“We must stop the blood,” she gasped. “Let me see.”
She didn’t want to look. The sight of blood had always made her slightly queasy. But there was no one else here to do it.
Hamish shook his head and flinched from her touch, but Isabella persevered, swallowing down her shock at the jagged edges of the deep cut.
“Sliced with my own blade.” Hamish raised his eyebrows in an attempt at humor.
“You had a dagger in your boot?” Isabella began to make sense of it all.
“Aye. Alaric knew all my tricks.” Hamish staggered and Isabella tugged at his good arm.
“Sit down before you fall down,” she ordered. She spied a huddle of rocks which stood free from melting snow and urged him toward them. Isabella’s thoughts were racing. She remembered a time when they were children, when an enraged Jonah had run at his infuriating older brother with a proper sword. Not believing he would strike, Tristan had stood his ground—even inflamed the situation further with some jeering words—and Jonah had inflicted a cut on his leg that sent Esme fleeing for the physician.
Isabella clasped her hands together to stop them shaking, trying to stay with the memory even as the wind whipped through her woolen tunic and lifted her braid from her neck.
The physician had said the bleeding was not too quick and the wound was not too serious. But even so, he tied a tight bandage above the cut and told them this was the way to prevent serious blood loss.
“We need a bandage.”
Hamish tilted his face toward her. “I didna think ter bring my medical supplies.” His voice was cold, just like his eyes, and Isabella did not think it was all down to shock or pain. He was cross with her. And he had every reason to be. But this was not the time for her to plead for his forgiveness.
Instead, she ran the few paces back to the tree and fetched down her cloak, sparing a few words to calm the alarmed pony. Averting her eyes from the face of the dead man, she then plucked Hamish’s dagger from Alaric’s long fingers and returned to the highlander’s side.
“What are ye about?”
She answered by spreading the cloak on a long, flat stone and tearing off a strip with the dagger. Without further ado, she wrapped it tightly around Hamish’s upper arm, pulling until he winced.
“That’s tight enough, lass.”
“It needs to be.” She stood back to survey her handiwork. ’Twas not the neatest knot in the land, but she had to hope it would do the trick. She peered closer at the wound and after a tense wait, declared the bleeding was beginning to slow.
She exhaled, only now aware that she had been holding her breath this whole time.
“I think you shall live.”
“I ne’er doubted it.” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “But I thank ye, all the same.”
Isabella put a hand in front of her eyes. The surge of adrenaline followed by heady relief had rendered her tearful all over again.
Hamish hated her. She could hear it in his voice. And why should he not? If she had not fled from Ember Hall, he would not have become injured.
Alaric would not be dead.
“I’m sorry.”
Hamish didn’t answer for a long while. Then he quietly said, “What are ye sorry for?”
“For running away from Ember Hall. I realize how it appeared, what you must think of me. But I intended to honor our agreement.” She risked a glance through her fingers and saw that he was listening, although his face was turned towards the trees. “I was heading for Wolvesley to seek an audience with my brother,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She lowered her hands and folded them in front of her. “To petition for his help in the return of your lands and the release of your sister,” she added when he did not respond.
Hamish took a deep breath. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” Greatly daring, Isabella closed the distance between them and sat close beside him. She could feel the warmth of his body, but he made no move toward her. “I regret what I did. I should have confided in you. But I could not.” Her voice wobbled with emotion.
“Why not?” He looked at her, finally, but his eyes had not regained their usual warmth. “I thought we had an understanding, ye and I, but I begin to believe I imagined it.”
“You did not imagine it.” Isabella summoned reserves of courage and took hold of his nearest hand. She half expected him to pull away, and was emboldened when he did not. She looked down at his large hand, with its square nails and strong, capable fingers. She clasped both of her hands around it and tried to convey the depths of her feelings through her touch. But Hamish sat as still as the stones about them, and she realized that she could only hope for his forgiveness by confessing the truth of her heart. She took a deep breath. “I ran from Ember Hall because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of me?”
