He remained silent as she folded the linen over his arm, but she could feel the heat emanating from him. She didn’t dare risk glancing over his form, covered only by a thin blanket that revealed every contour and every bulge.
She took a deep breath. “I must leave to gather some herbs. I’ll return by early afternoon.”
She needed to escape. Energy shimmered around his body, and she knew he was restraining himself from touching her. She could scarcely keep herself from touching him. Only the wound in his shoulder held him anchored to the bed. If not for that, they’d surely be lost.
“Remember your betrothed,” she said in a low voice. “She is the most beautiful English girl I’ve laid eyes on. Think of her. And I’ll think of . . .”
No one.
She tied off his bandage and stood. “There, now.”
He reached out, skimming the top of her hand with his fingertip before she turned away and nearly tripped over her skirts in her haste to flee from his bedchamber.
Downstairs, she let herself out, leaned against the smooth rock face of the outside wall, and gulped in deep breaths of cool, fresh air. She stared at her hand. Why could she still feel his touch? Why did she care?
Why, why, why?
The man was driving her mad.
He was an earl. An earl. And even if he weren’t a man of consequence, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts—these obsessive, protective, needy thoughts—about any man.
She stared off toward the loch. An overgrown lawn stretched between the path circling the main castle and the edge of the cliff that descended to the water. She’d always loved coming to Camdonn Castle, because as far as she was concerned, this part of Loch Shiel was one of the most beautiful places in all of Scotland.
The sky was hazy today, with a thin cloud layer obscuring the sun and sending a shimmering gray cast over the water. There was no wind, and the loch glowed like an expansive mirror. From here she faced the inlet that led to Glenfinnan, the nearest village and where the bulk of Alan’s clan lived.
“Good morning.”
Ceana’s head whipped toward the lilting voice. Lady Elizabeth stood on the path, wearing a shimmering garment of some fashionable and expensive fabric Ceana didn’t care to name.
“Lady Elizabeth.”
The younger woman offered her a tentative smile. “What are you doing out here?”
Ceana pushed herself off the wall. Maybe spending more time with the lady would ease her resentment. Perhaps not. In either case, Ceana couldn’t deny her curiosity about Cam’s betrothed. Further, she had observed that no one had made an effort to befriend the future countess, and the lass had very few duties with which to occupy herself. Though she tried to hide it, there was a restlessness in Elizabeth that might be cured by meaningful activity and friendly conversation.
“I’m off to gather some herbs for some medicinal preparations.” When Elizabeth didn’t answer, she added, “Would you like to come?”
“Why, yes, I would.”
Ceana allowed herself an assessing gaze. “We shall have to walk a ways. At least a mile.”
“I am able to walk.”
“Very well, then.”
Elizabeth followed her as she slipped into the kitchens to fetch an extra basket from one of the maids before returning outside. They crossed the courtyard and passed through the castle gate, Ceana exchanging polite words with the guards. When they were out of earshot, Elizabeth asked, “What did those men at the gate say to you?”
Ceana chuckled. “Well, one was complaining of his gout. I told him to imbibe a wee bit less of Cam’s whisky if he wished to ease it. The other was just wishing us a good day.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Your English is very good, for someone of your . . .”
Her voice dwindled, and Ceana smiled. “Aye, it’s very good, isn’t it?”
“You do have quite a heavy accent, but—”
“But you understand me well enough, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth paused. “I wish I knew Gaelic.”
“You should learn,” Ceana said. “It would be wise.”
“Why do you say that?”
“People will be more willing to offer you their trust if you spoke their language. At least if you tried to learn it.”
“Will you teach me?”
Ceana shrugged. “I don’t live at Camdonn Castle. I will leave soon, and then you shouldn’t see me unless someone is ill and asks for me to come. But until then . . . aye, I’ll teach you what I can.”
Both women were silent as they turned down the road, headed in the direction of the village of Glenfinnan.
“What are you searching for?” Elizabeth asked finally. “Perhaps I can help you to find it.”
“Foxglove and groundsel,” Ceana said. “Foxglove is poisonous, but in small amounts it is helpful for patients with the dropsy. I use groundsel for festering wounds. If we happen to find some in bloom, I’ll take the flowers to mix with vinegar for another kind of salve.”
Elizabeth ground to a stop, staring up at her with blue eyes wide with dismay. “Is the earl’s wound festering?”
The younger woman’s oval face had gone completely ashen. It ought to satisfy Ceana that Cam had chosen someone who wasn’t entirely indifferent to him, but instead the green monster within her clawed for release. She closed her eyes, valiantly battling it until it once again slunk away.
“No,” she said tightly. “It hasn’t festered. It would be a precautionary measure in his case.”
Elizabeth released a relieved breath and began walking again.
Ceana fell into step beside her. “Do you care for the earl so much, then?”
“Of course I do. He is to be my husband. It would be improper for me not to care.”
“It’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” Ceana kept her gaze fastened to the edges of the path, looking for signs of the herbs.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s proper and what’s not,” Ceana said. “Frankly, I couldn’t care less about all that nonsense. I’m interested in what you really feel.”
“All right,” Elizabeth said after a moment, her voice steady but quiet. “I really do care that Cam heals from his wound. Perhaps not for the reasons someone such as you might suspect, but I want him well, and I want to marry him.” She paused, then asked quietly, “Does that satisfy you?”
Ceana shrugged. “Almost. We’ll see how long your candor lasts.”
Elizabeth huffed.
“Don’t worry, my lady. I won’t reveal your secret to the world. It seems everyone is oblivious to the inner workings of your mind.”
“And you think you are not?”
“Not completely, in any case. I know there’s something more to you. Something you’d prefer not to reveal. It’s always there, under your skin, hidden in your eyes. Its origins will remain a mystery until you choose to reveal them.”
“What if I never choose to reveal them?”
“Then they will be a mystery to me forever, I suppose. Ah! There!” Ceana veered off the path and knelt before the patch of groundsel.
Elizabeth crouched beside her. “That wasn’t difficult to find.”
“Aye. Groundsel can be a nasty weed. It is a most helpful plant for a healer, however. Here.” She thrust the basket into the other woman’s arms and withdrew her dirk from her skirt.
“Tell me what that is in Gaelic,” Elizabeth commanded.
“Groundsel?”
“No, that.” Elizabeth pointed at the dirk.
“Ah.” Ceana turned it in her hand. Its blade glimmered in the silver-gray light. “This is a sgian achlais. It was my grandmother’s.”
“Sgian achlais,” Elizabeth repeated dutifully.
In silence, aware of Elizabeth studying her every move, Ceana sawed off the branches and leaves that would be most beneficial for her salve.
“Do you like Robert MacLean very much?”
Ceana paused, then plucked off a healthy leaf and placed
it in the basket. “Aye, I do like him.”
“You are lovers.” It was a statement, not a question. A very direct statement for a lady of Elizabeth’s status. Too direct.
Ceana took a shaky breath. How on earth could Elizabeth know anything about her and Rob? Had Rob told her something? “Aye, we were. Not anymore.”
Something flared in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Why not anymore?”
“Your questions are of a personal nature.” She dropped the sgian achlais at her side and gazed steadily at Elizabeth. “My lady.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I am merely curious.”
“You are attracted to Rob.”
The lady flinched, and then her mouth set in a mulish line. Her eyes flashed a challenge at Ceana.
“There is no need to deny it,” Ceana said on a sigh. “It was obvious from the glances you kept stealing at him over dinner.”
“I did no such thing!” The denial was too rapid to be anything but a lie.
“Rest easy, lass. No one else noticed.”
Making a sound of distress, Elizabeth surged to her feet.
“I think that ought to be enough.” Ceana brushed her hands off, then collected the basket and rose.
Elizabeth suddenly stood directly in front of her. “You mustn’t tell anyone. If you do—”
“Don’t be a fool,” Ceana interrupted. “Why ever would I have reason to cause trouble for Rob?”
“Because your affair is over.” Elizabeth’s pretty pink lips twisted. “Or so you say.”
“Aye, we have parted ways, but it was amicable. I shouldn’t wish Cam’s wrath to rain down upon him. Or the duke’s.”
“Not the duke’s,” Elizabeth repeated, shaking her head somberly. “You don’t want to witness the duke’s wrath, I promise you.”
Ceana stared at her for a long moment. “Tell me something. If you’re attracted to Rob MacLean, why should you care whether Cam lives or dies?”
“I care deeply,” Elizabeth whispered. “I care because Cam is my savior.”
Later, Elizabeth climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber, deep in thought.
Ceana MacNab possessed no fear. While an Englishwoman of Ceana’s status would scarcely dare to glance at Elizabeth, Ceana looked her in the eye and told her exactly what she thought. She didn’t mince words, nor did she pretend to be something she was not.
After what she’d seen happen between Rob and Ceana in the stables, Elizabeth was perplexed by her reaction to the healer. She’d expected to be disgusted by her, or at the very least jealous. But she found Ceana oddly fascinating.
Elizabeth had never known anyone quite like her. She admired her. More than that—she truly liked her. Elizabeth grasped onto this strange feeling, this genuine respect for another, and smiled. Perhaps, as unlikely as a friendship would seem between the two of them, she could work to forge one.
She pushed open the door to her room and stepped inside, only to jump backward when she saw who stood at one of the arrow slit windows.
Uncle Walter.
He turned to face her. “Close the door, Lizzy, dear.”
Trying to stifle the fear leaping into her throat, Elizabeth reached for the handle. Once the door was closed, there would be no more Lizzy, dears from the duke. Her doting uncle would be gone.
Elizabeth had spent the better part of her life trying to avoid being alone with her uncle. Since her parents and brother had died, she’d been his tool—the object he’d used to show the world what a good, kindhearted, heroic man he was. But when she was alone with him, that pretense disappeared. She was one of the very few people who knew exactly what he was—she’d known his true colors since she was six years old.
Lord, he frightened her. Elizabeth understood what he was capable of. He was a monster. A murderer. And she spent a great majority of her time in abject terror that if she pushed him too hard, he’d repeat the horror of what she’d witnessed when she was a little girl.
He’d come close many times. Poor Bitsy had been the object of his wrath. Through the years, Elizabeth had watched him hurt her innocent lady’s maid, slowly stripping the woman of her humanity.
Elizabeth’s own impetuous, reckless actions were responsible for Bitsy’s suffering. Elizabeth was naughty. She was impulsive. She couldn’t stop herself from acting out, even when she knew the consequences.
Elizabeth was a wily child and a cunning young woman, and her impetuous nature, her need to escape from her stifling confinement at Purefoy Abbey, and her desire for a bit of normalcy and happiness had often prompted her to sneak out of the house. She’d usually gotten away with playing with the village children and exploring the nearby forests, but Uncle Walter occasionally caught her. Six times total, in thirteen years.
She made a heroic effort not to shrink against the door. “Good afternoon, Uncle.”
His lips twisted, causing his patch to nearly disappear into the crevice of a deep wrinkle. “Enjoy your walk?”
“Yes.”
“You were with the healer woman Camdonn has employed.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“You are not to associate with that woman. She is a heathen.”
“But Lord Camdonn said—”
“Lord Camdonn’s injury has affected his mind in a most unhealthy manner.” Uncle Walter’s scowl deepened. “If I weren’t certain he’d recover, we’d have already returned to England.” He shuddered to drive home his point. “From their language to their filthy ways, these people disturb me.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Elizabeth was glad her uncle was nearly as eager to be rid of her as she was to be rid of him. He was too deeply involved in his scheme and wouldn’t take her home now—not when he was so close to her being out of his life and far away from him forever.
Now that she was an adult, Elizabeth’s usefulness had come to an end. He could no longer exploit her to show himself to the world as the doting, caring uncle, as the hero and savior of his poor orphaned niece. She was too old, and if he kept his young, marriageable kins-woman sequestered in Hampshire, people might question his motives for doing so. Yet if he married her to a nearby lord or someone with a strong connection to London, she might someday reveal the truth about him. His plan to marry her to a Scottish earl who lived in a remote corner of the earth and had no plans to return to England was, in his mind, the best way to safely—and admirably—get rid of her with the least risk to himself.
“You must not fall into the trap of becoming like them,” Uncle Walter said. “You are young yet, Lizzy, and vulnerable. However, you are also English, and I have spent many years training you to rise above those who are below you. You and I possess far superior blood-lines to any single person within scores of miles of this place. We must never forget that fact.”
“No, of course not, Uncle.”
“It would be unseemly for you to befriend any of them. You must stand apart. Revel in your distinction. If you desire companionship, there is Lord Camdonn himself, but beyond that, there is no one acceptable. If you desire a confidante, you must look to your friends in England.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”
Uncle Walter assumed that there existed ties between her and her “English friends,” but there weren’t any. There never had been. She’d write to none of those witless girls whose company had been foisted on her through the years. The feeling was entirely mutual—she wouldn’t be hearing from them, either.
“Good.” He paused and tilted his head. “You will make me proud, Lizzy. I will not have you denigrating yourself and embarrassing our esteemed family. I have trained you sufficiently, I hope, but if it becomes clear that I have not done my duty well enough, I will not hesitate to punish you most harshly.”
His words stabbed directly into her lungs, leaving her struggling for air. “But . . . but we are in Scotland. I am to be married soon . . .”
“Until the day of your marriage, you are mine to manage—and to punish—as I see fit. I will continue to endeavor to mold you into the fine young
woman your lineage demands until I place your hand in the Earl of Camdonn’s. And then I can only pray that he will take as firm a stance with you as I have.”
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth breathed finally. “You are right, Uncle. I shall be conscious of my superior status hereafter.”
But a part of her, that rebellious part that she tried so hard to squelch, rose up and screamed in denial. She liked these people; she liked this place; she wanted to talk more, know more, learn more. But she forced these desires down. Uncle Walter would not be here forever, and Cam was nothing like him. There would be time for all that once her uncle had gone back to Hampshire.
“Above all, you must stay away from that witch Ceana MacNab. There is something about the woman that is pure evil.”
Ceana wasn’t evil; that much Elizabeth knew to the depths of her heart. She knew evil intimately already, and Ceana MacNab didn’t qualify.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She didn’t venture to the stables again. Elizabeth couldn’t fathom what had drawn her there to begin with.
Well, that wasn’t being completely honest. She could fathom it. Rob MacLean had lured her there.
She’d never felt this pull with anyone. Not even Tom, a footman at Purefoy Abbey, the only man she’d ever touched. Tom was handsome and young, but there had been nothing to her feelings for him beyond interest and curiosity . . . and the irresistible compulsion to be bad.
Nonetheless, Elizabeth wasn’t stupid enough to expect that she and Rob would have a torrid affair beneath the Earl of Camdonn’s nose. She might have wicked thoughts, but even she couldn’t go that far. To hurt Uncle Walter, maybe. To risk her marriage to Cam . . . no. She wouldn’t do it. No matter how strongly Rob drew her, she must stay away from him.
So when she slipped out tonight to enjoy her small taste of freedom, she ventured in the opposite direction from the stables. She drifted to the edge of the cliff facing the loch and wedged her body between two bushes blooming abundantly with white flowers.
She felt safe out here. Safer than in the castle proper, in such close proximity to her uncle. Being inside stifled her. Outside in the clear, star-studded Highland night, she could pretend she was free.
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