All she had was her sister’s maternity clothing.
There was naught for it but to cinch a belt about her waist and drape a shawl about her shoulders. Isabella was glad the looking glass was clouded, for it could not possibly show her anything that she wished to see. The flash of rings on her fingers made her pause and reach for her emerald necklace, reassuring herself that it was still there.
Should I hide my jewels?
She could secrete them amidst the linens in the dresser. But if the highlander wished to rob her, he would hardly hesitate at ransacking a deserted bed chamber.
Besides, she would not know herself without them. Dressed as she was, Isabella’s jewels were the only proof she bore that she was the dowager Countess of Felsham.
The daughter of the Earl of Wolvesley.
The future Lady of Greenock.
She shuddered a little at the last. If Hamish considered himself the Laird of Greenock, did she still aspire to that particular title?
That is a question for another day.
Breathing deeply to quell her nerves, she stepped out into the long gallery, blanching a little at the ongoing cold and silence that greeted her. Her footsteps sounded too loud across the wooden floor, but after a moment’s consideration she continued on her way, tripping with deliberate heaviness down the stairs.
How else could she announce her arrival into the great hall?
At first, she thought her efforts and anticipation were all in vain, for the vast hall was empty. Then she saw the highlander standing quietly beside one of the long windows. He had opened the shutters and was gazing out at the view of rolling fields.
Fields which had turned white.
Isabella paused at the threshold, one hand going to her throat and fastening, out of long habit, around her precious necklace.
“Snow,” she said.
“Aye,” Hamish agreed, without looking around. “A little at least.”
Isabella crossed the hall and stood on her tiptoes so she could get a better view without coming too close to her captor. The fields were blanketed with white, but the grey granite of the meandering stone walls was visible here and there. As she watched, a clump of snow fell from the barn roof.
“’Tis already thawing,” he added.
Isabella said nothing. Snow made travel difficult. It meant that her absence from Greenock would not be questioned so soon.
The thaw could not come quickly enough.
Hamish turned toward her and startled a little, a smile coming over his full lips.
’Tis my outfit,Isabella thought, but she stood taller and lifted her chin.
“I half thought we wouldna see ye this day, Lady Isabella. I ken how the English like their slumber, but ’tis near noon.”
Again, she stayed quiet, determined not to tell of a night spent clenched with fear. She had drifted into sleep as the first rays of dawn broke through the shutters.
Hamish had also changed his clothes since yesterday. Now he was dressed in breeches and a blue shirt, with a dark padded jacket which further emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His hair had been combed and hung just above those powerful shoulders. His eyes fixed upon hers.
“Were ye perchance waiting for a maid to waken ye? ’Tis a pity if so. It seems there are none to be found in these parts.”
Isabella wrenched her eyes away from him. He was taunting her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of a response.
“I am hungry,” she said instead. “I wish to break my fast.”
He gave her a low bow. “Whate’er the lady wishes.” He waved his hand toward the trestle table, which had been pulled from the far wall and laid with foodstuffs.
Much as she wished to show disinterest, Isabella could not prevent her legs from carrying her over to the dais; nor her hands from reaching out for a hunk of bread and pushing it into her mouth.
