“Do as you want. But hear this: I’ve no a use for you or any other intruders in my life. I like my own company and no other’s. If yer to stay here, you’ll keep yerself out of my way.” With one step back, she slammed the door shut and leaned up against it, drawing in a deep breath.
There. That should convince him he wasn’t welcome. As soon as her body stopped trembling, she’d drag her stool over and climb up to watch him riding away.
The nerve of the woman! She’d slammed the door right in his face. Another inch or two and he’d be straightening out his nose even now.
Thick, dark clouds had begun to build, so he pounded on her door, pleased to see it seemed heavy enough to provide her some protection. After a long pause, followed by a scraping noise, she finally answered.
“Have you no left yet? What do you want?”
Robert shook his head, fighting back a smile at Isabella’s transparent actions. She thought he’d leave simply because she warned him off and slammed the door in his face? She had a lot to learn about him.
“Have you a place where I can shelter for the night?” he called.
“No,” came the muffled reply. “If yer to remain here, you’ll have to make do for yerself. I canna be expected to feed and shelter you.”
Remembering her apparent compassion for the boy back at her grandfather’s castle, he decided on a different tack.
“I’ve no such expectations for myself, my lady. But is there a place where I can feed and water my horse? A storm looks to be gathering and he’s tired after carrying the two of us all the way here.” Not exactly a complete truth—that animal had been bred and trained for much harder exertion. But Isabella didn’t know that.
A few moments passed this time before she responded.
“There’s a stable around back. And feed. Mind you dinna frighten my animals, though.”
Robert walked the short distance back to his horse, taking up his reins and leading the animal around to the back of the little house just as the first snowflakes began to drift to earth.
Bizarre spring weather for the highlands indeed.
As Isabella had said, he found an enclosed stable butt up against the back wall of the cottage.
He ducked his head as he entered the building, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings. For a stable, particularly a stable in this time, it was remarkably clean. There were rushes strewn about the hard dirt-packed floor as if it were someone’s home rather than a pen for animals.
Strange indeed, but it would do just fine, for both his horse and for him.
He leaned down to loosen the straps holding the saddle, frowning to himself. He’d told Isabella he was prepared to stay here as long as necessary, but he had absolutely no intention of doing so. MacDowylt had claimed his armies could reach the gates of Castle MacGahan within a fortnight and Robert planned to be long gone before that happened.
Isabella might not want either his help or his protection, but she was damn well going to get it.
Though she was a growing mystery to him, at least he’d been right in his earlier assessment. Isabella had a soft spot for creatures in need. A soft spot he wouldn’t hesitate to use to his advantage whenever necessary now that he’d found it.
Perhaps a very fortunate discovery, considering he had less than two weeks to convince the woman of the necessity of making her escape.
Chapter 8
Though the broth was weak, it soothed its way down Isa’s throat and settled warmly in her stomach. She’d leave the pot to simmer through the night over a low fire, and once she added her oats tomorrow, she’d have a savory porridge for the day’s meals.
If only she’d thought to set it onto simmer before she’d left this morning, it would be done by now, but food hadn’t been her priority then any more than when she’d arrived home.
Once she’d assured herself that MacQuarrie wasn’t going to make any attempt at forcing his way inside, she’d heated water and bathed the filth of the day from her body and her hair. Only then had she thought of putting her kettle on to cook.
Now she was comfortable and warm, snug in her heavy nightdress, sitting in front of her cozy fire. She plucked at the folds of the soft woolen draped across her lap, telling herself what a lovely evening this had turned out to be, even if her dinner did leave a little something to be desired.
She, at least, had a warm dinner.
No! She attempted to swat away the guilt nattering around her head like a pesky summer fly. It mattered not to her that the light fluffy flakes of early evening had quickly turned into a cold heavy rain.
So what if MacQuarrie was out there somewhere in the dark, huddled into his plaid against the weather. It was his own fault and none of hers. That he remained, braving the wet, supping on what cold food he carried with him was the result of his own poor choices. She had told him he was free to leave—had, in fact, all but demanded he go. But he’d refused. So how could any of this be her blame? It couldn’t.
Anyway, likely as not, he’d taken shelter in the stable with his great horse. He’d be fine there.
