“In truth, I am not certain there is aught I can do to remedy this situation. But I am willing to try.”
“Thank ye.” Hamish had never meant those words more.
Tristan gave him a shrewd look. “I do not do this as a favor to my sister. ’Tis because I hear the passion in your voice. I know what it is to be responsible for lands and livelihoods. ’Tis a responsibility that should ne’er be shirked, nor undervalued.” He rose gracefully from the pallet and extended his hand to Hamish.
After a moment of surprise, Hamish took it and stood facing him, a Scottish warrior and English knight. They shook hands, the import of the occasion slightly marred by the low ceiling and their stooping shoulders.
“Let us go and speak to Lord Gaunt.”
Tristan led the way out of the cell.
Chapter Eighteen
Aheavy knockingmade Isabella wake with a start. For a terrible moment, she thought herself back in the grip of her old nightmares. Then reality took hold: she was in her girlhood bedchamber at Wolvesley; they had arrived late last night after a perilous ride over the moors. Hamish was wounded, and Tristan had thrown him into the dungeon.
It was morning now. She could tell by the milky light streaming through the shutters.
The knocking came again; so heavy ’twas almost a hammering.
Perchance something has happened to Hamish.
Legs trembling, Isabella launched herself out of the high bed and stumbled to the door. She wrenched it open, expecting to find a messenger boy or Tristan’s personal manservant. But it was her sister, Esme, who barreled into the chamber and gathered Isabella into a tight embrace.
“Bella. It’s really you. You’re safe.”
“I am safe,” Isabella muttered. She was pleased to see her favorite sibling, but already irritated by her family’s insistence on emphasizing the danger she had faced. In truth, Hamish had kept her safe and been her protector, but no one seemed willing to hear this.
Esme held her at arm’s length and surveyed her critically. “I thought Tristan was exaggerating when he said you were dressed as a farm laborer.”
“I do believe these are your clothes I’m wearing,” Isabella replied airily. She had not had the energy to change last night, and had simply tumbled into bed fully clothed. The woolen tunic was now pulled even further out of shape, whilst the braccae bagged unbecomingly around her ankles.
“Aye, mayhap to till the fields,” Esme giggled.
“My appearance was not my main concern when I last dressed.” Isabella wrinkled her nose. Whenwasthat, exactly? It seemed an age since she had last bathed. The ingrained dirt in her fingernails was entirely at odds with the polished splendor of her surroundings. She avoided her reflection in the gilded looking glass above the dresser.
“Never mind all that.” Esme tugged her toward the canopied bed and they sat side-by-side on the edge, as they had when they were younger. “’Tis wonderful to see you. I demand to know all that has happened.”
Isabella rubbed sleep out of her eyes and wondered where she might begin. It would be a relief, of sorts, to unburden herself to Esme—who had, after all, fallen in love with a man many might deem unsuitable—but the nuance of their situations could not be more different.
Adam had arrived at Ember Hall as Esme’s bodyguard; whilst Hamish had lived there as Isabella’s captor. Would Esme understand?
Am I brave enough to declare my feelings for Hamish?
Isabella eyed her sister uncertainly. Esme looked every inch the earl’s daughter, with her hair pinned elegantly on top of her head and her taffeta skirts trimmed with fur. ’Twas as if their usual situations were reversed. Esme had become the wise older sister, and Isabella the one in a scrape.
But of course, Esme’s air of wisdom and experience was to be expected. Her little sister was not only a wife; she was a mother.
“How are the twins? And Adam?” Isabella gulped down her instinctive pang of jealousy.
“Blooming, all of them. And ne’er have I been more grateful for their good health.” Esme put a hand to the pearls around her neck. “These last days have been dreadful, with all of us worried for little Lucan.”
“He is well now?” Isabella wanted to be sure.
“He is much recovered. Though his cough still lingers. The physician says he is out of danger.” Esme shifted on the bed as if ill-at-ease. “But Adam still fears the fever may be catching.”
“He fears for your boys?”
Esme nodded. “He wishes for us to return to Ember Hall,” she blurted out, folding her hands in her lap and fixing her gaze downward.
