Hamish raised himself onto his elbows. “Dinna hide yer sorrows from me. Not ever. I love thee, Isabella. And I would share the burden of any sorrows with thee.” Gently he stroked her tears away.
“I love you too,” she choked. “But there is no future for us.” She sniffed, but her tears would not be staunched.
“There is now. And there are the next hours. Who knows what the future may hold.”
Isabella held her tongue. She knew well enough what awaited her: marriage to a man she despised. A cruel man, prepared to bargain with the life of an innocent young woman to get what he wanted.
How could I ever have agreed to marry him?
She closed her eyes, remembering her overriding desire to bear a child: to be married and titled with a proper place in society. Back then, she had not known what it was to love and be loved.
She had not known what it was tolive.
“Do not let this be it between us.” She held tight to his hands. “I could not bear it. Let us have one more night together.”
“One more night in the comfort of a proper bed,” he smiled down at her. “How can I deny thee? But will yer father and brother not chase me from the grounds if they find out?”
“That is the very least of our problems.” She traced a line from his cheek to his jaw. “I will make sure they do not find out.”
*
Isabella went directlyto the ladies’ solar to her mother to ask for Hamish to be given use of the bedchamber adjacent to hers. By tradition, it was Esme’s. But Esme and Adam had already left for Ember Hall.
Morwenna set down her sewing and raised her blonde eyebrows. “That will cause certain people to be upset,” she said diplomatically.
“That is why I am talking to you now, so that certain people do not overhear.” Isabella remained standing, conscious of her mud-stained gown and the pale cushions on the window seat.
Morwenna patted the cushion beside her anyway. “Won’t you sit for a while, dear?”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Isabella was nearly trembling with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. “Father must have told you what is to happen. I must marry Lord Gaunt, as agreed.”
“Isabella—” her mother began.
Isabella held up her hand, refusing to be interrupted. “I will do my duty to this family. All I ask is for the man I love to be close to me for one more night.”
Morwenna’s delicate face creased with sympathy. “You love him?”
“I love him.” Isabella was firm. She crossed her arms and gazed stonily at the tapestries on the wall. “Remember, Mother, I am no maid in need of protection. I am a widow.”
“I do not need to be reminded of that.”
Isabella was dangerously close to tears. She thanked her mother, curtsied and left the solar, before anything more heartfelt could be said.
Next, she went in search of Mirrie.
Isabella had always had a fondness for her brother’s wife, even if, when they were children, Mirabel had seemed quieter and less courageous than the rest of them.
As she ascended the winding staircase and followed the torch-lit corridor to Mirrie’s private chamber, she reflected that it must take a certain type of courage to be married to Tristan. Firstly, because Tristan was a force of nature, like a fierce wind that could not be stopped, or a mountain that could not be moved. Secondly, because as one of the King’s favored knights, Mirrie would never know when he might next be called into battle.
And thirdly, because Isabella—along with her sisters—knew that Mirrie had secretly loved Tristan almost from girlhood.
Love, Isabella had recently learned, took courage.
She knocked on the chamber door with more hesitation than she would have done, some days prior. And when Mirrie opened the door, Isabella seized her hands with genuine affection.
“You are recovered from your illness?”
Mirrie quickly recovered from her surprise. “I am quite well now, thank you. Come in, Isabella.”
