Nay, she realized soon after. Hamish was singing of love for the glens and lochs of his native Scotland.
She breathed in the scent of hay and horses, familiar from her childhood. Their mother had insisted that all her children learn how to ride and take care of horses from a young age.
Isabella stilled, her fingers gripping the rough wood of the door, uncaring of splinters.
Ye Gods, she had not spared a thought for her destrier since handing over the reins to Alaric on the day she’d arrived.
Her breath caught in her throat. The mare was willing and kind-natured. And Isabella had all but abandoned her.
Her mother would be rigid with disappointment.
Isabella pushed open the door and stepped into the barn, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Mayhap hearing her footsteps, Hamish ceased his singing. In the sudden silence, Isabella discerned a short row of horses, happily munching at their hay racks. The stalls were clean and well-swept. The small horse nearest to her turned liquid eyes in her direction, deemed her of little interest and returned to his hay.
Isabella stepped closer, discerning the chestnut legs of her destrier standing in the middle of the row. There were five horses in total; the small grey standing a little apart from the others. At the far end of the row stood a beautiful glossy-black beast with well-shaped legs and a blaze of white across her face.
This was the horse to which Hamish tended, a brush in each of his hands. He paused in his task, and eyed Isabella over the horse’s withers.
“Have ye come here alone?” he asked abruptly.
Isabella had been hoping for a softer greeting. She tried not to worry about her shapeless clothing and undressed hair. “Siegfried is asleep,” she offered, immediately regretting it. She didn’t want to get the older man into trouble.
Hamish grimaced. He resumed his rhythmic grooming, although his eyes strayed toward her.
“Ye must take care, Isabella. Alaric has escaped.”
She put a hand to her heart. “From the bakehouse?”
He nodded. “Aye. The door is clean off its hinges.”
“’Tis my fault for suggesting it.” She couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as if the cruel-eyed warrior might have followed her across the cobbles.
“’Tis not yer fault,” he countered. “But I would prefer it if ye stayed inside with the door bolted.”
A clutch of fear made her shiver. The golden light of the courtyard seemed a long way away. She shuffled her feet on the well-swept floor and nodded toward the gleaming flanks of her destrier.
“Thank you for taking care of her for me.”
He nodded briefly. “She’s proven useful in keeping Luar apart from that devil.” He indicated a big bay-colored horse with a bad-tempered gaze. “Alaric’s,” he explained. “My Luar is particular about her stable mates.”
Luar pressed her face into Hamish’s chest and sighed, as if to agree. Hamish rubbed gently at her ears and patted her neck, talking so quietly that Isabella could not catch the words.
The man clearly loved his horse.
Her mother would approve, but Isabella felt her chest tightening with childish jealousy. Hamish showed easy affection for Luar, but none for the lady he had lain beside last night. The frisson of connection that had always existed between them had gone, like a puff of smoke from an extinguished fire.
Perchance I dreamed it.
Perchance it was no more than lust.
Isabella pushed away her disappointment. There was naught to be gained by standing in the shadows. She had not sunk so low that she would compete with a horse for a man’s attention.
“I shall return to the hall,” she said, “and bolt the door.”
“Wait.” Hamish paused, but did not move from Luar’s side. “I should walk with ye.”
The very idea made her anxious. Isabella waved her hand. “No need. There’s a clear view from the barn door to the hall. I shall take my bearings before I step out.”
“I’ll watch ye then.” His voice was full and almost apologetic.
