He doesn’t want to come near me, Isabella realized.
She lifted her chin. “As you wish.”
Swallowing her pain, she crossed to the arched doorway and plunged out into the freezing air with no more than a cursory look right and left. As good as his word, Hamish came to stand at the opening, and she felt his eyes upon her as she made her way back to the hall. Agitation made her careless, and she slipped more than once on the treacherous cobbles, but thankfully she did not fall.
She could not have borne the embarrassment.
Once she reached the door, she pulled it open and stepped inside without a backward glance. She shot home the bolt and only then allowed herself to sink her head into her hands.
What now?
*
Hamish stayed outsidefar longer than was necessary.
He saw to the horses, fetched ice and melted it over the brazier, fixed the door to the bakehouse and swept out what had been their sleeping quarters. Then he walked down to the outer wall, ascended the stone steps and scanned the white surroundings for any sign of Alaric.
He sighed with frustration; his breath misting the air in front of him.
Alaric had simply melted into the night. No footsteps showed in the frozen snow. No gate stood open to show which way he had headed. ’Twas as if he had been spirited away by the faerie folk. But Hamish recognized the actions of a man trained in stealth.
Would Alaric return?
The question that would no doubt keep him awake throughout the long night to come.
Shadows lengthened across the moors as the winter sun crept downward and a chill took hold of Hamish’s very bones. He should go inside and sit by the fire. But that meant facing Isabella and the rush of emotion that robbed him of rational thought whenever he was near her.
She had visited him in the stables for mere minutes, but ’twas long enough for him to forget all the excellent reasons he should steer a course away from Isabella de Neville. Now he reminded himself of the difference in their status and expectations. Of her wealth and connections, and the fact he had no home to offer her.
Even if he was restored as rightful Laird of Greenock, he struggled to envisage Isabella living a busy and purposeful life within its granite walls. Any wife of his would be required to work—and hard at that. There were times to relax, with ceilidhs and feasting and laughter. But also times when food was scarce and enemies loomed close.
For certs, there was no coin to spare for fashionable dresses and grand visitors. He had difficulty picturing the daily reality of Isabella’s former life as Countess of Felsham; but surely much of her time had been spent in this manner, with formal dinners and stilted conversation.
A gust of wind lifted his uncombed hair from his neck and sent shivers of cold down his back.
He must not make the mistake of hankering after something that was not meant for him. He had told himself as much at the first light of dawn. ’Twas still true at sunset.
What was more, he would freeze to death if he stood out here and contemplated the obvious for much longer.
Blowing on his chilled fingers, Hamish tramped back down the steps and made his way to the hall, where he could just discern the glow of candlelight behind the shutters. The door was bolted, as he had specified, but when he banged his fist upon the wood and shouted for entry, Siegfried soon appeared.
Hamish walked into light and warmth and the welcome scent of cooking. His stomach rumbled, and he realized he had not eaten since last night.
“Smells good.” He sniffed appreciatively and clapped his comrade on the back.
But Siegfried shook his head. “’Tis not on my account. The Lady is in the kitchen.”
Hamish’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead and Siegfried nodded in confirmation.
“I fixed the door to her chamber, but she said she has seen enough of those four walls and wanted to put herself to use.”
’Twas as if her actions answered the very questions he had ruminated upon when he stood on the wall walk.
Hamish gave himself a little shake, aware that he was as wide-eyed as a hound awaiting a feed.
“Are ye recovered fully, do ye think?” he asked of Siegfried as they rounded the corner into the feasting hall.
“As much as I will ever be.” The Seneschal flexed his fingers experimentally. “’Tis ye who should sit afore the fire, Hamish. Ye have been out in the cold all day.”
