She kicked again at a sheepskin rug, satisfied when it slid away across the floor. But the rug had covered blood stains which even Siegfried’s dedicated ministrations had not lifted from the grooves of the wood. Isabella turned her face to the closed shutters at the window.
One thing was clear. She risked making a fool of herself if she spent more time with a man she loved, who did not love her in return.
She thought of the long ride to Wolvesley, and how uncomfortable that would be.
She thought of Tristan’s all-encompassing gaze. If he saw them together, her clever brother would quickly divine her feelings for Hamish. And that would surely undermine everything they hoped to achieve.
Both the release of Hamish’s sister and the return of his lands.
Isabella was not one to renege on a promise. But nor did she have any intention of being taken for a fool. Not by anyone.
She crossed over to the window and lifted the shutters, but the silvery light of the moon was blanketed by heavy clouds and she could see almost naught.
Her pulse quickened. Hamish had spoken of a thaw on the morrow. Perchance he was right.
She released the shutter and backed away from the window, as the beginnings of a plan slowly began to form in her mind.
*
Isabella did notsleep a wink, but passed the night in turn sitting in the wooden desk chair and standing by her window, waiting. When the first pink rays of dawn appeared, she opened the shutters and gazed outside, listening intently.
The world was still white and cold, but above the solitary song of a nearby ruddock, she discerned a steady dripping sound.
The sound of melting icicles.
Isabella smiled to herself.
The thaw was upon them, just as Hamish had predicted. Even as she carefully closed the shutters, she heard the unmistakablethwumpof snow falling from the roof. There was not a moment to lose.
Isabella had never undressed for bed. Still wearing the practical garb of yesterday, she noiselessly pushed open herchamber door and stepped out into the gallery. Here, she half anticipated the feeling of strong arms closing around her. A mouth pressed close to her ear, asking, “And where might you be going?”
Did she anticipateor longfor all of this?
Either way, her journey along the gallery suffered no interruption. She crept down the stairs, knowing now which steps creaked and which did not. The faint glow of the hall fire made her pause for long enough to establish that Hamish was slumped in a nearby chair; his long arms hanging downward. She listened for his breathing, slow and heavy, and pushed down her regret at leaving him without saying goodbye.
He would not allow me to say goodbye, she reasoned.
For certain, he would not allow her to make the long ride to Wolvesley alone, especially not with a vengeful Alaric on the loose.
But there is no other way.
She would rather risk meeting Alaric—a low risk, she reasoned—than face hours, or days, of awkwardness by Hamish’s side.
Quelling the tears that threatened to blur her much-needed senses, she forced herself to walk away from Hamish and into the kitchen. Her hastily concocted plan had included the packing of provisions for the journey south, but Isabella found she could not countenance such a delay. There would be food enough waiting for her at Wolvesley. She tied Esme’s cloak about her shoulders and slowly drew back the bolt on the outer door.
A strong gust of wind made her clutch the handle and stagger to one side, but the biting chill of the last days had diminished. It was breezy and cold; inclement indeed. But the freeze had lifted and her leather boots splashed through softened snow and melting puddles. With no danger of slipping on the ice, Isabella strode out with more confidence.
My plan may yet succeed.
She entered the barn and spoke softly to the horses, but she had not even thought to look for a saddle when she realized she had a problem.
Her trusted destrier stood placidly between Luar and a heavily-muscled dapple-grey, both of whom flattened their ears at her approach, as if sensing she was an adversary.
Isabella took a deep breath. Her mother had taught her that horses could read fear as easily as words on a parchment. If she stayed calm, all would be well.
But Luar was not so easily fooled. She scraped at the floor with her hoof and whinnied a warning when Isabella next approached; a warning that might carry all the way back to the hall. From her brother, Isabella had learned all about the close bonds between a warrior and his warhorse.
She would not risk bringing Hamish to the barn.
