How to convey his feelings to Isabella’s brother, when he would likely take his head from his shoulders if he learned the full truth?
“She commands that respect,” he added, thinking of their first meeting at Ember Hall and how Isabella had not once shown fear or faltered in her step.
“That I know.” Tristan walked fully into the small cell, which barely seemed big enough to hold both of them. He sank down beside Hamish on the pallet and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
The path was now clear between Hamish and the open door. But he knew that if he made a dash for freedom, de Neville would pounce quicker than a cat upon a mouse. Hamish reminded himself that he was unarmed and injured. Whilst Tristan glowed with good health and held one hand on the shining hilt of his sword.
“I can see you have a fondness for my sister. But that does not alter my thinking one way or the other. You will not be the last man to fall for the charms of Isabella. Nay, what I want to know is this, what hold doyouhave overher?”
Hamish’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His answer could be pivotal to his freedom, but he could not for the life of him think what to say.
’Twas not his place to claim Isabella’s heart. Not when he languished in a dungeon with naught to his name.
Tristan made an impatient sound at the back of his throat. “Answer me this then. What are you doing here, at Wolvesley Castle? It appears you rode here, on your own horse, of your own free will. In God’s name, why?”
“’Twas Isabella’s plan,” Hamish croaked. “She learned of my misfortune, of the events that led me to take her hostage, and she wanted to help me.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows and waited for him to continue.
“She is a good woman,” Hamish said hurriedly.
“I am not here to debate the qualities of my sister.”
Hamish looked down at the damp stone floor. This was the chance he’d sought; to petition for Tristan’s help. But he had imagined such a conversation taking place in comfort, perchance with them sitting by a roaring fire. At the very least, with de Neville sitting and Hamish standing.
“Isabella thought to ask for your assistance in speaking to the King for the return of my lands in Scotland. I was—I am—the rightful Laird of Greenock.”
Ye Gods, he felt less and less like a rightful Laird with every day that passed.
Tristan’s eyes grew as wide as Isabella’s often did. He slowly shook his golden head. “Why the devil would she think I might do that?”
Hamish took a breath. He could not afford to let this opportunity escape him, no matter how dire the setting. “Because she believes you to be a fair-minded man. That has always been your reputation, my lord, even in the highlands.”
’Twas true, even if the words stuck in his throat.
But Tristan folded his arms. “If that is the extent of your argument, then we are done.”
Hamish held up the palms of his hands. “Also because Lord Gaunt could ne’er prosper in the highlands. He knows naught of farming the land up there. Under his rule, my people are likely to starve.”
Tristan pursed his lips, but did not appear convinced.
Hamish ploughed on, his voice growing stronger as he spoke of the lands he loved. “’Tis a harsh life, so far north. Naught comes easily, save the snow and the biting wind. I have known farmers lose a whole flock of sheep when they did not watch the skies for signs of a coming storm. Harvests can fail in a sennight of heavy rain. Ye have to work with nature. Ye have to workhard. Ye have tocare.” He beat his own chest for emphasis, his words echoing around the stone walls. “The glen is a place of great beauty. The lands can be fruitful. The people are loyal. But ’twill all be ruined under a laird more concerned with feasting than farming.”
Tristan turned his head and gazed at Hamish. “Your family have always lived there?”
“Aye.” Hamish did not allow himself to consider his Uncle Donald. “My father was the laird before me, and his father before him, and so it continues. The McIvor belong at Greenock.’Tis a part of my soul.” His fist clenched over his heart and he took a steadying breath, aware that he had shouted his final words.
“You do not believe Lord Gaunt equal to the task?”
Hamish resisted the urge to spit on the stone floor. “I dinna believe him capable or willing to keep my people safe. To protect them from raiders. Nor to feed their children.” He shook his head. “I dinna believe him capable of wiping his own arse, my lord.”
Tristan failed to hide his smile. “You speak of my future brother-in-law.”
His words wounded Hamish, but he did not let it show. “I canna speak for that.”
“Yet you speak eloquently of your love for your lands and your people. I find myself half convinced.”
Hamish knew a rush of relief, but before he could voice his thanks, Tristan continued.
