as she came in. "Yes, mo leannan?"

His eyes briefly widened at the sight of her, clad only in a blanket.

"What's going on?" she asked, mustering a yawn as she blinked sleepily at the two of them.

"MacLeod was just leaving," Edward informed her, turning a hard stare over to the banker in his house. MacLeod was looking at her, his lips curled back into a snarl. "Were ye not?"

Isabella slid to Edward's side and he easily slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

"That's one thing that's different between here and the States," she commented innocently.

"What's that?" Edward asked, looking genuinely curious.

Isabella looked at him with her brows intentionally furrowed. "In America, people don't usually show up unannounced in the middle of a honeymoon. It'd be considered rude, actually"

MacLeod chuckled humorlessly. "Honeymoon?" he deadpanned. "That's what yer calling this?"

Edward squeezed her shoulders gently, making a show of leaning down to kiss the top of her head before addressing the man in front of them. "She's right, MacLeod. Ye've more than overstayed the little welcome ye had."

MacLeod rolled his eyes. "This is not the end of this," he promised casually. "Ye will not get away with this."

Pushing it, Isabella looked at him in confusion. "Get away with what?" she asked, looking uncertainly at Edward.

A part of her knew she was laying it on a little thick.

The part that was hungover and hadn't had coffee didn't care.

MacLeod laughed, a nasty sound that verbalized his growing frustration. "I don't know where the hell ye found this bitch, but she is-"

In an instant, Edward had shoved MacLeod's shoulder against the door, towering over him menacingly. "Ye will no speak about my wife that way."

He let go of his shoulder and swung the door open. "Get off my property. Now."

MacLeod straightened his shoulders and glared.

"I will see ye tomorrow," he said coolly. "Once ye realize ye won't have the funds to pay RBS, I will expect ye and yer pretend wife to vacant the premises immediately."

Edward's face hardened as he stared at him.

"As of tomorrow afternoon, Sleat will have no outstanding debts to the Royal Bank of Scotland," Isabella informed him crisply.

"And ye will not be welcomed there," Edward added. "I will call the police should ye pay a visit."

MacLeod laughed that same nasty laugh. "The police will not be yer friends after this stunt, MacDonald. This…this…this forced marriage is fraud! I promise ye that."

Edward nodded at the open door. "Continue to trespass and we'll give them a call and I'll take my chances."

With one final snarl in Isabella's direction, MacLeod squared his shoulders, turned on his heel and stalked out of the door. He had barely crossed the threshold when Edward slammed the door shut behind him, closing it with entirely more force than necessary. The loud bang was followed by a long stretch of silence.

"Thank ye for that," Edward finally said.

Isabella tightened the blanket around her shoulders against the chill that had been let into the house. She nodded in acknowledgement that she heard him.

Neither of them immediately said anything and instead stared at different spots on the hardwood floor. In the hours of daylight, alone together, they were strangers. Last night had loosened both of their tongues from the copious amounts of whisky and the air of celebration, but in the daylight, they knew very little about each other and the awkwardness was suddenly evident.

Edward rubbed at the back of his neck for a few moments before opening his mouth to speak and then closing it once more.

Isabella tightened the blanket around her shoulders while Edward cracked a knuckle on his right hand.

"Well I-"

"Do y-"

They both stopped.

"You go ahe-"

"What were-"

They cut their sentences off as they both spoke.

"After you," Isabella finally said.

"Aye," he chuckled nervously. "I suppose ye'd be wanting breakfast then?"

Isabella's stomach rumbled at the thought. "If it's not too much trouble," she hedged.

Edward grinned, choosing to ignore the awkwardness. "I'm told it's good practice to keep wives fed…even the pretend ones," he added cheekily

That made Isabella roll her eyes but not dispute the legitimacy of the advice.

"Toast? Eggs? Tatties? Mushrooms? Bangers? Porridge? Yogurt?" he asked, heading towards the kitchen. "What can I make ye?"

Isabella's eyes widened, overwhelmed with all of the options, not even knowing what some of them were.

Edward opened up the fridge and started to rummage around as he spoke to fill the silence. "Oh aye, I can cook. When we moved back to Skye after Maw passed away, Lizzie sat Da and I down and made us learn…she said something about Collette needing to be fed once in a blue moon."

Isabella frowned, thinking back to what he had shared about the deaths of his parents. When she realized he was looking at her expectantly, she was momentarily confused. "Oh! Whatever you're having. Thank you," she said, sitting down on one of the stools by the counter.

"Of course, as a result of Lizzie's tutelage," he continued as he pulled a few things out of the freezer, "I mostly learned how to cook the traditional Scottish fair she serves at the inn, for the tourists and whatnot."

She hummed noncommittally in response, fidgeting with the blanket covering her.

"Aye," he said, interpreting her noise as surprise. "Black pudding, cranachan, cock a leekie soup, mince pies, stovies, cullen skink, neeps and tatties, of course."

"Of course," she agreed.

He chuckled under his breath as he turned on the stove and then opened a cabinet to pull out a carton of eggs.

They lapsed back into silence as he moved about. It was less awkward than the first bout of quiet and Isabella found that it was not an unpleasant silence.

Edward, however, after a few minutes seemed to be uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.

"Collette has a room here," he informed her. "Upstairs. But she's been working with Lizzie at the inn since this summer, ever since she turned 18, so she stays there more nights than no."

Isabella nodded but remained silent.

With his back to her, she couldn't see the furrow between his brows as he frowned.

"Robert and Ian live nearby too," he continued after a moment. As he carefully cooked a hearty breakfast, he told her about his family, both extended and immediate. When she detected a pointed pause in his explanations, she would hum or nod to indicate that she was at least hearing him.

~[c2]

The more he talked, the more he had to wonder if she was actually listening.

But he sat the plate in front of her and when she offered a soft, but heart felt, "Thank you," he continued talking to her, attempting to draw a response.

As they ate, he told her that Wilson and Donald alternated between working at the distillery and the inn, while Robert and Ian had been full time employees solely at the distillery before the economy had slowed, and now worked some days and nights on the fishing boats that bobbed along in Portree Harbour. He also explained that Robert was actually a cousin once removed and Ian was in fact a second cousin.

It seemed to her that he was uncomfortable in the daylight between them, as he was much more talkative than she had seen him.

Once he finished talking, they fell into a pause that turned into an extended period of silence. Isabella, who had been pushing around the remains of her egg with her fork, finally set it down.

"Ach," he made a Scottish noise. "What did ye do to yer arm to get such a nasty bruise?"

Isabella looked down at her arm in surprise to see that part of her arm was exposed from the blanket having slid. The bruise was fading but it still had an unappealing yellowish color to it.

"I bruise easily," she replied, sliding her arm back under the blanket.

"Right," he said with a funny look before clearing his throat, "Well. I did promise to be yer tour guide, did I no?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she frowned and tried to recall such a promise. "Last night," he provided helpful, the hint of a laugh on his lips.

"Oh," she remembered slowly. "Yeah… yeah that would be great."

Edward stood up and began to gather their dishes, ignoring the obvious hesitance in her tone. "Ye may want to put on some trousers."

Isabella had entirely forgotten that she was sitting wrapped in a giant blanket. Upon this realization, she fought down the blush that was threatening to spread up her face and instead kept her chin high, nodded at him, and stood up to go change. When she had left the kitchen, she could swear she heard a chuckle come from his direction.

Once they had both donned their winter coats and boots, they ventured off to explore the island with Edward driving Isabella's small rental car. His side of the car was quite crowded, given the length of both his legs and arms being scrunched into the small vehicle. He didn't seem to mind as he told her more about the Isle of Skye.

For the first part of the day, he drove her around the Trotternish Peninsula, pulling off to the side of the road periodically to point out some geological foundations such as Kilt Rock, a sea cliff that admittedly did resemble a kilt, as well as different isles scattered across the horizon. Isabella took it all in without saying much, listening attentively when he spoke with his odd muted Glasgow accent.

Eventually, Edward pulled in a small dirt lot which had two other cars parked there. Isabella looked around as he got out of the car. He opened her door for her and held out a hand, his eyebrows raised and a grin on his face. "Up for a hike, are ye?"

She remained quiet.

The November weather was mild, and the scattered clouds allowed the sun to peak out and shine over the highlands occasionally. The air was certainly crisp, but it was also fresh. He did not mind the slight chill on the tip of his nose or the edges of his ears. As they hiked up the jagged hills, with greens fading to browns the shade of caramel, his wife did not say much.

The word "wife" floated uncertainly around in his head, still unfamiliar and uncomfortable after only 48 hours to get used to the notion. The previous day had been a whirlwind, full of his friends and family, drink and laughter.

And pretending.

By the time it had settled down, he was drunk off of damn good whisky with his bride in front of a cozy fire. He himself had hardly had time to consider the fact that he was legally married to an utterly random American woman, even if it was only to save his family business.

When he thought about it that way, he could hardly fault her for her silence.

Actually, he thought to himself with no small amount of stubbornness, there was actually something sort of beautiful about two people immersed in nature, comfortable in quiet.

Though he would not have been upset if she did choose to speak.

He knew almost nothing about her, save her last name and the fact that her grandfather had been Sleat's oldest and longest customer before he died. He wondered about that and wanted to ask more but resisted the urge.

He knew the touch of her hands and the feeling of her lips and while that was certainly not nothing, in the day light hours it was not much to go on.

While he didn't have much experience with her, he was inclined to believe that last night was an exception rather than a rule. In front of the fire, cheeks pink from whisky, she had been charming and funny and full of life.

She had taken him into her bed and given that part of her to him, just as he had her. She had held him and touched him, pulling effortlessly out of him feelings and even sounds he had never experienced.

In the daylight, she had drawn into herself.

While she nodded and seemed to listen when he spoke, he got the sense that she was somewhere else entirely. The more he spoke only to receive silence, the harder he fought not to internalize it.

It was a bloody odd situation, he reminded himself.

As they ascended one of the peaks, she walked in front of him. He kept up with her easily, at times falling into the rhythm of the climb and hardly focusing on her. Other times though, he watched.

And even in the silence - especially in the silence - he learned about her.

He learned that she was cautious, but not overly so. If there was a patch of loose rocks, she would pause for a half of second before walking over them, staying light on her toes. He learned that she was persistent. Even after a particularly steep stretch of ascent, she did not stop, even when he probably would have. He learned that she had a sense of wonder. Every so often she would slow down and take a moment to look around her and take in the scenery, letting out a large breath so she did so. He took these observations and tried to piece together a sense of who the woman actually was.

It was not much to go off of, but he fought to remain optimistic.

After an hour or so, they had reached the top of the path they had been on and found a boulder to sit on. The clouds had thinned, and the sun felt fresh and comforting against his face that had been chilled from the colder weather. The Quiraing was beautiful in any lighting, but illuminated by the sun, it was breathtaking.

They sat for a long period of time, not saying anything. Eventually the sun slid behind a cloud and the land around them was dimmed. Isabella turned to him, an impassive expression on her fact. "What's the history with MacLeod?"

Edward raised both of his eyebrows, surprised that that was what she was asking.

"What makes ye say that?" he asked, scratching at the ginger colored stubble on his cheek.

Isabella shrugged.

"Aye," he said, considering.

She waited.

"Truth be told, he's never really liked me," he explained, scratching his chin. "I grew up in Glasgow, I dinae know if ye ken that? Aye. Well after Maw died and we moved to Skye, I had two years left of school that I had to finish. It wasn't a very big school…I dinnae ken really. From the first day he didn't seem to like me. Never thought much of it really, ye cannae please everyone, ye ken?"

Isabella nodded.

"Da said it was just because he was used to having all the lasses' attention at school," he said with a fond chuckle. "I dinnae ken if that was true or no, but I dinnae really pay much attention to him."

She rose a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well," he amended, "No really no…but we were competitive enough. I did well with grades and athletics and so did he. I suppose there was sometimes, somewhat of a…a rivalry between us."

Isabella frowned.

"After Da died though, Carlisle said something about our families going further back than I thought," Edward continued. "I thought MacLeod was really just a natural born wanker. Carlisle has said a time or two that's more than just school…drama, I suppose. I think MacLeod's maw might have fancied Da at some point in time, but I dinnae ken."

She nodded, looking deep in thought.

"And to be honest, I dinnae ha' time to worry about it. Sleat had a loan with RBS way before MacLeod started – we expanded the stillhouse, ye saw on the tour with Jasper aye? After Da died and the economy slowed down, it got hard to make payments on the loan…it was a big one." He looked at her strangely then. "Well, big for us anyway."

Isabella lowered her eyes, uncomfortable.

"Anyway," he continued, clearing his throat. "As soon as small businesses started to be hit by the slow in the economy, RBS swooped in and before I knew it, Sleat's loan had tripled in size and needed to be paid back immediately."

At that, he let out a long sigh and stared straight ahead.

"No one has the money to buy whisky, either here or around the rest of the world, ye ken?" he asked, still staring without seeing. "The markets all crashed, and people thought the global economy would crash with it. Well, we might not have crashed but…but I will say…no one is making it through it unscratched, ye ken?"

Isabella joined him in staring at the unfamiliar land in front of them.

When she did speak, the words were so quiet they could have just been the wind.

"I know."

Sometimes mornings are odd after an endless night. We'll see how these two do moving forward. I doubt this is the last we'll hear from MacLeod.

Cheers to the time and thought you put in to reading and reviewing this sweet story - you are a brightness in a hectic and challenging season for me.