Behave,she implored silently.
Moments later, Hamish’s good arm closed about her waist. Isabella allowed herself to lean into his warmth and strength, but only briefly. Then she straightened up and glanced behind her.
“Are you ready?”
“I am.” Hamish was either winded or surprised. Or more likely, hiding his pain.
She didn’t ask for permission, she simply took Luar’s reins as well and urged her forward. She would take charge of this situation and do everything in her power to get them to safety.
For she was Isabella de Neville.
And Isabella de Neville was so much more than just a pretty face.
Chapter Fifteen
Waves of painmade Hamish increasingly dizzy and at times he felt dangerously close to toppling from Luar’s back. Not wanting to hold any tighter to Isabella’s waist, he sat deeper in the saddle and wrapped his long legs as far as he could around his horse’s warm belly. Isabella perched before him, her slight stature meaning he had an uninterrupted view of the bleak moorland they travelled through. Just a few sparse winter trees broke the monotony of hills and heather and melting snow. He had lost all sense of time and could not guess how much longer they still had to travel. But every time Luar skidded on some loose ground, or shied at a shadow, he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from crying out in agony.
It had been a blow to his pride when Isabella took the reins. But he had to admit, in the privacy of his thoughts at least, that she had been right to do so. Alaric had plunged the blade through layers of muscle as well as flesh, and in his sword arm to boot.
Hamish cursed his own foolishness. He should have stayed on his guard around Alaric. But the hot surge of anger did his balance no favors, and he was obliged to lower his head and take deep breaths until the world settled once again. Seemingly mindful of his troubles, Isabella kept Luar straight and steady over the moors. She was an accomplished horsewoman, he realized, mastering a strange and headstrong mount, and leading the pony by their side, with no trouble at all.
Isabella was a clever, talented and beautiful woman, who, if his memory served him correctly, claimed she was falling in love.
With him.
Hamish’s heart began to beat faster with the sheer unanticipated wonder of it. In different times, he might have shouted his good fortune from the highest tower of Greenock. But those times were gone. He could not pretend, even to himself, that he and Isabella enjoyed much prospect of future happiness.
God’s blood, with his sword arm so injured, could he even defend himself? Let alone, mount an attack on the imposters who had claimed his birthright as their own. His sword hung from his belt, as usual, but would he be able to grasp the hilt and draw it against an enemy?
A cruel wind whipped up his hair and cloak, as if giving further weight to these doubts that struck like an axe at the very foundations of the person Hamish had always believed himself to be.
A leader,with no men to follow him.
A warrior,who could not even swing his own broadsword.
Hamish gritted his teeth at the shame of it.
Isabella tilted her golden head and spoke over her shoulder.
“There is an overhang, up ahead. It should offer shelter from the wind. Would you like to stop a while?”
Irritation made him gruff. “Do ye need to rest?”
She hesitated. “I was thinking of your arm.”
He would not give in to weakness. Nor to this damnable surge of self-pity. “Nay, thank ye for yer concern but the sun is already setting. We should push on.”
“The lay of the land looks familiar to me now.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. “I am certain that once we are over the next hill, the castle ramparts will come into view.”
Isabella spoke with the casual ease of one who expected a warm welcome at their destination. And why should she not? But things were very different for Hamish. He had never envisaged coming before the de Nevilles in such a state.
He grunted in response, but regretted it when Isabella threw him an uncertain glance over her shoulder.
“I thought you would be pleased at the idea of our journey’s end.”
Aye, how could he not long for a comfortable chair and perchance the ministrations of a healer?
But this was an English stronghold they were riding into. And Hamish was a highlander through and through.
