He wanted to wake her from it.
God’s Blood. He was close to wanting to ask her for advice on how to proceed.
“Ye do ken ye are her captor, not her sweetheart?”
He pictured Brianne perched atop the scrubbed wooden table, mayhap munching on the end of a carrot as she had when she was younger.
“I know it,”he answered steadily.“But the lady has a brain in her head. And a better knowledge of the likely reactions of her brother than I could e’er have.”
“Not all brothers are as loyal as ye, Hamish.”
His eyes stung for a moment.“She is close with her family. I can tell by the way she talks of them.”
“And what of it?”
He put down the ladle and forced himself to put his fanciful notions into actual words.“Tristan de Neville is a favorite of the King. If anyone can speak for me—for the return of Greenock and the safe-keeping of Elena, ’tis he.”
Brianne tossed her curls, her expression almost as scornful as Alaric’s.“Has the pretty lady sent ye soft in yer head? Why would Tristan de Neville help the man who is holding his sister captive? Why would he not storm this place with his vast army and behead ye?”
“Most likely he would,”Hamish admitted, breathing in the meaty scent of the broth to distract himself from Brianne’s relentless commonsense.“Which is why I need more time tothink things through. And there is no rush.”He brandished the ladle.“The Lady is not expected at Greenock for several days.”
“Ye shall need a sight more than several days to think yerself outta this predicament,”Brianne predicted.
The broth was ready, and Hamish deliberately pushed his sister’s words to the back of his mind.
He filled two bowls and carried them out to the hall, where the fire had reduced to mere glowing embers. Isabella sat where he had left her, as still as a stone statue in the darkness.
Why has she not lit candles?
Hamish tutted, placed the bowls on the trestle table and heaped more logs onto the fire. He waited until the lick of flames appeared, before turning to the lady.
“Why are ye sitting here in the dark?”
Her heart-shaped face was in shadows, her expression unreadable.
“I do not mind the dark.”
He grunted. “Will ye eat something with me?”
God’s blood, he had not intended to make it sound as if he was asking a favor.
Her nostrils flared at the scent of the broth as he offered her the bowl, but still she did not move.
“I have questions for you.”
Her voice was clipped and cold, her words hitting him like a splash of cold water.
Hamish blanched, poised awkwardly with a bowl extended in one hand. He recovered quickly enough and returned her serving to the trestle table.
He could nay force her to eat. Nor was he prepared to beg.
But his belly cried out for food and he had no intention of waiting any longer. He took his bowl to the second chair and sank into it with an audible groan, which he cursed himself for. Only after three hearty mouthfuls did he turn back toward her.
“Ask away.”
The broth was good and had taken off the edge of his hunger. Relaxing in a comfortable chair by a roaring fire, Hamish was inclined to be good-humored—even if his companion refused to eat and they both sat in near total darkness.
“My brother Jonah should be in residence here. Where is he?”
