Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“And I will take whatever punishment you see fit, Father.” Jonah nodded firmly as Morwenna shook her head in distress.
“There will be no punishment.” Angus dragged a hand through his greying hair. “This changes everything.”
“It does.” Isabella could hardly breathe for the urgency of it. “It changes everything. I must go after Hamish. There was no cause for him to leave.” She held out her hands as if warding off an enemy. “Don’t try to stop me, Mother.”
“I have never tried to stop any of my children doing anything they set their minds to,” Morwenna said patiently. “But I will say this, in some hours it will be dark. Pray, take the carriage, child.”
“But there will not be time.” Isabella wrung her hands.
“There will be plenty of time,” Morwenna interjected. “Take the carriage and meet Hamish at Ember Hall. You will find him there, I promise you.”
*
Hamish found it hard to travel north through England with no sword and only a small bag of coin.
Luar had been well-fed and well-rested at Wolvesley; she stepped out with all the enthusiasm of a colt on a spring day.
But Hamish felt the dampness of the fog seep into his bones and, as they climbed higher over the moors, the desolation of their surroundings burrowed deep into his heart.
To keep despair at bay, he spoke aloud to Luar; telling her of his plans to rebuild Greenock and make a happy home there for himself and Elena.
He did not allow himself to dwell on the detail; the lack of coin, dearth of laborers or the simple fact of Elena still being held captive at Wolvesley Castle.
Nay, if he focused on the difficulties ahead, he might find himself unable to proceed.
And if he thought of Isabella, he might seize up entirely.
But even as he conjured a roaring fire for the feasting hall and a new roof for the barn, he kept one eye on the sinking sun. These borderlands were notorious for raids and thieving, and the threat loomed larger given his swordless state.
“We will have to take shelter for the night,” he told Luar.
They stopped at a small but hospitable inn by a crossroads, where Luar was led to a large stable, and Hamish was shown to a cramped chamber with a sloping floor.
But the food was edible and the landlord seemed happy enough with the coin Hamish could pay.
To his great surprise, Hamish slept deeply on the narrow pallet provided.
When he awoke, somehow his heart was lighter.
The November morn did not dawn brighter; if anything, the mist hung more heavily over the heather.
But a voice spoke in his head, telling him that all would be well.
Rather than bracing himself against despair, he found himself embracing the possibilities of the day.
Luar whickered to him as he came out into the yard; the sound travelling through the blanket of fog.
He tossed a coin to the stableboy, who had brushed her coat to a glossy shine, and bid him farewell.
“’Tis a beautiful horse you have there,” the lad opined, giving her a final pat.
“She is that.” Hamish smiled.
They trotted off into the mist, Luar’s hoofbeats the only sound for miles around.
Acting purely on impulse, Hamish took the easterly road which hugged the coast. He told himself that he longed to see the sea, after so long looking only at bleak moorland and barren trees.
But the real reason had naught to do with waves, and everything to do with a golden-haired woman whose smile he would never forget.
Perchance he would never again look upon Isabella de Neville. But he could take this final opportunity to look upon the unassuming house where his life had taken such a dramatic turn.
He gave Luar her head as they climbed up a steep road with the mournful crying of gulls echoing around them.
Luar was breathing heavily now, her flanks damp with sweat.
They had, by necessity, taken the longer route north, following the ancient roads laid down long ago.
When they rode this same journey in reverse, Hamish had tracked Isabella’s much more direct route directly over the moors.
But he did not know these lands as well as she, and could not risk getting lost in a bog.
Nor did he want to come across what might be left of Alaric.
Closing his eyes to such unwanted memories, Hamish breathed deeply, taking in the tang of sea salt as well as the fresh, clean country air.
“Soon we will be in Scotland,” he told Luar. “I shall know every nook and valley. And the air will be bitter cold with frost and snow, until spring sunshine turns the glen green and bright with blossom.”
Luar’s ears flickered back and forth as she listened obligingly to his nonsense.
“Once we are over the border, I will find friends in the lowlands,” he promised her. “’Twill not be long until we have the men and provisions we need to recover what is ours.”
He recalled Morwenna’s words to him, in the stable yard at Wolvesley. She had warned him against denying himself happiness.
Is happiness within my reach?
Nay, he decided. Not without Isabella. But he would have a life of purpose. A life which saw peace and prosperity return to Greenock, for the good of all.
Isabella’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
“Ye are tired, lass,” he said when Luar stumbled on some loose ground. “We will rest a while at the summit.”
He would rest and put his thoughts in some sort of order before travelling the short distance to Ember Hall. He had no intention of going up to the gates, he would just look upon the place and remember.
God willing, Siegfried is long gone, he thought.
God willing, Siegfried would be waiting at the village of Greenock. In less than a sennight, Hamish would bring him the good news. Greenock was theirs, once again.
He dismounted and pulled Luar’s reins over her head so he could lead her more easily.
She snorted and nudged his stomach, but followed him readily enough.
Hamish didn’t know why his feet were compelled to lead him forward, away from the road and toward the cliffs.
He had never been here before, but somehow he sensed there was something he needed to see.
The ground dipped and Hamish found himself in a small clearing, where spears of sunlight pierced the swirling mist. Far below, he could hear waves running up and down a shingle cove.
They were sheltered from the wind and an air of calm prevailed.
Hamish felt quite comfortable allowing Luar to crop at the damp grass, while he meandered toward the cliffs.
But after a few paces, he stopped short, all senses on high alert, until his eyes made sense of what was before him.
At first, he thought himself the subject of an ambush, for several men seemed to rear up out of the mist. Next, his mind briefly considered the possibility that he had inadvertently wandered amongst the faerie folk, for some of these ethereal beings stood no higher than his hips.
But when none of them moved for several seconds, he realized that they were, in fact, made of stone.
“Standing stones,” he said, rotating in a slow circle so he could examine the tall, rectangular stones individually.
Each had a different shape, but together they formed an almost magical whole.
He fancied the air felt different here, as if it shimmered with energy which snapped and fizzled between the ancient stones.
It could be a place for ritual and witchcraft, but Hamish was not afraid.
In truth, he felt more settled and relaxed than he had in many months.
Luar swung her head toward him, her ears sharply pricked. At the same time, Hamish also became aware of someone approaching. Out of long habit, his hand went to where his sword should be and once again, it came away empty.
There was no time to duck behind a stone. But as the mist slowly cleared, Hamish discovered he had no need to hide. Forsooth, he must be dreaming or delirious, for the person walking toward him was none other than Isabella.
She wore a heavy fur cloak and balanced something long and thin across the palms of her hands, like an offering for the Gods.
Hamish gulped. “Is it really you?”
The woman stopped and smiled, and the last of his doubts burned away like. “I could ask the very same question.”
“Isabella.” He wondered, belatedly, if saying her name might cause this wondrous vision to fade. But she only stepped closer. His eyes widened as he realized what she was carrying.
“I bring you a gift from my brother Tristan.” She held his gaze. “Your sword.”
He could hardly believe it. His sword had been a part of him for many years and its worth far exceeded that of a mere weapon. He reached out his hand and grasped the hilt, recognizing immediately the familiar feel and weight.
“Thank you.” Words were inadequate. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “How can this be?”
“Tristan sends it by way of an apology. He should ne’er have banished you from Wolvesley Castle.
” Isabella folded her hands behind her back and gazed around at the stones.
“I have not been up here for years, but my sister Frida loved these stones. ’Tis a fitting place for us to find one another, is it not? ”
Hamish felt his reason slipping away. “How did ye ken I would be here?”
“I had a vision.” She met his eye and laughed like a pealing of bells, which was both delightful and startling after the long hours of fog and near silence.
“I speak in jest, Hamish. Although my mother had a strong notion you would travel by Ember Hall, which could be described as a vision of sorts. But ’Twas the lookouts that saw you and Luar arrive at the stones just now. ”
He sheathed his sword, still shaking his head in wonderment. He wanted to take her into his arms, but there was still too much he didn’t understand.
“Will ye tell me what has happened, Isabella? I canna help but think this is some dream.”