“Aye.”
Siegfried had accepted his help with little complaint and this, more than anything, caused alarm to prickle down Hamish’s spine. He half hoped to meet Isabella coming out of the kitchen—he nursed a fancy that she fed herself quite sensibly in his absence—but all was still and quiet inside. They stumbled around the corner into the feasting hall and Hamish breathed a deep sigh of relief that the fire still flickered in the grate.
He had built the fire at first light; more in hope than expectation that Isabella would come down and avail herself of the warmth and cheer. It would not take much to get a good blaze going again. But first, he settled Siegfried into an armchair and heaped him high with blankets from the trunk.
“Ye dinna have to wait on me, lad,” he protested weakly.
“Happen I’ll be needing your sword arm for many years yet,” Hamish retorted. “Father always taught me to take care of aught I shall depend upon in battle.”
Siegfried shook his head, but a spark had returned to his watery blue eyes.
Hamish banked up the fire and then fetched a pitcher of wine from the kitchen. He poured some for Siegfried and held it out. “Drink this,” he ordered.
“Ye have made yerself quite at home,” Siegfried remarked mildly.
“I have found what needs to be found.” Hamish was calm. “Is feeling returning to yer limbs?”
“Like a hundred ants crawling upon me. Each one dragging a blade.” Siegfried drained the goblet.
Hamish grinned. “Then I reckon ye shall live.”
Siegfried rested his head on the back of the chair and gazed into the flames. “I am counting upon it. When I breathe my last, it shall be in Scotland.”
“In Greenock Castle,” Hamish confirmed. “In yer own bed. In yer own chamber. I swear upon it.”
Siegfried reached out and clasped his forearm with a grip of iron. “I dinna ask ye to swear to it.”
“I do anyway.” Hamish poured some wine for himself and drank with relish. Until now, some murkily defined code of honor had prevented him from breaking into the family’s wine store.
But Siegfried needed something stronger than ale.
Hamish put down his goblet and folded his arms across his chest. The hall was growing too warm for his heavy cloak, but he did not want to make himself comfortable whilst there was still work to be done outside.
“I am sorry for how this has turned out,” he said.
“Ye have naught to be sorry for.” Siegfried’s reply was instantaneous.
“I didna expect us to have to stay so long across the border. In another man’s house.” Hamish gazed bleakly into the fire, which had begun to smoke.
“None of us know what the good Lord has planned. But methinks ’tis a blessing we remained here.”
Hamish’s eyebrows shot up beneath his hair. “How so?”
“The roads are not fit to travel upon. ’Tis near certain we would have perished if we slept out in the open.”
Hamish inclined his head. “Mayhap ye are right.”
For certain, Isabella could not have withstood such freezing temperatures. He glanced up toward the smoke-blackened rafters. She was somewhere above them, though he had never ventured up the winding wooden staircase—heeding her warning not to follow. He had left food at the foot of the stairs, but it had not been touched.
What did I say to offend her so?
And how long will she persevere with this?
As if reading his thoughts, Siegfried asked, “Where is the Lady?”
Hamish snorted. “She has taken refuge in the family bedchambers above and forbidden me from following.”
“And you accept her orders?”
