With a howl of rage, Alaric pinned her wrist to the floor.
“Dinna try owt more, milady. Else ye will regret it.”
Leering down at her, he pulled the neckline of her gown toward his face and fastened his teeth about it. Isabella tensed with terror as the material began to give. She closed her eyes, unable to bear what was about to happen.
At first, she felt the release of pressure about her ribs. Then came a muffled sound and her wrist was freed. Slowly, Isabella opened her eyes to see Hamish hauling Alaric to his feet; one hand wrapped about his mouth and the other holding him firmly about the waist—trapping his arms by his side. Alaric struggled, swinging violently from left to right, but Hamish merely tightened his grip.
“Enough!” he commanded, a slight break in his voice the only outward sign of any exertion.
Alaric’s eyes shot daggers at Isabella, still laying on the floor. Hamish swiveled the man around, so he faced the door, in time to see Siegfried stride through it holding a length of rope. Hamish nodded and the older man moved toward the bed.
Alaric spluttered something that was intelligible beneath Hanish’s hand.
“We have nay interest in aught ye have to say,” Hamish told him. He gave his prisoner a firm shove so he lay face down on the bed, then pinned him down with a knee placed on his back while he quickly bound his hands behind him.
“Thank ye, Siegfried,” he said mildly.
“I’ll kill ye both,” Alaric raged, lifting his head from the covers. His eyes swung to Isabella and fixed her with a glare so dreadful that she shuffled backward until she hit the wall. “Butas fer ye, killing is too good fer ye. I’ll keep ye until yer begging fer death.”
She didn’t see Hamish swing back his fist. She only heard his fist connect with Alaric’s head and saw the younger man slump back down.
A fleeting smile flickered across Siegfried’s steady features. “He’s had that coming fer a while.”
Hamish merely grunted as he divested Alaric of his sword and flung it across the room to land with a clatter. “I should not have allowed him access ter the house.”
“Ye didna.” Siegfried’s voice was calm. “Ye expressly forbade it.”
Isabella found her eyes drawn to Hamish’s and as soon as their gazes met, she began to feel safe again.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. “’Twas not your fault.”
A voice spoke in her mind in protest; pointing out that if Hamish were not holding her prisoner here, none of this would be happening. Isabella pursed her lips and silenced it.
For two days, she had stayed away from him. Now, she only wanted to drink him in. His broad shoulders, his blue eyes, his wide stance. Control and compassion radiated from him.
She wanted to put her arms around him and give him a kiss.
“Ye have taken a blow ter the head.” Hamish looked at her with concern as he manhandled Alaric back onto his feet. “Are ye feeling okay?”
Isabella nodded, even as her cheeks grew warm. Mayhap she was not thinking clearly after all.
“I’ll see ter the fire.” Siegfried gave her a small smile.
“Aye.” Hamish nodded toward Alaric. “Is there somewhere I can put him? Some place with a door that will lock?
Isabella rubbed at her arms, alarmed that her whole body had begun to shake. She dampened her lips with her tongue and reached for her customary composure.
“The bakehouse,” she declared. “The old bakehouse. ’Tis past the barn.” She recalled that, years earlier, Tristan had ordered that Callum be locked up in the bakehouse. That was when everyone believed Callum to be a spy for Robert the Bruce and an enemy of the de Nevilles. What none of them realized was that his love for Frida eclipsed all else. In turn, Frida risked everything by setting the man she adored free, infuriating her brother in the process. For a while, it had seemed as if Tristan would never forgive her for it.
But all had turned out well in the end.
She twisted her neck to gaze into the empty fireplace and avoid Alaric’s cruel eyes.
For certain, she would not be staging any rescue of this particular prisoner. He could stay there and rot, for all she cared.
Isabella put a hand to her head, wincing as her fingers came away sticky with blood. Her thoughts were running along strange and vengeful paths.
