She had been about to announce that Hamish was the man she loved. But by the way Tristan had folded his arms over his fur cloak and fixed her with a piercing stare, she could tell he was in no mood for declarations of love.
“Yourfriendwho has been holding you captive and starving you by the looks of it.”
“I have not been starved. But our ride here was long and tiring.” Her voice wobbled as she realized that she was not only chilled to the bone, she was also weak with hunger and exhaustion. The adrenaline that had carried her over the moors was all spent. But now was no time for weakness. “Did you not see how I was the one to ride the horse into our gates?” She drew herself up to her full height.
“I saw a horse out of control and you on the back of it looking like a beggar woman.” Tristan screwed up his face with distaste. “Forsooth, the rings on your fingers are the only things I recognize about you.”
Isabella reeled with disbelief. “You dare to criticize me because I do not come before you in a fine gown?” She abandoned her dignity and screeched across the cobbles. “I am your sister, Tristan. Or have you grown so high and mighty you only judge a woman’s worth by what she is wearing? I have learned that some men look beyond such material trappings. But if appearance matters so much to you, here, you can have each and every one of my rings.” In a fit of rage, she snatched her rings from her fingers and flung them across the yard where they landed at her brother’s feet.
He glanced down with a small shake of his head. “Bella, what are you doing?”
“Don’t you dare call me that.” Tears clouded her vision. “That is the name my family uses. But you cannot be my family whilst you are so cruel and uncaring.”
“Cruel and uncaring,” Tristan shouted her words back at her, finally becoming the brother she knew with the loss of his steely composure. “I have been worried almost to death about you. We all have. And then you berate me for doing what any brotherwould. God’s blood, I have every right to kill that man you describe as your friend. Mayhap I should have done.”
“Nay.” Isabella clenched her hands into fists. “If you harm him in any way, I will—”
“What will you do?” he demanded, ignoring the line of men growing behind him, all of whom were looking studiously in the opposite direction. “Will you tell Father? Because he is of the same mind as I.”
Isabella shook her head, unable to comprehend this turn of events. Running footsteps came from the stone archway that led from the house, and moments later, Isabella was pulled into her mother’s embrace. The familiar scent of lavender was enough to make her sob all anew, as was the feel of familiar hands smoothing her hair and drying her tears.
“My child,” said Morwenna, the Countess of Wolvesley. “’Tis really you.”
Distantly, Isabella recognized that her mother was as pale-faced and careworn as Tristan. The countess was dressed in a plain gown of heavy brocade with only a shawl for warmth. Her long, grey-blonde hair was loose down her back.
“You were sleeping,” she said.
“I have not slept for more than two nights,” her mother corrected with a small smile. “But your father has slipped into a fitful slumber which I did not like to wake him from.”
Isabella recalled her brother’s words. “I do not wish to see him in any case.”
“She is near hysterical, Mother,” Tristan opined, untying his own cloak and placing it gently around his mother’s shoulders.
“We have all been worried about you, Isabella,” said Morwenna gravely. She caught Tristan’s hand and squeezed her thanks, but Tristan’s face was as closed as a book.
“She is not inclined to listen to our worries; only to plead the cause of the man who took her prisoner.”
Morwenna stood between her two children and held out her hands for peace. She and Isabella were of a similar height and build, meaning that her son towered above her. “Tristan, my dear, I see a line of loyal men awaiting your further instruction. And Isabella, my darling daughter, I believe you have dropped something.”
The countess bent down and gracefully retrieved Isabella’s jewels, as behind them, the stablemaster cleared his throat.
“Should we stable the highlander’s horse, milord?”
“For certain you should,” Isabella answered before her brother was able to refuse. “And there is a pony somewhere loose in the grounds.”
“We have caught him, milady.” The stablemaster, who Isabella had known all her life, gave her a reassuring smile, but waited for Tristan’s nod of acceptance before taking Luar’s reins and leading her to the barn.
Morwenna pulled Isabella a few steps away from the men and deliberately placed the jewels in her palm, closing her fingers around them.
“Keep these safe,” she murmured. “You never know when you might need them.”
“What use are trinkets when a good man is lying injured in our dungeon? For no clear reason?” Isabella was half inclined to throw the jewels back onto the cobbles, but her mother’s hands were still covering her own.
“These are a good deal more than trinkets, Isabella,” Morwenna chided. “And the man in our dungeon is Hamish McIvor. He is responsible for the slaughter of three men in the service of Lord Gaunt. Men who were to form your escort party to Greenock. Moreover, he has been holding you captive at Ember Hall. Myancestral home,” she added, raising her pale eyebrows when Isabella went to interrupt. “Pray tell me if I havemisunderstood anything.” Her mother released her hands and lifted her chin, as if daring Isabella to disagree.
“You have misunderstoodeverything.”
Isabella felt as powerless as she had as a child. Her whole body trembled with a combination of cold and distress as the situation she thought she could manage spiraled further out of control.
