It looked like furniture one might find at Camdonn Castle.
Several women crowded the cottage, concern creasing their faces as they looked up at the sound of the door opening. Gràinne lay on her side with her back facing the door. Red hair cascaded around her, and though she burrowed beneath the coverlet, a spray of dark spots covered the red silk. Blood.
Ceana squeezed between the women standing at the bedside. “Gràinne.”
The whore smiled up at her, but her face was puffy and her brown eyes dim with pain. “Ceana MacNab,” she said by way of greeting.
“Where are you injured?”
“Aye, well, my hand is the worst of it.”
“Will you show me?” Ceana asked through tight lips. She didn’t know this woman well, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to kill the bastard who had done this. Any man who treated a woman with such cruelty deserved to be shot.
“Aye.”
Ceana pulled down the cover and studied the woman’s hand and arm, which were swollen from fingertips to elbow. Gently, she prodded the bones in the fingers, stopping when she came to the wrist. Broken.
Ceana glanced at the women surrounding them, their eyes rounded with curiosity. “Begone, all of you,” she commanded. She nodded at Elizabeth, who’d pushed through to stand beside her. “Even you, my lady.”
Elizabeth nodded, but Gràinne reached out her uninjured arm. “Nay. You must stay, lass.” Her voice was thready, full of pain.
Elizabeth glanced to the right and left, unsure whether the woman had addressed her. “Me?”
“Aye.” Gràinne spoke in heavily accented English. “You be the lass our earl brought home from England, is that not so?”
“Yes.”
“You must stay. Ceana will require your help, and I wish to know you better. Might be my only chance.”
“Certainly I will stay, if you wish it.” Elizabeth lowered herself to the edge of the bed and stroked a clump of fiery red hair off Gràinne’s cheek. “I will do what I can to help.”
Everyone else, meanwhile, had gone, leaving Elizabeth and Ceana alone with Gràinne. Gràinne was one of the most mature of the women on the mountain but, at forty-one years of age, still beautiful and, to her clients, desirable. She kept a brisk business, and while competition sometimes was a destructive force on the mountain, the other women seemed to admire Gràinne.
Ceana continued to assess her injuries and found a broken collar-bone, two probable broken ribs, and scrapes and bruises in a dozen other places. Elizabeth was silent throughout the examination, and finally Ceana glanced at her. Whatever feelings Elizabeth had about the beaten woman lying on the bed, she kept them well hidden. Her tight, pale lips were her only evidence of emotion as she gently tugged away strands of Gràinne’s red hair from blood dried on her skin.
Well, who would have thought the wee Englishwoman would have such a pleasant bedside demeanor? If she were a villager, Ceana might have considered apprenticing her.
Ceana turned her attention to an open wound on Gràinne’s arm. It looked like someone had sliced at it with a dirk. She prodded the angry, swollen flesh around it. “Have you any water?”
“Aye,” the woman breathed. “On the fire. Should be well warmed by now.”
Ceana glanced at Elizabeth, who turned to fetch it. Ceana withdrew a clean cloth from her satchel. “First we’re going to clean the wounds; then I’ll set and bind your wrist. The cut isn’t deep enough to require stitches.”
“Aye.”
Ceana met Elizabeth’s gaze across the bed. “Will you help me clean off the blood?”
Elizabeth nodded, her expression grave yet free of fear or revulsion.
Ceana took a small bottle from her pouch and poured the contents into the pot of water Elizabeth had placed on the floor beside her. “This will disinfect the water,” Ceana murmured. “It possesses a charm to remove the evil spirits.”
She spoke in terms Gràinne would understand, not mentioning the antiputrefaction qualities of the herbal ingredients, which she knew to be as effective as any charm.
In silence, they cleaned Gràinne’s wounds. The woman’s forehead glistened with sweat, and she clenched the wool blanket in her hand but kept her lips pressed together as if she were determined not to cry.
Elizabeth was the one to break the extended quiet. “Who did this to you?”
Gràinne opened her lips, and a gasp leaked through before she responded. “ ’ Twas a man I knew long ago in Inverness. I haven’t any idea why he came.”
“Alan will punish him,” Ceana promised. Alan MacDonald possessed a gentle nature and an abiding respect for women. He wouldn’t tolerate this.
Gràinne closed her eyes. “I think he’s gone. Or hiding. He . . . he was an acquaintance of my husband’s. Long ago, when I was married.”
Elizabeth’s slender throat moved as she swallowed. “Tell us what happened. How did he do this to you?”
“He came up here in innocence, I suppose. He always had violent tendencies . . .” Grainne shuddered. “But I think he desired a fast tup before moving on. I didn’t recognize him at first, and I served him a bit of claret in exchange for his silver.” A tear seeped from the corner of her eye. “I recognized him then. I demanded he leave. I shouldn’t have done that. When he remembered who I was, he . . . tried to tie me to the bedposts. I . . . fought him. Perhaps not the wisest idea for a woman in my position, but I wanted nothing of that man.”
Ceana ground her teeth. Her cheeks were hot with anger. “Did he rape you?”
Gràinne blinked. “Aye.”
“Is there pain? Did he hurt you?”
“Nay,” Gràinne said quietly. “That part of me, at least, is well enough. He had the forethought to ease the way with goose grease.”
Blowing out a breath through her pursed lips, Ceana dumped the soiled cloth into the hot water. She pushed up her sleeves. “I’m going to manipulate your wrist now, Gràinne. I’ll do it as gently as I can, but it’s going to hurt. Do you want me to call in some of the others to hold you down?”
“Nay.” Gràinne’s eyes shifted to Elizabeth. “Tell me what you think of our earl, lass. It’ll help take my mind from the pain.”
Ceana concentrated on Gràinne’s wrist, searching for the location of the break. Gràinne gasped.
“I . . . Well, he’s very kind,” Elizabeth said quickly.
This elicited a tight smile from Gràinne as Ceana began to press harder on the bone. “Aye? I believe so too, but many others would disagree. He’s . . .” She paused, wincing. “He has the reputation of a self-serving kind of man.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Be that as it may—of course, there’s some consideration one must pay to one’s status in life—I daresay he’s kind in his heart.”
“Do you—” Again, Gràinne gasped. “Do you love him deeply?”
“Oh, yes.”
Elizabeth’s response was automatic, and Ceana read the disingenuousness immediately. As did Gràinne, who chuckled humorlessly.
Ceana pushed the bone back in place, and all was silent in the cottage save Gràinne’s rasping breaths as she valiantly attempted to prevent herself from screaming. Water leaked from the corners of her clenched eyes. With her good hand, she clasped Elizabeth’s fingers in a death grip. Elizabeth kept her lips tight and squeezed Gràinne’s hand, her face awash with sympathy.
Finally, long minutes after Ceana had finished manipulating her wrist, Gràinne opened her eyes. “You needn’t spout falsehoods, milady. Most of us understand that love often comes far into a marriage and oftentimes not at all.”
“I love him,” Elizabeth said mulishly. “It is no lie.”
“Well, then.” Gràinne’s eyelids slipped closed again as Ceana began to bind her wrist.
“Why do you ask me these questions?” Elizabeth murmured. “Do you know my betrothed?”
“Oh, aye. I do.”
“You know him well, I think,” Elizabeth accused. “Better than most. Most of the people of the G
len do not understand him, but you do.”
Ceana’s heartbeat ratcheted upward. Elizabeth had observed more about Cam’s nature than she’d let on.
Ceana glanced from Gràinne’s wrist to her pale face to the carved bedpost. Had the whore been Cam’s lover? The thought did not elicit tender feelings within her.
Taking a deep breath, she gently released her tightening grip on Gràinne’s arm and finished tying off the bandage. She’d need to fashion a sling, for she didn’t want Gràinne to be using her wrist at all for some time.
“I do know him well,” Gràinne said in a low voice. “He is a friend to me, and he has been for many a year.”
“Do you share his bed?” Elizabeth asked bluntly.
Ceana snapped her head up in surprise. She didn’t speak, for Elizabeth’s words had yanked all air from her body. Like all the MacNab women, Ceana was known for her directness. But it seemed this young Englishwoman had her beaten.
Gràinne chuckled again. “No simpleton, are you, lass?”
“No,” Elizabeth said tightly. “At times I choose to feign it, but I am not.” Her embroidered bodice rose as she took a deep breath. “The earl’s past liaisons shall not affect me. It would really be rather silly of me to react at all.”
Ceana’s surprise dwindled, leaving a lingering respect. Elizabeth was not going to be a sniveling, jealous wife prone to crying jags and fits of vapors. She was as strong as any Highland woman.
“Our earl has chosen well,” Gràinne murmured.
Elizabeth suddenly leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Tell me everything about him, Gràinne. I haven’t the faintest idea how to please him, and I do hope you will teach me.”
Ceana took a measured breath, certain the gods had placed her with these women solely to torture her. What had she done to deserve this torment?
She ground her teeth and locked her jaw. She was not one to shelter her thoughts, but it was imperative she do so in the company of Cam’s mistress and his future wife.
It would be a miracle if she survived the afternoon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elizabeth was tending to the fire when the door to Gràinne’s cottage flew open. She glanced up to see Cam stride in, followed by Rob MacLean, who paused at the door. His amber gaze perused the room until it landed on her.
She’d hardly seen him since the night they’d met at the cave. But she’d dreamed about him, and a flush prickled over her body as she remembered his lips, soft and supple, gliding over her skin in her dream as she’d stroked the dips and curves of his muscular arms and shoulders.
She’d already had an odd afternoon, filled as it had been with honesty and lined with compassion for the woman who’d been so wretchedly mistreated. But when she locked eyes with Robert MacLean, a whole host of new emotions burst through and then exploded in a shower of bright sparks. When his gaze collided with hers, a million tiny burning lights settled over her heart. She sighed with the beauty of it. She felt trust . . . comfort, relief, excitement, and fascination with the man who’d followed her betrothed into the cottage.
As impossible as it was, how freeing, how wonderful it felt, when she’d thought she’d never experience any of those emotions again.
Rob’s warm gaze lingered on her; then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
“What happened?” Cam demanded, his focus entirely on the sole occupant of the bed. “Speak to me, Gràinne.”
“I’m quite all right. Ceana has taken good care of me.”
Cam closed his eyes, then opened them. In this light, his eyes appeared black and hard, reminding Elizabeth of a shiny obsidian rock she’d seen once in London.
“Where is the bastard? I’ll kill him.”
So this woman wasn’t only Cam’s occasional bedmate. He cared for her. The truth should have made Elizabeth mad with jealousy, but oddly, it warmed her to him.
“Och,” Gràinne said to the earl. “Don’t fret over him. He’s long gone, and he’ll not be back.”
Elizabeth glanced at Ceana, who stood quietly beside Cam, her eyes downcast. She didn’t understand the woman. One moment she was the strongest person Elizabeth had ever seen: direct and forthright, intimidating and unstoppable. The next she was quiet, almost shy.
Cam still hadn’t seen Elizabeth. She didn’t know him well enough to guess how he’d react to discovering her in a loose woman’s abode, and she didn’t dare contemplate what might happen if Uncle Walter found out. Better she remained hunched beside the fireplace than draw attention to herself.
Cam loomed over Gràinne, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His gaze slid to Ceana. “How bad is it?”
“She’ll recover. I’ve tended to her wounds. She should remain in bed for a day or two.”
“I’ll send someone up to look after her.”
“Nay,” Gràinne said. “My friends will care for me well enough. Better my peers than someone down the mountain who will look upon me in disgust and resent the help you force them to offer me. Unlike your young bride over there, who’s been generous in contrast.”
Cam’s gaze snapped to the hearth, and his eyes widened to black pools. “Elizabeth?” His jaw worked as he searched for something to say. “What . . . what the devil are you doing here?”
Ceana straightened. “She came with me.”
As Elizabeth rose from her crouched position, a deep red spread across Cam’s cheekbones. He looked back and forth from Ceana to Elizabeth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I am all right, my lord.”
Cam’s lips tightened. “No, you are not all right. It is inappropriate and unseemly for you to be anywhere near the mountain. I shall take you home. Immediately.” He straightened and backed away from the bed, but Ceana caught his arm.
“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped. Elizabeth was relieved to see that Ceana’s more natural demeanor had returned.
Cam glowered at Ceana. “What?”
“You mustn’t shelter the lass, Cam. Don’t think you can keep her locked away in Camdonn Castle for the remainder of her days.”
Cam’s brows arched. “Why not?”
“She’s to be your countess, not your prisoner.”
Cam flicked a glance at her, then returned his attention to Ceana. “You don’t understand. You do not know how delicate she is. How sensitive. She’s a duke’s niece. She’s unused to Highland ways. She’s English, for God’s sake. Not a Highlander.”
All three women met these remarks with silence. Ceana’s expression turned hard as stone. Gràinne looked in Elizabeth’s direction, her lips curving wickedly, as if daring her to contradict the earl. Elizabeth lowered her gaze. She was trained—perhaps too well—not to interfere when others spoke of her. Her opinion didn’t matter. She’d been reminded of that fact time and again through the years. And if Cam were to tell her uncle she’d opposed him . . . she didn’t dare imagine the consequences.
In any case, if she did speak, what would she say? Did Cam truly expect her to live like an English lady here? The differences between this place and her home were too vast. Even if she remained sequestered within the castle, her life had already changed irrevocably.
Ceana glanced at her, and when Elizabeth didn’t come to her own defense, she narrowed her eyes at Cam. “That’s a foolish thing to say. Take a hard look at the lass. Not at her past, but at her. See who she is.”
Elizabeth felt Cam’s gaze burning into her bowed head. “I see a frightened girl who wishes to go home. I cannot believe you brought her here, Ceana. I thought you wiser than that.”
“And I took you for something other than a fool!” Ceana spat.
“Come, Elizabeth. I’ll take you home.” He took her arm and led her toward the door. “Will you wait outside for me? I must speak to . . . to Gràinne for a moment.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“MacLean will look out for you.”
He left her on the front stoop and turned, shutting the door behind him, leaving Elizabeth to
meet Rob’s steady gaze.
“Good afternoon.”
He inclined his head. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes spoke volumes. He wondered why she’d come here, what she’d learned, what she was thinking.
It was a warm afternoon, and Elizabeth adjusted her bonnet so that the sun wouldn’t shine directly on her face and cause her skin to freckle. She glanced down the dirt path strung between the cottages. A group of women stood clustered a short distance away, casting curious glances toward them. Elizabeth pulled her gloves from where she’d tucked them into her belt and tugged them on.
The door opened and Cam emerged. “Forgive me.”
She took his proffered arm. “Nothing at all to forgive.”
Cam blew out a frustrated breath. Rob glanced at him, then away. Elizabeth nearly smiled. Everyone knew exactly what had happened here, understood the association between Cam and Gràinne, but the men were too cowardly to discuss it in her presence. Cam was deeply concerned for the whore, and he likely expected Elizabeth to be either angry or appalled. He couldn’t possibly understand that she was only curious and interested. She wanted to see Gràinne soon to make certain she was all right. Perhaps Ceana would bring her to the mountain again.
But Uncle Walter . . .
He and Cam had said they’d return from their fishing expedition tomorrow. The weather was fine, and there was no reason for them to have returned earlier. Unless someone had gone after Cam to inform him about Gràinne, she realized. Lord, what a fool she’d been. She was so stupid, so terribly stupid. She’d been a fool to think she’d be safe today. Her selfishness was responsible for this. Her impetuous, thoughtless nature. Her craving to explore, to be outside, to spend time with Ceana . . .
Elizabeth shuddered. Uncle Walter would be angry, and there was nothing she could do to prevent the repercussions. Bitsy’s tortured face imprinted itself on her mind. Please God, she prayed. Make him lenient.
Cam cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. You should not have seen that. I cannot fathom what Ceana was thinking.”
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