Her comforting words reminded her of her mother, smoothing back her hair and speaking gently after Isabella was woken by a nightmare. Neither of her sisters had ever been troubled by bad dreams, but Isabella frequently woke in her childhood bed in a twisted tangle of blankets and fright.
Mayhap it was a harbinger of what was to come—of being held captive by a band of highland warriors.
She shivered and pulled the blanket further over her body. She had imagined climbing under the rugs on the bed, but could not shake the idea that they would be chilled and damp. The room needed heating thoroughly.
Mayhap I have long underestimated the work of a housemaid.
Isabella rubbed at her temples and took deep, soothing breaths. But despite her best efforts, her pulse pounded and her mind endlessly replayed the conversation downstairs.
Should I believe Hamish about Jonah?
The prospect of harm befalling her youngest brother had set Isabella’s whole body shaking and kept her prisoner in the armchair, when really she should have gone about lighting candles or stoking the fire, anything to banish the encroaching darkness.
Darkness meant night.
Night meant nightmares.
Isabella had long been afraid of the dark.
But when Hamish told her that he did not know where Jonah was—that he had not harmed him—she had perceived the gleam of truth in his blue eyes.
Aye, she believed him. Partially because she had no choice in the matter. But mostly because she fancied that, deep down, Hamish was a man of honor.
Isabella tutted in frustration. Had the events of the day turned the balance of her mind? The highlander was keeping her prisoner. On pain of death even. Yet here she was, delighting in his perceived honor and brilliant blue eyes.
She should threaten him with the retaliation of the Wolvesley army. Watch from the battlements as Tristan faced him in combat.
But this last image refused to come into focus. The two faces of her golden-haired brother and the russet-haired highlander swam before her eyes, but she could not force them to turn against one another.
’Twas a flight of fancy anyhow, for she had no way of getting word to Wolvesley. The skeleton staff that Jonah kept on at Ember Hall had seemingly been dismissed or given leave. Mayhap they had even accompanied her brother back to Wolvesley? Either way, there was no one to carry a message for her.
There was a village nearby, she dimly recalled, but she had no idea what direction it lay in. She had as much chance of getting lost on the moors as of finding sanctuary in the church. And either way, she risked being caught by the dark-haired warrior if she attempted to escape.
She had not been lying when she told Hamish that she would not attempt to flee.
Isabella settled herself back against the pillows, forcing herself to think of the glow of light against the looking glass rather than the proprietary sneer of the young warrior.
I am safe. The door is bolted. The window shutters are fastened tight.
She clenched her hands and took perverse pleasure in the pain of pressing her fingernails against the flesh of her palms.
Ye Gods, how low I have sunk.
Isabella had once been treated like a precious jewel; cosseted and sheltered and given aught she desired.
As a child, she had roamed free in the fields around Wolvesley with her siblings. But later, when the full flower of her beauty came into bloom, she came to be perceived differently to her sisters.
She became a woman defined by her looks. A woman who needed protection from nettle stings and harsh winds and mud.
How did that transformation happen?she wondered now. Surely it was not her loving parents that had imposed such restrictions upon her.
Mayhap it was her own doing. Her own desires to secure the most sparkling future, with naught but her looks to distinguish her.
And those famed looks were now fading, whilst she kept company with highland vagabonds in a freezing farmhouse.
And no one knows of my plight.
Her fingernails dug deeply into her palms as a wave of desolation swept over her.
