“I do not deny it.”
She was avoiding his gaze and he didn’t like it. “If ye were the Lady of Greenock, ye would work like this all the time. There are no hours of idleness in the highlands.”
Just as he cautioned himself for his combative tone—and demanded to know what he hoped to achieve by it—her transfixing eyes flew to his. For a moment, he was robbed of breath. His spoon sat in mid-air, his food all but forgotten.
“As the wife of Lord Gaunt? Or the wife of yourself?” The question was so softly asked that Hamish had to strain to hear it.
Reality was a harsh mistress.
He chewed up his meat and longed for a mouthful of ale.
Of course, the Lady still thought of Greenock as belonging to Gaunt.As it will, he jeered at himself,until her brother intervenes.
Isabella took a ragged breath. “Perchance I would relish the chance to work and have purpose.”
She was changing the subject, with all the tact and diplomacy of a countess.
He put down his spoon. “Ye would soon tire of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Isabella’s fierce gaze now clashed with his. “How can you claim to know me so well?”
’Twas a mirror of the question she had asked last night.
“How do you claim to know the workings of my mind?”she had demanded as she stood in the circle of his embrace.
He could not think of that conversation—nor of what had come after it. “I ken that a lady like you was not raised to face a life of hardship,” he said instead.
“We never know what hardships we will face in life.”
He could not argue with that.
But what hardships had Isabella de Neville ever faced? For certain, she had not bedded down in a cave, nor wielded a sword upon the battlements.
And why would I wish such a fate upon her?
Hamish rubbed at his temples, at the beginnings of a headache.
“Ye would miss the grandeur and ease of yer old life,” he tried again.
Isabella’s gaze became unfocused as she toyed with her food. “I would miss the music,” she said abruptly.
“The music?” His interest was snagged. Music was also a big love in his life. At least, it had been, once.
“Aye.” She nodded. “Westchester was known for its evenings of music. I was fortunate in the services of a talented bard. There was naught he could not play.”
It was on the tip of Hamish’s tongue to tell her that he played the lute. But then he looked down at his dirty fingers and felt the words die inside him.
She would ne’er believe it.
Worse, she would think him a man of enthusiasm but little talent.
Isabella rose up from the table. “I see my tales of the past hold little interest for you.”
Every fiber of his being wanted to reach out and touch her. To tell her that every word she uttered was of interest.
But she is not meant for me.
“It has been a tiring day,” he said instead. “Siegfried thinks the thaw may come on the morrow. If so, there will be much to prepare.”
