A Laird's Promise (Highland Heartbeats Book 1)

by Aileen Adams

  She quickly toweled herself dry and stepped over to the bed and hastily donned the clothes, relishing the sensation of the well-worn but clean clothing against her skin. Maybe she would lie down, just for a little while, although she doubted she would sleep. She had been away from home for two entire nights, heading into a third. She was incredibly worried about Heather. How was she faring against her stepfather's foul temper, especially since Sarah had been gone for so long?

  Was anybody out looking for Heather? Would Patrick even care? Poor Heather. The thought of gentle, kind, and introverted Heather having to face their brute of a stepfather brought tears to Sarah's eyes. Heather was no match for Patrick MacDonald.

  Glancing about the room, she felt guilty for even appreciating its comfort, its warmth, and the feeling of security it provided. How could she even forget for an instant what Heather might be going through back home? She should escape. If she wasn't so exhausted, she might have tried, but she had no idea how to get out of the castle, let alone—

  The door opened suddenly, and Sarah startled, eyes wide, half-expecting Phillip to walk back into the room.

  To confront her?

  To have his way with her?

  Had he changed his mind about letting her go?

  Had something happened to Jake?

  Much to her surprise, it wasn't Phillip who entered the room, but Ceana.

  Ceana briskly entered and closed the door, leaning against it, her hands pressed against the wood. Her green eyes blazed, her lips pressed close together in apparent anger.

  For a second, Sarah felt a surge of relief that her visitor was not Phillip, but the expression on Ceana’s face quickly caused her to feel more than a little trepidation.

  “You little trollop, you have no idea what you've done, do you?”

  Sarah stared, not comprehending. “What I've done?”

  “He's going to kill you, you know,” she hissed.

  “Who’s going to kill me?” Sarah's heart trip-hammered in her chest. Butterflies erupted in her stomach, and her hands clutched at the bedcovers beneath her.

  “Phillip!” Ceana replied, her voice a loud whisper. She quickly glanced over her shoulder as if expecting Phillip to barge through the door any second.

  “What?”

  “You’re not from here,” Ceana snapped. “You have no idea what the laird is really like. Why do you think I avoid him and his scourge of a brother so vehemently? They're brutes! Animals! They take what they want when they want it. If you argue, if you try to fight, they lock you up in the dungeon below!”

  Sarah shivered. There was a dungeon!

  “And if his brother dies, he's going to kill you. You do realize that, don't you, you foolish girl?”

  Sarah herself grew angry. “Do you think I came here of my own free will? He kidnapped me!”

  That drew a surprised response from Ceana.

  “Kidnapped you? From where?”

  “Kirkcaldy, down by the coast.”

  “What did he tell you about his brother?”

  “That he was wounded in battle,” Sarah replied.

  While not easily intimidated, she didn't like the look in Ceana’s eyes. Didn't know whether to believe what she was telling her, but why should she lie? Was she foolish to believe Phillip’s promise to release her if she helped his brother? He'd given his word.

  “Phillip is the one that doesn't want anyone in Jake's room.”

  Sarah didn’t believe it. She had seen the look on Phillip's face. His heart ached at what his brother was going through. She frowned and shook her head.

  “That can't be true. He cares deeply for his brother—”

  “You're his captive. He kidnapped you. And yet you choose to believe him over me? You're more of a fool than I thought.” She sneered. “Phillip doesn't love his brother. He hates him. Has long wanted to be rid of him, so everything belongs to him.” She gestured. “The land. The people. He wants it all for himself.”

  Sarah didn't know Phillip. She had only spent a few hours with him. Not days, not months, not years. “Why are you telling me this?” She couldn't help but be suspicious and wary.

  “He's brought other healers here before you. One less than a fortnight ago.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Sarah wasn't sure she wanted to know. She tried to maintain a mien of calm. She would not display her fear to this woman. She had a feeling that Ceana would find pleasure in her fear.

  Ceana shrugged. “She disappeared. Here one day, gone the next.”

  Sarah felt confused, uncertain, even more so than she had since the moment she had been snatched from the wood’s edge near Kirkcaldy. All she had counted on was Phillip keeping his word. That if she did her best to help his brother, he would let her go. If he planned on killing her…

  “Why are you helping me?” Sarah demanded softly, lifting her chin with defiance. She would not show Ceana Cameron any fear. Not any more than she gave into it with her stepfather.

  Ceana offered a low laugh. “I'm not helping you,” she snapped. “You mean nothing to me.”

  As far as Sarah was concerned, that statement belied her reason for being here. “Then why are you here?”

  Ceana shrugged again. “I'm not sure. But I've warned you. If I were you, I would look for a way to escape. The sooner, the better.”

  With that, the woman turned, pulled the lever to open the door, and peeked into the hallway before she abruptly disappeared, closing the door softly behind her.

  Sarah sat still on the bed for several moments, her heart racing, her thoughts jumbled. Fearful and wary of Phillip, she wasn't sure she should trust Ceana.

  Was the woman telling the truth? Why say anything to Sarah at all? She glanced around, then quickly stepped toward the small window on the opposite wall. Through the wavy glass, she saw nothing but inky blackness beyond, only dimly lit by moon glow.

  Should she try to escape?

  Right now, this very moment, when Phillip thought she rested?

  She didn't know the layout of the manor, but she had not ventured far since entering… was it just a few hours ago with Phillip?

  A quick dash down the hall and the stairs, to the front door and out.

  How complicated could it be?

  She hesitated.

  She didn't want to abandon Jake in his time of need. But what if Ceana was telling the truth?

  What if Phillip was a brute? She didn't want to get caught between brothers vying for anything.

  Abandoning her patient was against her morals. She had never done it before, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do it now, even if Phillip had kidnapped her to take care of him. Or was that just a pretext? Had Phillip been the one to allow his brother to suffer in his own filth?

  She gnawed at her lip, uncertain.

  If she was going to escape, she should do it now while she was alone and unguarded, with Phillip in the next room, watching his brother.

  Or was he?

  She made up her mind, and heart pounding, realized she might not have another chance.

  10

  Phillip wasn't sure to think after he left Sarah in small chamber beside Jake’s own. He sent Agnes away to get some sleep. He’d felt outraged at the signs of bruising on Sarah's body. Healing bruises, nothing he had done. And those scars.

  The thought of someone laying a hand on the young woman caused his insides to roil with rage. He knew it was common for men to be rough with their wives, with the women in their family, but neither he nor his brother had ever lain a hand on a woman and never would. Doing so was unmanly, cowardly behavior.

  Was that what had compelled him to kiss her? Sympathy? Pity? He grimaced.

  Sarah MacDonald would not take kindly to either. He sensed that. So if not sympathy, what?

  The image of her white, soft skin glowing in the light of the fire behind her? Her exquisite form? Her perfect breasts, a waist he could've spanned with both his hands, her long, lean legs? He had always thought himself ab
ove such base reactions, but he was a man. A man who suddenly found himself attracted to a woman he had no business being attracted to. A woman he'd kidnapped. Literally forced to provide aid for his brother. A woman that he had promised to return home.

  He scowled as he moved toward Jake's bed and sat down in the chair, succumbing to a great weariness. Not just due to the fact that he had slept little in the past week, but emotional exhaustion. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his brother.

  Sarah had asked odd questions about Ceana’s ability. Yet he sensed something more, something that Sarah was hesitant to tell him. He wasn't sure what. After she’d acquired a couple hours of sleep, he would broach the topic with her again.

  Heaving a heavy sigh, he stared at his brother, resting peacefully at the moment, though his face was still ghastly pale and drawn. His brother had been in rough shape when Phillip had departed to fetch Sarah MacDonald, but he had been communicative.

  Now he looked close to death. What had transpired over the past few days that had caused Jake to grow worse? Phillip knew that dirty wounds and the poisons trapped within them could eventually poison the entire body. At that point, survival could not be guaranteed, and more often than not the individual succumbed.

  The thought of losing Jake filled him with despair. He shook his head, refusing to even contemplate the idea. He closed his eyes, thinking to give them a rest, if only for a moment, when the door opened softly behind him. He lifted his head and glanced over her shoulder to find Agnes entering the room, stepping carefully as she gave him a sympathetic smile.

  “I told you to go rest, Agnes,” he said softly.

  “I'm just going to place a fresh cloth on his forehead to cool his skin. You rest, Laird Duncan. Goodness knows you deserve it.”

  Phillip nodded, sagged back into the chair, and watched as Agnes stepped to the bowl of water, removed the cloth from Jake's forehead, dipped it in the now cool water, wrung most of the water out, and unfolding it, placed it once again over Jake's forehead.

  “Do you think the girl can help him?”

  Phillip didn't know anything at this point. “I hope so, Agnes. I hope so.”

  Agnes nodded, and slowly and gently stroked Jake's hair, stopping to tuck a few strands of it behind his ear. Her movements suddenly froze.

  Phillip saw and frowned. “What is it?”

  “I'm not sure,” she said softly, looking his way. “Something's wrong.”

  “What is it?” He leaned forward in his chair, his heart rate once again accelerating. No, he couldn't be dead. His chest still rose and fell, though laboriously.

  “Look,” Agnes said softly, eyes wide as she lifted her hand.

  Phillip gazed in confusion at the clump of hair between Agnes's fingers.

  “What did you do?” he asked softly. He had seen Agnes stroke his brother's hair, but not roughly.

  “It just came out in my hands!”

  This wasn’t right. He shook his head and stood. Moved toward the other side of Phillip's bed and gently threaded his fingers through his brother’s shoulder-length hair, as if combing a snarl out of it. To his dismay, more strands of hair detached from Jake's scalp, hanging loosely in his fingers. He glanced at Agnes, staring back at him. He didn't understand it.

  Tightly grasping the strands of his brother’s hair in his hand, he hurried from the room and stepped toward Sarah's temporary chambers. Without bothering to knock, he lifted the latch and stepped inside.

  “Come quickly,” he urged. “Something's happening with my brother.”

  Phillip didn't wait to see if Sarah followed him out of the room as he rushed back to his brother's chamber. His heart pounding, his mouth dry, he moved to his brother's bedside and crossed his arms over his chest, mainly to disguise the slight trembling in his hands. He'd never felt such extreme anxiety, not even during the moments before battle. Facing an enemy on the battlefield was something known to him. This was not.

  “Look at his hair,” he said as Sarah entered the room, her expression questioning as she glanced between Phillip, Agnes, and Jake.

  Sarah moved closer to the bed.

  He noted that she wore the clean clothes Agnes had seen to.

  The blue kirtle suited her coloring well and fit her properly—mostly. It was a little long. He would thank Agnes later for seeing to it that his captive was properly attired, perhaps ask one of the servants to cut some of the length away. Not now. Other important things to consider.

  He watched as Sarah bent closer to Jake, frowning as she tentatively extended her hand to touch Jake's hair.

  First, she held a few strands between her fingers and rubbed the strands between the pads of her fingers, said nothing, then slowly threaded her fingers through the hair on the top of his head, as if combing it. When she lifted her hand, her fingers brought with them a tuft of Jake's long, brown hair. She stared at it, then glanced up at Phillip before repeating the process, more confidently this time. Again, she lifted her hand, this time displaying a thicker tuft of hairs.

  “Well, what is it?” he asked her. He forced himself to ignore the dark circles under her eyes, her pale features, and her obvious exhaustion.

  It was apparent to him that she hesitated to reply.

  “Tell me, Sarah,” he bade firmly.

  He understood her trepidation. In her position, and with his mood darkening by the moment, she was undoubtedly fearful of relaying more bad news.

  He felt it in his gut.

  “I'm not going to hurt you, Sarah,” he said. “I gave you my word that if you tried to help my brother, I would see to it that you are returned to your home in Kirkcaldy.”

  Despite his words of reassurance, she continued to hesitate. Finally, with a drawn-out sigh, her gaze riveted to that of his brother, and she replied.

  “I can't be certain, but I'm afraid it might be some kind of poisoning.”

  “Poison!” Agnes gasped, her hand lifted to her mouth.

  “What do you mean?” Phillip grumbled. “What kind of poison? Blood poisoning? From the infected wound?”

  Sarah slowly shook her head. “That wouldn't necessarily cause his hair to fall out. I've never seen an actual case, but the damaged hair, his inability to heal, might be… hemlock maybe, or perhaps belladonna? That would explain the inability of the wound to heal—”

  “This poisoning… could it be deliberate?”

  He saw her nervous fidgeting, the color draining from her face as she looked up at him, eyes wide.

  “Not necessarily. His wound is severe. He’s weak. Perhaps his body is less able to tolerate the healing potions—”

  “Ceana’s healing potions you mean?” She stared at him, swallowed, and then offered a slight shrug.

  Was she suggesting—

  “Phillip, I can't know for sure. I haven't even had a chance to examine Ceana’s herbs more closely. I can't ask her how she used them, what ingredients she mixed, how heavy a dose she gave him… I will have to start from the beginning, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But it might be too late,” she replied, her voice soft and uncertain.

  He knew he was frightening her, but he couldn't help it. He was so angry, so frustrated. Usually in control of everything around him, this uncertainty, this inability to help his brother, gnawed at the depths of his soul. Left him feeling helpless, vulnerable, and incredibly annoyed.

  He turned to Agnes. “Where did you put those satchels?”

  She gestured to the armoire. He stepped to it and opened the door. He retrieved the bowl of leather bags, some smaller than the palm of his hand. He gave the bowl to Sarah. “I want you to identify each and every one of these herbs. Can you do that?”

  She stared at him wordlessly for several moments, but despite her obvious weariness, nodded.

  He knew he was pushing her. It was a risk. She might make a mistake because she was so tired. He knew how exhausted he felt and he wasn't even dealing with the emotional aspect of being a captive, forc
ed to…

  “Wait,” he said, glancing at Agnes. “See to it that she has some food.”

  Agnes nodded and scurried from the room. He stared down at his captive, his mind wavering between sympathy for her and fury toward Ceana. “Sarah.” She looked up at him. “I know you're tired. Agnes will bring you food. But… if my brother has been poisoned, on purpose or accidentally, I want you to… I need you to tell me if there’s anything we can do. How much time...?”

  Sarah glanced at Jake. “I can't make you any promises. If I can identify with herbs or what combination of herbs that Ceana might have used that might provoke this kind of reaction, I might be able to stop it.” She looked down at Jake, and then up at Phillip again. “But if the poisoning was deliberate, chances are that it will not be found among the satchels. That would be foolish.”

  He didn't want to think such a thing of Ceana. They had grown up together, played together, and fought together. Jake and Ceana had been very close for many years, so close that a marriage seemed inevitable. He wasn't sure what had cooled Jake's feelings for the woman. He had never come right out and asked. Maybe he should have. Had Ceana deliberately poisoned Jake? And if so, why? He shook his head, not believing that Ceana was so cruel to do such a thing.

  Sarah sat down on the floor next to Jake's bed, her back against the wall as she took the leather satchels out of the wooden bowl one by one and placed them on the floor. She looked up at him and gestured toward the linens on the chair, as she had requested once before. She wanted a piece of linen that she could pour the contents of the satchels onto.

  He gave her the cloth and watched as she spread it out and then folded it on the wood plank floor beneath her.

  As she was about to open the first bag, Agnes reappeared bearing a wooden platter that held several slices of oat bread, cheese, some cold fowl and salted fish. She carried a tankard of buttermilk; a thick liquid Phillip didn't care for that was left after churning the butter out of cream.

  He watched as Sarah nodded her thanks to Agnes, who handed her the platter as the older woman set the tankard on the floor beside her.

  Again, the healer looked tentatively up at Phillip.