“He leaves her alone in this shadowy fortress too often,” Hugh told him while wearing a friendly smile. “She should have an escort to her chambers.”
“The chief promised to send Bethia to me,” Ismay let him know.
“And in the meantime,” the steward gazed at her, “ye wait alone.”
He had a valid point. Ismay had no rebuttal, but Lewis did.
“Hugh,” he said in a slightly whiny voice, “ye know I dinna have the patience the Lochiel has. Ye are close to haviin’ me drag ye into the trainin’ yard and beatin’ some respect into ye.”
He sounded as if it was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he had to, he would, and he might even enjoy it. The choice was in Hugh’s hands.
At the threat, Ismay could not help but feel sorry for the steward. Lewis had a mad-in-the-head sort of look about him—as if it took all his control to stop himself from killing anyone he fought with.
Hugh was not so easily intimidated by him and moved a hair closer to her.
“That is enough.” Ismay put her hands between them and pushed gently. “Let whatever this is end now.”
“Fergive me, Lewis,” Hugh backed off.
Lewis smiled and pulled him against his chest—and out of the path of the Lochiel standing a few feet behind him. Ismay’s gaze found him at the same time she heard the innkeeper’s low warning to the steward.
“If I hear ye speak poorly of the Lochiel again, I will remove yer tongue.”
“Lewis,” the Lochiel called out, making his presence known. “There is a lass present.”
Lewis gave him a soft chuckle and looked at her. She retreated a step, guilty of disguising herself to appear as a lad when she first met them.
“Ye may go,” the Lochiel commanded his cousin softly.
Lewis did not pause, but bowed to her and then left, the heels of his boots clicking on the stone floor.
Hugh stood facing him.
“Stop temptin’ him to keep his word,” the Lochiel warned. “He will. Now, tell me,” he said as if everything before this very moment was forgotten, “have ye seen Bethia?”
Hugh shook his head. “No’ since this morning’”
Ismay heard a girl’s laughter and turned to see Joan restored to her position beside Lachlan.
Seeing them, Ismay looked up at the Lochiel and beamed at him. Only his order could have brought Joan back.
He shifted in his place and looked at the wrought iron wall sconces lighting the walls, then at the arched windows—anything but her. “Come,” he said, placing his hand on her back. “I will take ye to yer chambers.”
She was glad he had not abandoned her as Hugh had tried to convince her. He had looked for Bethia to tend to her, and not finding her, he’d returned to Ismay.
“Chief?”
“Aye, lass?”
Why did his voice have to send tremors through her veins, and quakes throughout her heart?
“I am sorry to be causing ye trouble.”
“What?” He stopped when they came to the stairsand turned to her. “Who told ye that ye were trouble?” He shot a murderous gaze to Hugh over his shoulder.
Ismay rested her fingers on his arm to capture his attention and veer it off slicing his blade across Hugh’s belly the way he had to the MacKintosh who had taken her from the inn.
“No one told me. It is obvious to my own eyes.”
