Luar was not alone. If Alaric had a mane, he would be tossing it as well. Hamish’s small band of horses and men had endured more than enough of these hostile lands, but even if Hamish wished it, they could not return to Scotland yet.
“The ground is frozen underfoot and treacherous,” he said to Luar, as if she understood every word. “’Tis not safe for ye to leave this barn. Believe me. I would take ye out if I could. A gallop o’er the moors would do us both a power of good.”
He thought of the wind in his hair and the sense of perspective he would gain both through physical exertion and in putting distance between himself and Isabella. Alas, the snow that had begun to thaw two days prior had since frozen hard. And with the temperature showing no signs of lifting, it could be many days more before it was safe to contemplate leaving Ember Hall.
Hamish ran a hand over Luar’s withers and sighed. ’Twas one thing to choose to stay here. Quite another to have no choice in the matter.
Luar flinched as a side door banged open and a dark shape shuffled through. Alaric was obliged to bend almost double to pass through the low door from the haybarn, but that was far preferable to risking his step on the slippery ice outside. He dragged a sack of hay behind him, which he wordlessly emptied into the horses’ empty racks. Soon, the sound of munching filled the stables. Hamish had ordered that Isabella’s destrier be kept fed and watered. Along with an old grey pony they had discovered in the paddocks.
“Thank ye, Alaric.” Hamish attempted to keep the mood between them light.
The warrior merely grunted.
“Has Siegfried returned from the well?”
Alaric gave a minute shake of his head, his expression settling into a scowl. Hamish lifted his palms in a gesture of peace.
“I shall go,” he said.
They both knew that Alaric had an easy job with the hay. Filling the pails with water and ensuring none slopped on the ground—to freeze overnight—was a much more challenging task.
Hamish crossed to the big arched doorway and looked out into the courtyard. The cobbles were fringed with white but other than that, appeared innocuous. However, each was coated with a sheer layer of ice, meaning that any movement across the yard cost supreme effort. Opposite stood the hall, shutters and doors all fastened tight to retain what little heat remained inside the thick stone walls. Hamish allowed his gaze to rest briefly on the first-floor windows, but there was no sign of any life therein.
His heart beat hollowly in his chest. Isabella had refused to leave her chamber for two whole days now.
What is she doing up there?
And more importantly, is she well?
Siegfried appeared around the corner of the barn and paused to rest, placing two large buckets down beside him. His lined face was flushed with exertion and Hamish silently berated himself.
The old Seneschal had insisted upon undertaking this task himself. But ’twas one that a younger man would struggle with. Hamish should not have allowed him to attempt it alone.
He struck out across the courtyard, keeping as close to the barn wall as possible and using his arms for balance.
“Is the well still frozen?” he asked somewhat breathlessly as he reached his comrade’s side.
Siegfried’s mouth set into a grim line. “’Tis frozen solid and I could not break it,” he said tensely. He clenched his hands together and blew over them.
Hamish noticed with alarm that Siegfried’s fingers were white and bloodless. Puzzled, he looked into the buckets and saw that they were not filled with water, but with ice.
“From the river,” Siegfried explained.
“God’s bones, ye must be half frozen yerself.”
The Seneschal gave a slight shake of his head. “I will warm up soon enough.” But he swayed on his feet as if dizzy.
“Nay, ye need to get in front of a fire. And quickly.” Hamish put a hand on the man’s shoulders, further alarmed to feel a tremor passing through his body. “Leave the buckets here.” He guided Siegfried toward the hall and sent up a silent prayer that neither of them would slip and fall.
They had a brazier in the barn, which they moved to their sleeping quarters at night, but Hamish wanted to ensure that Siegfried was thoroughly warmed. He had known younger men die after prolonged exposure to below freezing conditions.
They had survived sieges and family betrayal, but this black ice may be the death of them.
Siegfried’s leather boots scrambled for purchase on the treacherous cobbles. Hamish braced himself and supported him as best he could. Aging he may be, but Siegfried was still muscular and broad. Both were breathing hard by the time they reached the arched front door of the hall.
Hamish mopped his brow and positioned his arm more firmly about his comrade’s shoulder.
“Almost there,” he declared.
