Chapter Eleven
He woke to the subtle fragrance of lemons and for a moment, could not make sense of it. Then he opened his eyes to find his face pressed into Isabella’s thick tresses of golden hair; they had slept curled up together, like lovers.
It was not too strong a word for the heady emotions that gripped him whenever she was near.
Nor for what had passed between them last night, which was a sight more than the slaking of lust.
Hamish rolled onto his back and gazed up at the plastered ceiling. Nay, last night had been a meeting of souls.
An act of love.
Yer touched in the head, man, he told himself, gruffly.
But his feelings for Isabella de Neville were as real as the russet hairs on his brawny forearm.
He turned his head to see that the lady was still sleeping deeply, dark blonde eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheek. Perchance she dreamed.
Does she dream of me?
Hamish reprimanded himself. ’Twas more likely the lady dreamed of the fine carriage that would take her back to the life she knew; one of liveried servants and silk dresses. He must not make the mistake of hankering after something that was not meant for him.
His heart grew leaden, but Hamish was a realist, not a dreamer. Two years living in a damp cave would do that to a man.
He must hold onto what he knew to be true. Isabella had promised to speak to her brother on his behalf. And Tristan de Neville not only supported the Scots, he also had influence with the King. The man was a worthy ally.
Today dawned with more hope than yesterday. Hamish would not ask for more than that.
But now he twitched with impatience to be up and about. Alaric was locked in the bakehouse, which was hardly a long-term solution. There were the horses to tend to and water to fetch. Please God, might the well have thawed?
Hamish stretched his legs beneath the rugs, moving slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Isabella.
He baulked at leaving her, but could not be idle when so much needed to be done.
He dressed quickly, guided by the milky morning light filtering in from the shutters.
His clothes were stiff and cold, for the fire had all but died and the temperature was still below freezing.
His breath plumed in front of him as he crossed to the log-basket and added fuel to the fading embers in the grate.
When Isabella awoke, the room would be warmer.
With a last, lingering look at the sleeping beauty on the bed, Hamish stepped over the broken door and out into the long gallery. Mentally, he added mending the door to his long list of jobs.
Isabella deserved her privacy.
He picked up his pace, heading toward the stairs and blowing on his bruised knuckles for warmth. His cloak billowed behind him as he strode across the wooden floor and Hamish felt renewed with purpose for the first time since King Edward’s troops had successfully seized Greenock Castle.
But he would not darken this bright new day by dwelling on that particular memory.
He tripped down the wide staircase and barreled into the feasting hall, where he encountered Siegfried standing before an uncertain fire.
“Good morn,” he hailed his old ally.
But when he turned around, Siegfried’s face was grim. “Alaric has escaped,” he announced, by way of a greeting.
A cold feeling slid into Hamish’s belly. He halted at the far side of the feasting hall, as if he might yet run after the young warrior. “When?”
“I dinna ken for certain.” Siegfried shrugged beneath the heavy folds of his cloak. “I took him some food at first light but found the door wide open.”
Hanish cursed loudly, glad that Isabella was out of earshot. “The bakehouse must not have been secure.” He rubbed at his forehead, thinking hard. “I should have checked it more thoroughly.”
“Mayhap. But what’s done is done.” The lines of worry etched across Siegfried’s face belied his apparent calm.
Hamish’s joviality had entirely drained away. He shook his head. “He was an angry man.”
Alaric’s threat hummed in his ears. “I’ll kill ye both,” he’d said to Hamish and Siegfried. But worse was his warning to Isabella.
Hamish could not bear to think of it.
“We must find him.” He put a hand to the hilt of his sword, reassured by its presence.
Thank all that was holy that he’d had the foresight to divest Alaric of his weapon last night.
“Though first we must check the sleeping barn.” He thought of the stash of knives and blades that they had brought with them from across the border.
Siegfried nodded toward the sideboard. “I already recovered our weapons.”
An untidy pile of metal shone brightly in the growing light of the fire. Hamish checked them over, relieved to find all were present. “Yer a great man, Siegfried.”
His Seneschal inclined his head. “’Twas the first place I went when I discovered him gone.”
Hamish folded his arms beneath his cloak, warming his hands and ordering his thoughts. “His horse?”
“Still in the stables.”
“So he is on foot and unarmed.” Hamish paced before the fire, which had now taken hold and was burning brightly. He reflected that this high stone fireplace had borne witness to much of this soul-searching since they arrived at Ember Hall.
Siegfried stepped nimbly out of his way. “And the weather is set to stay foul for another day at least.”
Hamish did not waste time asking Siegfried how he knew this. The man was born and raised in the highlands and could read the signs of nature better than anyone.
“Then the odds are against young Alaric.” He tried to take comfort from this, but could not forget the menace of the warrior’s final warning. “But we must still take heed.”
“He has taken against the Lady Isabella.” Siegfried put into words what Hamish struggled to articulate.
Words which turned his chill of foreboding into ice.
“Exactly so,” he managed.
Siegfried lifted his greying head and fixed Hamish with an unflinching stare. “And what of the Lady Isabella herself?”
Hamish turned away so that Siegfried could not read the truth in his eyes. The question made him feel like a green youth. He could only answer by ignoring the layers of meaning Siegfried had laced into it.
“She is sleeping.”
He walked briskly to the nearby shutters and opened them enough to allow a shaft of winter sunlight into the hall. This room needs light and warmth and gaiety, he thought. All we have brought in is darkness and doubt.
“Will she help us?” Siegfried demanded. “Or are we to leave?”
“Both.” Hamish put his hands on his hips and swiveled back around to face his ally.
Dust motes danced in the sunlight. With a swell of unease, he noticed how the feasting hall stretched about them, vast and empty.
Some months prior, he had been Laird of Greenock and commanded an army.
Men-at-arms, many of whom he had trained himself, had awaited his every command.
Until that dreadful day when he commanded them to leave him.
Now, he had but one loyal follower from his homelands.
“The lady will speak to her brother. He has influence with the King.” At Siegfried’s look of skepticism, Hamish opened his arms. “He is the best chance we have.”
The only chance we have.
Siegfried considered this. “You will go with her to Wolvesley Castle?”
“Ye and I both will.” Hamish was firm. “We will take a proper leave of this place, just as soon as the thaw sets in.” He knew that Siegfried would sooner return to Scotland.
Neither of them had planned to spend so long south of the border.
But with a vengeful Alaric on the loose and no telling how long negotiations in Wolvesley would take, Hamish did not wish to risk anyone’s safety.
Siegfried stood still, his face impassive, but Hamish knew by his silence that the older man was thinking hard.
“Ye ken that I will serve ye until my dying day?” he said.
Hamish swallowed his instinctive qualms. “Ye have said it so oft ’tis all but engraved across my mind.” He softened his words with a smile. “And right grateful I am.”
“I dinna wish to travel to Wolvesley,” Siegfried said simply. “I canna explain the misgivings I have. But I ken my place is in the highlands.”
“As is mine.” Hamish fought to keep his voice even.
“Aye, ye are the right and proper Laird of Greenock. I will go to my grave swearing it. But I dinna wish for that grave to be on English soil. I canna travel south from here.”
Hamish reeled. Never before had Siegfried shown fear such as this.
Aye. Fear.
He baulked at labelling it cowardice.
To give himself time, he walked to the window at the other side of the fireplace and slowly opened the shutters until he was obliged to shield his eyes from the incoming burst of winter sunlight.
Sunlight which illuminated the weary slope of Siegfried’s shoulders and the shadows around his eyes.
In Hamish’s mind’s eye, Siegfried was a mighty warrior, with a steady stance and a sword-arm made of steel.
But in this vision, Hamish was but a wee lad, and Siegfried some twenty summers younger than in real life.
He sighed, forcing himself to let go of bitterness and regret. “I willna ask aught of ye that ye dinna give willingly.”
“I will return to the highlands and seek out those loyal to the McIvor clan in the valleys and villages around Greenock.”
Hamish could not hide his surprise. He pursed his lips. “Ye expect me to return, aye?”
Siegfried strode over and clasped his arm. “I dinna expect it. I am counting upon it.”
Then he does not doubt me.
Hamish looked beyond his friend to the shadowy hall beyond, hoping for a glimpse of chestnut curls and Brianne’s knowing smile. But the room stayed defiantly empty.
“Ye are yer father’s son,” Siegfried continued. “The same man that led us to victory against the traitor, Donald. Even though those odds were stacked against ye.”
It was the battle he never allowed himself to relive. When he had to choose between fighting beside his father or his sister. His father was an old man by then, plagued by weakness after two years residing in a cave. His sister was young and strong; one of their most valiant warriors.
Brianne had fallen at the last. Their father had survived the battle, but died of a fever some months later, soon followed by their mother.
Hamish and Elena were all that remained of the once mighty McIvor clan.
Hamish brought himself back from the past and clasped Siegfried’s arm in return. For a moment they stood together, bonded and bathed in sunlight. Hamish said, “We will raise a toast together, ye and I, in the old keep at Greenock.”
“Looking out over yer mother’s gardens,” Siegfried nodded. “We will, lad.” His expression tightened as he dropped his arm. “So long as ye dinna allow yerself to be distracted.”
“Distracted?” Hamish was taken aback, but he stayed calm and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “How so?”
“I am speaking outta turn. I ken so. But I believe ye have taken a liking to the Lady.” Siegfried jerked his head toward the upper floor. “Mayhap more than a liking, aye?”
Hamish’s ready denial died on his lips.
Why should I lie?
“’Tis nay distraction, Siegfried. We need the Lady’s help.”
“But ye dinna need to share her bed.” Siegfried spoke plainly. “And ye dinna need to invite her into yer heart.”
Siegfried flattened his palm against Hamish’s chest, leaving the younger man too surprised to respond.
Are my feelings for her so obvious?
He did not query how Siegfried had discerned the events of last night. His old ally knew Hamish to be a man of flesh and blood.
But the rest…
“Ye speak of love, Siegfried,” he said, once he could manage it. “’Tis a bold claim.”
“I speak as I find.” The Seneschal poked at the fire and avoided looking in his direction.
“I am not so foolish as to believe I have aught to offer the likes of Isabella de Neville.”
And nor do I wish to examine this further.
Hamish pulled his cloak over his shoulders and traced the grooves in the floor with his boot.
“Ye are the Laird of Greenock.” Siegfried laid down the poker and stood up slowly, rubbing at his lower back and wincing.
Hamish’s mind raced. He needed to persuade himself as much as Siegfried that he was not headed down this particular path.
“Greenock is a cold and draughty keep e’en in high summer.
Made more so, I’ll wager, after the last siege.
” Hamish attempted a smile, closing his mind to vivid memories of loud and ruinous warfare on the battlements.
“And if I return to Greenock as Laird, ’twill be thanks to the Lady’s brother.
” He rubbed his hands together as if that settled the matter.
“Ye do ken, Siegfried, how I hate to be in anyone’s debt? ”
Siegfried nodded, but still looked unconvinced.
“Ye dinna have to worry,” Hamish said bleakly. “I willna go near the Lady again. Except to escort her to Wolvesley.”
“In a right and proper fashion?” Siegfried folded his arms.
“Of course.” Hamish felt the distant walls of the hall beginning to close in on him. There was too much for him to digest and try to make sense of. He stood tall with assumed purpose. “Let us discuss this later, Siegfried. I must tend to the horses. Luar is whinnying fer me.”
It was a lie.
But ’twas rooted in fact. Luar was a creature of routine, and Hamish usually filled her bucket with oats at sunrise. Perchance she was whinnying and the stone walls were too thick for him to hear her.
Siegfried looked at him askance. “Ye have not yet broken yer fast.”
“I am not hungry.” The truth, at last. “Ye should eat something though, my friend. Take yer time. I can see to everything outside.”
Outside, where the air was fresh and clean and he could breathe more easily.
Hamish strode out of the front door and did not look back.