Chapter Fourteen #2
She answered by spreading the cloak on a long, flat stone and tearing off a strip with the dagger. Without further ado, she wrapped it tightly around Hamish’s upper arm, pulling until he winced.
“That’s tight enough, lass.”
“It needs to be.” She stood back to survey her handiwork. ’Twas not the neatest knot in the land, but she had to hope it would do the trick. She peered closer at the wound and after a tense wait, declared the bleeding was beginning to slow.
She exhaled, only now aware that she had been holding her breath this whole time.
“I think you shall live.”
“I ne’er doubted it.” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “But I thank ye, all the same.”
Isabella put a hand in front of her eyes. The surge of adrenaline followed by heady relief had rendered her tearful all over again.
Hamish hated her. She could hear it in his voice. And why should he not? If she had not fled from Ember Hall, he would not have become injured.
Alaric would not be dead.
“I’m sorry.”
Hamish didn’t answer for a long while. Then he quietly said, “What are ye sorry for?”
“For running away from Ember Hall. I realize how it appeared, what you must think of me. But I intended to honor our agreement.” She risked a glance through her fingers and saw that he was listening, although his face was turned towards the trees.
“I was heading for Wolvesley to seek an audience with my brother,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
She lowered her hands and folded them in front of her.
“To petition for his help in the return of your lands and the release of your sister,” she added when he did not respond.
Hamish took a deep breath. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” Greatly daring, Isabella closed the distance between them and sat close beside him. She could feel the warmth of his body, but he made no move toward her. “I regret what I did. I should have confided in you. But I could not.” Her voice wobbled with emotion.
“Why not?” He looked at her, finally, but his eyes had not regained their usual warmth. “I thought we had an understanding, ye and I, but I begin to believe I imagined it.”
“You did not imagine it.” Isabella summoned reserves of courage and took hold of his nearest hand.
She half expected him to pull away, and was emboldened when he did not.
She looked down at his large hand, with its square nails and strong, capable fingers.
She clasped both of her hands around it and tried to convey the depths of her feelings through her touch.
But Hamish sat as still as the stones about them, and she realized that she could only hope for his forgiveness by confessing the truth of her heart.
She took a deep breath. “I ran from Ember Hall because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of me?”
“Afraid of my feelings for you.”
There, she had said it.
Hamish looked at her and it was as if a warm cloak of reassurance had settled about her shoulders.
“What are ye trying ter tell me, Isabella?”
Despite the chill breeze, heat rose to her cheeks. “Have you not worked it out?”
He smiled, gently. “I dinna want to jump ter the wrong conclusion.”
“I am falling in love with you,” she blurted out. The admission left her vulnerable and exposed, but then he placed his remaining hand on top of hers and she was safe again.
“Just as I am falling in love with ye.”
Relief and surprise made her flesh tingle. Her lips parted. “You are?”
“’Tis a condition I have struggled against,” he chuckled. “But ultimately, one that I canna deny, however hard I try.”
“But you said—” she floundered to recall why she had become so cross and embarrassed. “You said I was not fit to be the Lady of Greenock.”
“I said no such thing.” His voice rose in denial.
“You did.” She shook back a loose strand of hair as she tried to remember. “You said I would tire of the work and long for ease and grandeur.”
“Are ease and grandeur such terrible things?” He squeezed her hands. “Ye told me ye would miss the music. As if a granite keep in Scotland would ne’er be a place for music.”
Isabella shook her head in confusion. “And is it a place for music?”
“I play the lute,” he announced.
It was so unexpected that Isabella found her lips inching into a smile. She looked down at their cojoined hands. “Now that is something I long to see.”
“Perchance ye shall.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that was sweet and gentle and left her wanting a whole lot more. “But fer now, we have more pressing matters to deal with.”
“What is more pressing than love?” she whispered. Her body shivered with a mixture of cold and desire.
“The small matter of our location on the moors, far from anywhere, with darkness coming upon us in less time than it will take to reach Wolvesley Castle or return to Ember Hall.” He tilted his face to the side as if thinking still.
“’Tis a problem compounded by my useless arm and the fact your mount stands with his head down as if already exhausted.
Ye dinna happen to know of a nearby inn or a ruined barn where we might take shelter? ”
She widened her eyes and shook her head. Most often, she traveled by carriage and paid little attention to her surroundings.
“I was jesting, lass,” he said softly. “Forsooth, a ruined barn would serve little purpose when the nighttime temperatures plummet. Dinna fear. I will get ye ter safety. But we need to get on our way. And ye need to cover yerself with yon cloak before ye catch yer death.”
He slowly rose to his feet and Isabella immediately noticed the absence of his warmth. She also couldn’t help but see how he walked tentatively and off-balance.
Hamish was more affected by his injury than he was prepared to admit.
Wrapping her cloak over her shoulders, she chased away the kernel of fear that had been growing in her belly ever since Hamish’s speech. They simply must find warmth and safety before the darkest hours of night. If they didn’t, ’twould be her fault.
She walked briskly to join him at the top of a small plateau. Hamish held his bad arm with his good hand, trying not to wince with every step he took. He spared her a smile and then turned to scan the horizon.
“Your horse is not here.” She was winded by the shock of it.
But Hamish only pursed his lips. “She is, somewhere.”
Isabella clutched her cloak about her. All she could see was an expanse of heather and sloshy snow running all the way to the distant tree line. The only break in the nearby landscape was the tree she had climbed earlier, with the grey pony beneath it.
Ye Gods, if the horse has gone, our prospects are bleak indeed.
Hamish cupped his hands about his mouth and gave a piercing whistle which made Isabella startle in fright. The whistle was long and mournful, like a lone curlew in midsummer. He paused, looked around and whistled again, before putting his head to one side and listening intently.
“She is coming.”
At first, Isabella could hear nothing, but then her ears picked up a distant thunder of hooves. The sound grew louder until it seemed the ground beneath their feet was vibrating. A black horse came into view, her tail streaming behind her as she pounded toward them.
“Luar,” said Hamish, with a pleased smile.
Isabella stepped back nervously. “Will she charge us?”
“I hope not.” He raised his eyebrows as if amused.
Sure enough, when she was all but upon them, Luar slowed her pace to a trot and then came careering to a halt with her face pressed into Hamish’s chest. She heaved out a sigh, almost of relief, as Hamish stroked her gently.
“Your horse loves you.” Isabella wondered if she was envious of their easy bond.
“Aye. I’ve raised her since she was a wee foal. She’s soft as butter with me. But she willna let anyone near her if she doesna like them.”
She thought of the way Luar had put back her ears and stamped at the floor earlier that day.
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“She is usually wise with her likes and her dislikes.”
Isabella took this as a blow. She folded her arms across her cloak and bowed her head.
“Come closer,” urged Hamish. “Ye are used to horses, are ye not?”
“I am, of course.” She was a little affronted, but how was Hamish to know of the role horses had played in her upbringing? She took a breath and walked slowly toward the tall mare, speaking gently all the while.
Luar looked at her warily, then relaxed and nudged at her stomach.
“She be wanting a treat,” Hamish said with a smile.
“You and me both,” Isabella told Luar, stroking her muscular shoulders. “She is beautiful.”
Hamish looked pensive. “If my sister was here, she would tell ye that I have a weakness for beautiful things.”
“We will rescue your sister from Gaunt, I promise.” She rested her hand lightly on his good arm.
He gave himself a little shake. “If anyone can help me, ’tis you, Isabella.” He looked from Luar to the grey pony. “What say we both ride Luar and lead this little one. He seems all out of puff.”
It was a sensible solution and Isabella nodded her approval. But when Hamish tried to hoist her onto Luar’s back, his wounded arm made it impossible. His face turned grey with effort and pain, and he leaned against his horse’s flanks and breathed deeply.
“We shall try again.”
“Nay.” Isabella decided to take matters into her own hands. “We will lead her to the rocks. I can mount her myself from there.”
The distance to the saddle seemed impossibly high, even when Isabella balanced on the highest point of the rocks.
But she did not allow herself to doubt. She channeled the young woman she’d once been, the one who had raced about the grounds of Wolvesley, swam in the lake and rode every horse in the yard, and she sprang as high as she could.
Her eyes watered as she landed in the saddle with a jolt, and she apologized to Luar.
“Nicely done,” Hamish remarked. He was holding the reins of the pony and clearly having some internal debate about how to manage this and get into the saddle himself.
“Give those to me,” Isabella commanded, holding out her hand.
“Ye are sure ye can manage?”
“I am sure I can manage.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Hamish handed over the reins. Isabella gave the pony a meaningful look as Hamish mounted behind her.
Behave, she implored silently.
Moments later, Hamish’s good arm closed about her waist. Isabella allowed herself to lean into his warmth and strength, but only briefly. Then she straightened up and glanced behind her.
“Are you ready?”
“I am.” Hamish was either winded or surprised. Or more likely, hiding his pain.
She didn’t ask for permission, she simply took Luar’s reins as well and urged her forward. She would take charge of this situation and do everything in her power to get them to safety.
For she was Isabella de Neville.
And Isabella de Neville was so much more than just a pretty face.