But it was the easiest thing in the world.
Chapter Eleven
He woke tothe subtle fragrance of lemons and for a moment, could not make sense of it. Then he opened his eyes to find his face pressed into Isabella’s thick tresses of golden hair; they had slept curled up together, like lovers.
It was not too strong a word for the heady emotions that gripped him whenever she was near.
Nor for what had passed between them last night, which was a sight more than the slaking of lust.
Hamish rolled onto his back and gazed up at the plastered ceiling. Nay, last night had been a meeting of souls.
An act of love.
Yer touched in the head, man,he told himself, gruffly.
But his feelings for Isabella de Neville were as real as the russet hairs on his brawny forearm.
He turned his head to see that the lady was still sleeping deeply, dark blonde eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheek. Perchance she dreamed.
Does she dream of me?
Hamish reprimanded himself. ’Twas more likely the lady dreamed of the fine carriage that would take her back to the life she knew; one of liveried servants and silk dresses. He must not make the mistake of hankering after something that was not meant for him.
His heart grew leaden, but Hamish was a realist, not a dreamer. Two years living in a damp cave would do that to a man.
He must hold onto what he knew to be true. Isabella had promised to speak to her brother on his behalf. And Tristan de Neville not only supported the Scots, he also had influence with the King. The man was a worthy ally.
Today dawned with more hope than yesterday. Hamish would not ask for more than that.
But now he twitched with impatience to be up and about. Alaric was locked in the bakehouse, which was hardly a long-term solution. There were the horses to tend to and water to fetch. Please God, might the well have thawed?
Hamish stretched his legs beneath the rugs, moving slowly and carefully so as not to disturb Isabella. He baulked at leaving her, but could not be idle when so much needed to be done. He dressed quickly, guided by the milky morning light filtering in from the shutters. His clothes were stiff and cold, for the fire had all but died and the temperature was still below freezing. His breath plumed in front of him as he crossed to the log-basket and added fuel to the fading embers in the grate. When Isabella awoke, the room would be warmer.
With a last, lingering look at the sleeping beauty on the bed, Hamish stepped over the broken door and out into the long gallery. Mentally, he added mending the door to his long list of jobs.
Isabella deserved her privacy.
He picked up his pace, heading toward the stairs and blowing on his bruised knuckles for warmth. His cloak billowed behind him as he strode across the wooden floor and Hamish felt renewed with purpose for the first time since King Edward’s troops had successfully seized Greenock Castle.
But he would not darken this bright new day by dwelling on that particular memory.
He tripped down the wide staircase and barreled into the feasting hall, where he encountered Siegfried standing before an uncertain fire.
“Good morn,” he hailed his old ally.
But when he turned around, Siegfried’s face was grim. “Alaric has escaped,” he announced, by way of a greeting.
A cold feeling slid into Hamish’s belly. He halted at the far side of the feasting hall, as if he might yet run after the young warrior. “When?”
“I dinna ken for certain.” Siegfried shrugged beneath the heavy folds of his cloak. “I took him some food at first light but found the door wide open.”
Hanish cursed loudly, glad that Isabella was out of earshot. “The bakehouse must not have been secure.” He rubbed at his forehead, thinking hard. “I should have checked it more thoroughly.”
“Mayhap. But what’s done is done.” The lines of worry etched across Siegfried’s face belied his apparent calm.
Hamish’s joviality had entirely drained away. He shook his head. “He was an angry man.”
Alaric’s threat hummed in his ears.“I’ll kill ye both,”he’d said to Hamish and Siegfried. But worse was his warning to Isabella.
