The other made a nervous sound, like a tongue sucking against teeth. “How do they know to search this far north?”
“They were asking about a woman traveling with the Bruce’s men.” This answer came with the strangest intonation, as though they weren’t surprised or found it ironic.
Isabel bit the inside of her cheek. She was the woman, that much was true. She’d heard the same inquiry of questions from Lachlan’s men at the traveling inn. Someone knew she was with him, and apparently, where they were headed. And it seemed these two whispering fools weren’t in the least concerned about it. But they were concerned about something else.
Before they sensed her presence, Isabel climbed back up the winding stairs out of view. How would the servants know anything about English patrols? And why did they sound as if they expected them?
Her mind raced. Halfway to her bedchamber, she realized there was only one person she trusted to tell—Lachlan.
She paused outside of her bedchamber, pressing her ear to the door to see if she could hear Elsa stirring. All was quiet within. The only problem was, she had no idea where Lachlan was staying. Though she had a hunch she’d find him sleeping in the stall with Dionysus. Going on that hunch, Isabel descended the stairs quietly, the servants thankfully gone, and slipped through the side door into the courtyard passing two of Comyn’s guards who seemed more interested in their drink than anyone exiting the castle.
The night air was colder here, and she pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. As the door shut behind her, she wondered if it was a mistake to be out here alone in the middle of the night. Half expected Comyn to leap from the shadows and drag her into the dark. The torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows across more dirt than grass ground.
With her head high and shoulders back, Isabel hurried toward the stables, prepared to turn a waspish tongue on anyone who dared to stop her. She was a woman with needs, however even her calculating brain couldn’t come up with an excuse that would suit why she had a need to be outside, alone, in a place she’d never been before. However, no one did. None seemed to notice her hurrying toward the stable. And given all the skulking about she’d seen tonight, she was perhaps just another creeping body in the midst.
Isabel slipped into the stables, the doors still open, and spotted Dionysus almost immediately. She’d barely made it two feet into the stable toward Dionysus before Lachlan stood from within the stall, weapon at the ready. Startled by his sudden appearance her hand flew to her dagger. His posture was rigid with the same constant alertness she had seen since Falkirk. If she didn’t know about his injury, she would assume he was hale and ready to cut down anyone in his path. Even when he should be resting, he looked ready for battle.
“My lady,” he said quietly, a frown creasing his brow as he looked at where her hand rested. “Ye should be asleep.”
“I could say the same of ye.” She gestured to the pile of hay. “Are the accommodations to your liking?”
He grunted and stepped closer to her, resting his elbows on the stable gate, a few strands of hay sticking out from his hair, and over his plaid. The look was rather endearing. How interesting that all it took was a few well-placed pieces of hay to take a warrior from indomitable to adorable. “What is wrong?”
She hesitated, contemplating telling him there was nothing wrong, but here she was in the stable in the middle of the night and even saying so would be to insult them both with the silly lie.
“I saw a rider leave the castle.” Her hands dropped to her sides.
His expression sharpened instantly. “Aye.”
“Moments ago. Quietly. No escort. Did ye see him?”
Lachlan’s gaze shifted ducked from out of the stall. “Nay, I only just came down a few moments ago. Did ye see who it was?”
Isabel shook her head, wishing she’d been able to discern something. “I also heard servants speaking of English riders nearby. As though they expected them. They didna say as much, but their tone seemed… unsurprised, even as they wrung their hands with worry.”
Lachlan studied her face carefully.
When he didn’t say anything she asked, “Ye think I am imagining danger?”
The faintest hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Nay, lass,” he said quietly. “I think ye notice things other people miss. Myself included.”
The words surprised her, and she nodded, crossing her arms over her chest, partly because she was cold and partly because she knew she should be afraid.
For a moment neither of them spoke. They stood close now, the torchlight catching the edge of his dark hair and the sharp line of his jaw. Isabel suddenly became aware of how near he was. Of how very thin her wrap and nightgown were. Of her bare feet. Of the warmth of his body in the cool night air. Of the way his arm had felt around her when they’d slept in the lodge.
Lachlan seemed to notice it too. His gaze lingered briefly on the loose strand of hair that had escaped her braid. And traveled boldly over the curves of her body.
“How did ye know I would be here?” He sounded surprised, like he just realized that she had found him with no effort.
She shrugged, “Ye’re no’ hard to find. All I had to do was follow the smell…” she let that draw out a moment, then added, “Of the horses.”
“So says any ferret. I’ve heard they have a good sense of smell.”
“Why ye?—”
He huffed a laugh, “Ye are no’ afraid,” he said, a statement rather than a question.
“Should I be?” The answer was of course she should be, but ironically, she was angrier.
