He did not make her heart pound with fear. Nor her pulse pound with—something else.
She walked quietly to the end of the gallery and paused at the top of the staircase. All was still and silent, save the distant crackling of logs. Hamish must have made up the fire in the feasting hall, which meant she could thaw her chilled limbs. Even though Isabella had found Frida’s winter woolens and a whole chest of warm shawls, the seeping cold of her bedchamber had taken root inside her very bones. When she looked outside at the endless expanse of white covering fields, walls and buildings, she thought she might never be warm again.
The stairs creaked as she descended, but there was naught she could do about that. Yesterday, she had withdrawn at every creak, her trembling feet tentatively seeking silent purchase, butEmber Hall was an old house. She could not creep about the place without making some degree of noise.
I should not have to creep about.
Isabella straightened her sister’s shawl as a hot flush of indignity travelled through her. Nay, she should not have to tiptoe like a common thief, always looking over her shoulder. But this was the only way she could feed her belly and avoid a confrontation with Hamish.
It was the best solution she had, for now.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the feasting hall. She was over halfway there. In another minute, she’d be within reach of the kitchens. Her stomach rumbled louder at the prospect of bread and cheese. But then she froze.
The feasting hall was not empty.
The older man, Siegfried, sat before the fire, his hands calmly folded above a heavy rug pulled over his knees. His blue eyes blinked in surprise before he nodded a greeting.
“Lady Isabella.”
Should I flee?
Uncertainty coursed through her veins.
Siegfried did not move, but his voice was kind when he said, “Why not come and warm yourself by the fire?”
Why not indeed? This was her brother’s house, after all.
She lifted her chin and stepped forward, as if she were entering the tower room at Westchester. It seemed a long way from the foot of the stairs to the fireplace, and Siegfried’s eyes never once left her face. Isabella kept her head held high and her back straight, ignoring the fact of her shapeless shawl and audibly rumbling stomach. The warmth of the fire was like a caress and she all but whimpered with relief.
“Sit down,” Siegfried invited, indicating the nearby chair.
But Isabella had no intention of moving backward from the blaze. She sank down on her knees, grateful for the softness of the hearthrug, and held out her hands.
“Drink this.” He held out a goblet of wine.
Wine. Not ale.
Isabella hesitated only for a moment, before taking the goblet and drinking deeply. The wine brought a rush of feeling to her limbs, so she felt young and alive once again. She drained the goblet and placed it down beside her.
Unperturbed by her silence, Siegfried went on. “I am glad to see you down here, Lady Isabella. Hamish is most concerned for your wellbeing.”
She snorted in a most unladylike way. “I doubt that.”
They were the first words she had spoken to anyone in two days, but her voice came out as level and strong as ever, and she was grateful for it.
Siegfried was sitting to her left. From the corner of her eye, she saw him put his head to one side and regard her thoughtfully.
“You should not doubt his concern, milady. Hamish is a man of wisdom and compassion.”
She was not inclined to hear such praises. “He is a man without a plan.” She fixed her gaze on the flickering flames and tried not to recall their last conversation—or the spark of connection she had imagined between them. A log cracked in the grate and smoke drifted toward her, making her cough and inch backward as the acrid taste filled her lungs. A single noise came from the back of the hall, but Isabella was busy clearing her throat and wafting away smoke. She did not pay it any heed.
Siegfried rested his elbows on his knees. “Perchance I am speaking out of turn. But I believe his plan depends upon ye.”
“Then there is no plan.” Her eyes still watered. Isabella eyed the second chair, but did not want to prove the older man right.
“He could have killed ye when he discovered ye have nay currency with Gaunt,” he said calmly.
He might still,her mind supplied.
