Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Still, the shock and horror in Isabella’s gaze had left a lasting imprint on his soul. The woman he loved believed him to be a killer. He had, after all, murdered Alaric just a short distance from her terrified face; but only because he had been left with no other choice.
Where Gaunt was concerned, he’d had another choice; a lifetime of misery. And it seemed that even in death, the man had the power to deny him.
Hamish kept his head down as he trudged down the path to the stable yard. Luar whickered a greeting when he turned the corner, but this was not enough to lift his spirits. He looked for his beloved horse and saw that Isabella’s mother, the Countess of Wolvesley, was there before him.
Still a few steps away, he paused and bowed.
“Milady.”
The countess turned. She was a beautiful woman, despite her age, with eyes that shone with wisdom and kindness. She was stroking Luar’s face, and Luar was apparently enjoying it. His usually flighty horse had her eyes half closed and her nose pressed against the countess’s shoulder.
“Hamish. May I call you Hamish? You must call me Morwenna.”
Hamish thought it unlikely he would ever address her again, but he accepted the compliment with another short bow. They were alone in the well-swept yard, with just Luar and two chestnut carriage horses watching their exchange.
“Your horse is a beautiful creature.”
His lips inched upwards. “Aye, she is that.” He felt they conversed under false pretenses.
“Milady. Morwenna. I should tell ye that Lord Tristan has asked me to leave Wolvesley. I am to ride away this morn.” He forced himself to stand tall as he said this, not to hunch his shoulders with guilt and shame.
“Such a shame, when we were just getting to know one another.”
Hamish had a distinct feeling she was talking about Luar, but his discomfort faded when she gave him another kind smile. The rings on her fingers flashed in the weak sunlight.
“It will be due to the upset by the fountain. That is why I have come here. Horses are better companions than people, I often find. Especially when people are angry and combative.”
The countess was not at all what he had expected. She dressed like a grand lady, in silks and furs, but she spoke with the candor and friendliness of a local Scotswoman. And she had seemingly bewitched Luar, with her gentle voice and touch.
He recalled Isabella’s words the night before.
“My mother is the one who sees spirits and meaning in all things.”
Words from another lifetime. Sorrow pooled in his stomach at all he had lost.
Morwenna’s green eyes looked at him appraisingly. “You do not want to leave?”
He shook his head. “I dinna want to leave with Isabella, Lady Isabella, believing me guilty of a crime I didna commit.”
“Ah.” Her attention returned to the horse. “So you were not the one to murder Lord Gaunt. But you have no one to vouch for you.”
He leaned his arm against the granite wall of the stable and felt weariness wash over him. “The only one who can vouch for me is Luar. ’Twas her I came to see last night. She has long been my friend and companion, milady. And speaking with her soothes my soul.”
Morwenna nodded, as if this was perfectly sensible. She stilled for a moment, and Luar’s ears pricked forward, so the two appeared to silently converse.
“I believe you,” the countess said.
Winter sunlight warmed the back of his head. He folded his arms and looked again at the woman and the horse. “Did ye ask her?”
’Twas a foolish question and he regretted it the moment it left his lips.
But Morwenna only smiled. “Would it shock you if I said yes?”
Hamish rubbed at the stubble on his face. “Honestly, nay, it wouldna shock me.” He took a breath. “Oft times I have spoken to my sister.”
This was the secret he had never confided in anyone, but it was a relief to say the words out loud to this calm and kind woman.
Mayhap he trusted her so implicitly because she had such a strong look of Isabella.
Or mayhap ’twas because Luar obviously trusted her.
Either way, their strange, twisting conversation on a misty November morn felt entirely natural.
“I presume your sister has passed from this life?”
He nodded. “She died in battle.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“But she has been with me since. I see her. I speak with her. Until these last days, that is.” His arms hung awkwardly at his sides.
Morwenna considered this, her small hands still rhythmically stroking Luar’s face. “She has been with you in your times of need.”
Hamish felt a knife twist inside him. ’Twas true. Brianne had always appeared to him when he was lost and alone. But this insight caused him pain, because in the final moments of her life, when Brianne most needed him, he had not been there.
He doubled over as if winded, putting his palms to the cold granite wall as a wave of grief washed over him.
Morwenna came to stand by his side. Her hand on his shoulder was surprisingly warm.
“I find that those we have loved never really leave us. But perchance, as you find your happiness, Brianne will find her peace.”
Hamish swallowed painfully. “I would not deny her peace.”
She nodded in agreement. “Nor should you deny yourself happiness.”
He would not aim so high as happiness.
The countess’s face, so close to his, evoked a memory. He blinked in surprise. “Ye are the one that came to me, in the dungeon.” He put a hand to his wounded arm, which hardly troubled him at all now. “Ye healed me.”
Her green eyes went to his arm. “Before I came to Wolvesley, I learned some healing skills from my grandmother. My eldest daughter, Frida, has inherited her gifts.” She smiled. “I am pleased to see you so much stronger now.”
Hamish struggled to properly convey his gratitude. This woman had saved him in his darkest moment. As Laird of Greenock, he would throw a feast in her honor. But what could he do now?
Uneven footsteps broke into his thoughts.
“Mother.” The voice carrying across the yard was strained.
“Jonah.” Morwenna frowned. “What ails you, my boy?”
Reluctantly, Hamish turned around to behold the younger de Neville brother limping toward them. He looked pale with worry and exhaustion, with dark smudges beneath his blue eyes.
“I need you,” he said, “please.”
Morwenna put her head to one side and thought for a moment. “I must go,” she said to Hamish. “But I wish you Godspeed.” She put her hand on his arm. “I will see you again, Hamish McIvor, Laird of Greenock, I am certain of it.”