But then he had spoken words that sent a fresh chill through her bones.
“I am the man with the power to decide if ye live or die, Isabella.”
Never had a foolish woman recovered her senses so quickly.
She knew she must put distance between them. Thank goodness she had the presence of mind to light a candle before she fled.
Although the highlander was right. It was as cold as the grave up here.
But that was not a comparison Isabella was minded to enjoy at the present time.
She paused by the long window, discerning the outline of the barns by the silvery light of the moon. Somewhere out there lurked the dark-haired warrior with cruel menace in his eyes. Whilst downstairs sat a highlander who talked calmly about deciding her death.
Isabella hesitated no longer. She turned toward the chamber door that had once belonged to her sister Esme, lifted the latch and sighed with relief when it opened. Once inside, she closed it firmly and shot the bolt.
I am safe.
Isabella’s knees weakened and she lent her weight against the solid panel of the door, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
What a terrible day.
How could it have been mere hours since she left Westchester Hall, imagining no worse fate awaiting her than marriage to a disinterested man?
Isabella tucked the blanket under her arm and pushed back her hair with shaking fingers. She had only stood still for a moment, but already the cold of the chamber had seeped into her bones.
I must light a fire.
Her eyes roamed the tapestried walls until she found the fireplace with an adjacent log basket waiting only for her ministrations. She carefully set her candle down on the mantle and squatted down by the grate.
How many times had she watched the maids light a fire?
Isabella frowned. Perchance the answer was none, for she had no clear idea how to proceed.
How difficult can it be?
Pursing her lips, she reached for the largest log and settled it in the grate. Was it merely a matter of setting her candle flame to the log?
But if her candle were to go out, she would be left in total darkness.
Pleased with her foresight, Isabella walked tentatively over to the nightstand, feeling with her hands until she encountered another candle. This, she lit with the first, the tremors in her hands abating a little as a second glow of light took hold.
Now she held a flame to the log, stiff with hope and anticipation. Alas, the log only smoked a little and made her cough.
Disappointment coursed through her, leaving her limp. Isabella settled her candle holder on the wooden floor and cradled her head in her hands, rocking sideways like a child.
But no one was coming to save her. Not her maid, not one of her siblings, and certainly not Lord Gaunt. Isabella took a deep breath and stood up slowly.
I shall light more candles, she decided.
Within minutes her heart lightened. With more candles lit, she was able to identify those waiting in the wall sconces. Soon, the chamber was transformed into a blaze of light.
Light which banished the shadows.
Shadows which had long threatened her ability to think and act rationally.
Isabella did not stop until every candle in the chamber was topped with a yellow flickering flame. Then she sat on the bed and pulled her blanket over her legs, pleased with how the candlelight illuminated the familiar polished wooden furnishings and bright tapestries on the walls.
“Light and warmth,” she muttered, as if to a child. “And soon will come the morn.”
