by Lynsay Sands
"Perhaps Finola set it down in the kitchens to free her hands to close the storeroom door," Joan suggested.
"Aye, but she would no' have then left it behind. The stairs were in complete darkness. She would have needed it to make her way back upstairs to her room," Cam pointed out, frowning now.
Joan nodded solemnly, remembering that Cam had nearly disappeared into the shadows when she'd seen him at the top of the stairs. Even if Finola had forgotten the candle in the kitchens, she would have returned for it once she reached the stairs, she was sure.
"Ye're sure there was no candle with her?" Cam asked with a frown.
"Aye. Aunt Annabel is the one who noticed. She said she went to Finola's room and noticed that there was only one candle beside the bed. There are two in ours and she asked your mother about it. Lady Sinclair said there should be two in Finola's room as well, that there are two in each chamber. So aunt Annabel checked by the stairs and asked about it as well but no one had seen a candle anywhere near the stairs or the upper landing," Joan explained. "She thinks Finola had help falling down the stairs and that whoever did it took the candle with them."
Cam was silent for a moment, but then grimaced. "Well, I suppose I should no' be surprised. The woman was unpleasant at the best o' times, and I gather she did no' make friends while she was here. She--"
"--was wearing my dress," Joan interrupted.
He glanced to her sharply. "Aye. She told Kenna the ladies wanted to hem--"
"I know," Joan interrupted again. "But Aunt Annabel put that together with the cider incident and is worried that Finola was pushed down the stairs because she was wearing my gown and was mistaken for me."
Cam's breath left him on a slow hiss as he rocked back away from her in the saddle, and then he straightened with a hissed, "Damn. I did no' think o' that."
They both sat still and silent for a moment, then Cam stirred himself and urged the horse to move again.
"Where are we going?" Joan asked.
"Nowhere. We're here," he announced as they broke through the trees into a clearing.
"Oh." Joan glanced around at the small clearing he'd brought her to. It was a shady spot with large old trees offering covering from the sun, and a small brook running through it. It was quite pretty. Not as awe inspiring as the waterfall, but still lovely, she thought, as Cam dismounted and helped her down.
"Here, lay this out for us to sit on," he instructed, handing her a large animal fur.
Joan accepted the rolled up item and glanced around, then moved to the center of the clearing to unroll and lay it out. By the time she'd finished, Cam was there, carrying a small sack in hand.
"I brought bread, cheese and fruit," he explained, sitting down and opening the bag. "I brought a skin o' cider too and--" He paused abruptly when he noted her expression, and then said wryly, "But mayhap cider was no' the best option."
Joan gave a faint laugh and shook her head. "Nay. I will make do without cider for a bit, I think."
Smiling, he nodded and set the cider aside, then broke the bread in half and offered her a piece. He then gave her cheese as well and they began to eat. Silence fell over them and seemed to grow. Joan tried to think of something to say to break it, but didn't know how to start the conversation she knew they had to have and the silence soon became almost palpable between them. It was a sharp contrast to every meal they'd had on their journey to Scotland. They'd seemed to talk so easily then, laughing and teasing and chattering away. But it had been different then, they'd both been free and simply enjoying the moment. Now they were married, and she at least was afraid of being hurt. Perhaps Cam was feeling the same way, but whatever the case, the silence began to drag on Joan and affected her appetite so that she merely picked at the food he'd brought.
A glance to Cam showed him doing much the same thing, until he finally set his food aside and quickly repacked everything. Setting the bag aside then, he peered at her, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, closed it and then sighed and said, "Perhaps we should start yer riding lessons."
It was a sign of how uncomfortable she was that Joan actually nodded almost eagerly, preferring another round of lessons she would no doubt fail at in a spectacular way than have the discussion she knew they needed to have.
"Right," he muttered and stood up, then moved to his own horse to untether her mount from it, saying, "The first lesson should really be to teach ye how to care fer a horse. But we'll do that when we get back."
"How to care for it?" Joan asked. She'd stood and followed him over, but now stood a couple feet back, eyeing the horse warily. She wasn't exactly afraid of horses. Joan had no problem riding on them with someone else or tending them, but the idea of trying to control it herself was intimidating.
"Brushing it down, saddling and unsaddling it and so on," Cam explained, turning to her with the reins in hand. "But as I say, we'll tend to that another time. Fer now, we'll start with mounting and dismounting."
Joan relaxed a little at that. She'd mounted Cam's horse all by herself when he was injured. She could do this, she thought with relief and moved to her mare, grasped the saddle and raised her leg to put her foot through the stirrup. Unfortunately, she hadn't been wearing a gown the last time . . . and Cam's horse had stood still for her, whereas her mare whinnied and shifted the minute she put any weight on the saddle.
" 'Tis all right," her husband said patiently. "Ye're nervous and the horse is picking up on that. Just take a deep breath, hike yer skirt up a bit and . . ." His voice died as Joan yanked her skirt up and tucked it into the belt around her waist, leaving her legs bare almost to the thighs.
Joan wasn't nervous: she'd done this before, she could do it again. She had just needed to get her skirt out of the way, she thought determinedly, and reached for the saddle again. This time her skirt didn't get in the way and she easily slipped her foot in the stirrup, but again her mare whinnied and shifted, this time trying to move away from her. Foot caught in the stirrup, Joan hopped to keep from tumbling and then launched herself determinedly upward, threw her leg over, and landed on the saddle.
That's when her world seemed to tip. The mare went crazy. Joan wasn't even settled in the saddle properly before the mare let out a panicked whinny that sounded more like a scream, and reared. Joan threw herself forward, clutching at the mare's whithers and neck with her hands and clenching her thighs around the saddle and sides of the horse, holding on for dear life as the mare tried to throw her off.
The animal came down hard on its hooves, still screaming, the jolt rattling painfully through Joan's body, and then the mare reared again. Joan could hear Cam shouting and caught a glimpse of him pulling on the reins he still held, trying to force the beast back down while dodging her slashing hooves. Then the reins snapped. The mare came down with another bone jarring jolt and then began to run, charging out of the clearing and into the woods.
Still clinging to the beast, Joan closed her eyes, but then just as quickly opened them again when she felt something brush against her leg. A tree trunk, she realized, glancing behind her. The horse was moving so fast that it was narrowly missing--
Joan gasped with pain as they rushed past another tree, too close. Closer even than the last time and her leg was skinned against the trunk. She saw the blood begin to bubble on her outer leg, and then shifted her gaze forward. Another tree was coming up, and rather than try to avoid it, her mare steered toward it, as if she wanted to hurt her. Or scrape her off her back, Joan realized . . . and this time she was going to take one hell of a hit. By her estimate, she wouldn't just receive a scraping, the whole front of her leg would be hit by the tree. If it didn't drag her off the horse, it would drag her leg off of her, or crush it.
None of those options sounded like good ones and Joan desperately released her grip on her mare and tried to throw herself off the beast. Too late, she realized even as she did it. But there was nothing she could do but close her eyes as she flew through the air. Her entire side hit the tree rather than
just her leg, still it wasn't with the same speed, but it was enough.
Joan cried out on impact, the trunk slamming into her from her hip up to just below her still upraised arm, and then she crashed to her stomach on the ground and lay gasping for air she couldn't seem to drag into her body. She could hear Cam shouting her name, but was too distracted trying to catch her breath to respond, and then he was kneeling beside her, turning her over.
"Joan?"
Her response was an almost airless groan as she slid onto her back.
"All right, love. 'Tis all right," he muttered soothingly as he bent to examine first her side and then her leg. She heard him curse, but air was finally making its way into her and she was too busy sucking in large drafts to ask what was wrong.
Sighing, Cam straightened and clasped her hand, simply waiting as she regained her breath. Once her breathing had eased though, he squeezed her hand, drawing her gaze to him. "I have to pick ye up, love. It might hurt, and I'm sorry fer it, but I have to get ye back to the castle."
Joan nodded, knowing he'd have to. She could hardly lie there in the woods while her bruises healed, and that was mostly what she'd received from her latest catastrophe in these lessons to make her a lady: scrapes and bruises. Joan was pretty sure of that. She'd got the wind knocked out of her too, but that was it, she decided as she did a mental inventory of herself, cautiously moving fingers and toes, hands and feet, arms and legs. Nothing was broken. But damn, everything hurt, she acknowledged, gasping in pain as Cam slid his arms under her and scooped her up.
"I'm sorry, love," Cam said grimly as he carried her to his horse.
He'd chased after her on his own horse, Joan realized and wondered how she'd not heard the thunder of his horse's hooves.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated as they neared his mount.
"Nay, I'm sorry," she said unhappily. " 'Tis useless. I'm a complete failure as a lady."
"Nay, ye're not," Cam said firmly.
"Aye, I am," she insisted miserably. "I can't dance, I can't sing, I can't shoot a bow. I didn't even know I wasn't supposed to sit at the low table and still wouldn't if Finola hadn't let me know in her less than charming way."
"None o' that matters," he assured her.
"Cam," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek and make him look at her. "I'm sorry. I love you but can't be a proper wife to you. I don't know the first thing about running a keep, or being a lady. Finola's right, I'll embarrass you and your family, and you should have the marriage annulled."
He had stopped walking and now stared at her. In fact, he stared for so long she began to think he was having some sort of fit or something, and then he said with wonder, "Ye love me?"
"What?" she asked blankly.
"Ye said ye love me."
Joan shook her head, "Nay, I--"
"Aye, ye did," he insisted. "Ye said I love ye but can't be a proper wife. It's what you said. Ye can no' take it back now. Besides, I love you too."
"I--" She blinked. "You do?"
Cam nodded. "I realized it yesterday while I watched over ye. Lady MacKay insisted ye'd wake up, but I just kept thinking what if she was wrong and ye didn't? I felt such guilt and regret over me first wife's death, Joan, but that would be nothing next to how I'd feel if ye died. A part o' me would die with ye, and I do no' think the rest o' me would even want to carry on without ye."
"But I shall embarrass you with my lack of skills, and I don't want to do that. I don't want to embarrass your family either. Mayhap we were only ever meant to be lovers. Perhaps ye should annul the marriage and move me to the village and just visit me from time to time and--"
"Joan," he interrupted firmly. "There's no damned way I'm annulling the marriage. I do no' care if ye can sing or dance or shoot a bow. Either ye'll learn those things over time, or ye will no'. It does no' matter to me. I do no' even care if ye learn to ride. Ye can ride with me if necessary. Those are no' the things I came to value about ye on our journey north. I value yer honesty, yer courage, and yer spirit. I like that yer smart, and that we could talk about anything under the sun and laugh together. That's what I want from ye. That's why I wanted ye e'en with yer face a mess and in braies. Ye've an inner beauty and spirit that shines through everything, and I love ye fer it."
Joan stared at him wide-eyed. Her whole body ached, and his arms were inadvertently pressing against her injured side leaving her head spinning and making her nauseous, and all she could think was how wonderful this man was.
"Joan, say something," Cam said quietly.
"I--" She paused and swallowed, trying to hold on to consciousness.
"Joan?" he asked with concern.
Unfortunately he also, unintentionally she was sure, tightened his hold on her, sending shafts of excruciating pain through her. A moan slid from her lips and then she fainted.
Cursing, Cam hurried the last couple of steps to his horse and then paused briefly as he realized he couldn't mount with her in his arms. Not liking that he had to do it, he laid her gently over his horse, then quickly mounted behind her and scooped her back up. Once he had her settled in his lap, he put his heels to his horse, determined to get her back to the castle as quickly as possible.
The clearing wasn't far from the castle, and the ride out had passed quickly enough. However, the ride back seemed to him to take forever. Cam knew that was no doubt just a result of his worry and not a true measure of the time it took, but he was vastly relieved when he passed under the gatehouse into the inner courtyard.
He spotted Joan's mare by the steps of the keep, his father and the stable master soothing the beast. Anger at the beast immediately joined Cam's concern for Joan as he peered at the animal, but common sense managed to reign over the other emotions churning through him by the time he reined in beside the mare.
"She came back just moments ago and we were just discussing sending out a search party," his father announced, leaving the stable master to hold on to the mare's reins as he walked around to take Joan from Cam so that he could dismount. "What happened?"
"The mare went crazy when Joan mounted her," Cam announced, dropping to the ground and taking his wife back. He paused long enough to glance to the horse and said, "Something's wrong with the animal. Check her carefully ere ye stable her," he ordered the stablemaster.
Laird Sinclair scowled. "There's something no' quite right going on here, son. First Joan and the other lasses fell ill, then Lady MacFarland took her tumble down the stairs, and now this?" He shook his head. "This is one too many accidents to me mind." Clapping a hand on his shoulder, he said, "I'll look at the mare meself. We'll sort out what happened. You tend yer wife."
Cam just grunted, he was already starting up the stairs with her.
Lady Annabel was seated by the fireplace with his mother when Cam entered with Joan. The two women glanced over and started to smile on seeing him, but those smiles died, replaced with alarm when they noted Joan in his arms.
"What happened?" Lady MacKay cried, lunging out of her seat and rushing toward him as he headed for the stairs. His mother was so close on the other woman's heels he was surprised she wasn't tripping over her skirt.
"I was giving her a riding lesson and there was an accident," Cam said quietly.
"Did she hit her head?" Annabel asked, reaching out to feel her head for bumps as they walked.
"Nay," Cam assured her. "It was her side and leg."
Lady MacKay merely nodded and rushed on ahead of him up the stairs. By the time he reached the top step, she had his bedchamber door open and disappeared inside . . . to pull the linens and furs down, he saw as he carried his wife into the room a moment later.
"We'll need to strip her so that I can see her side," Lady Annabel said as he laid Joan in the bed.
"I'll help," his mother said at once, urging him out of the way. "Why do ye no' go below, son? I'll come tell ye what's what once Lady Annabel--"
"Nay," Cam interrupted firmly. He wasn't going anywhere.
"Well, go sit b
y the hearth then," his mother said impatiently. "Ye'll just get in the way here."
Cam retreated to the foot of the bed, but that was as far as he was willing to go. It allowed him to see everything without having to dance about trying to look over his mother's shoulder as the two women quickly and efficiently stripped his wife. They removed her gown and the tunic she wore under it and then turned Joan on her uninjured side and raised her arm over her head so that they could look at her side. Cam wasn't surprised they hadn't needed to ask which side was injured, the scrape on her leg was the size of a hand and bleeding freely now. As for her side, he winced and then ground his teeth together as he noted the size of the bruise already forming there. It covered a large area, from just under her arm down to her hip and he could tell already that it was going to be as black as night.
Joan's aunt took one quick look at it and then straightened and started around the bed. "I need water, linens, bandages and my medicinals."
"I'll get everything," Cam's mother announced, waving her back. "Ye stay here. Ye ken better what to do."
Lady MacKay nodded and moved back to the side of the bed, and then bent and began to run her hands along Joan's injured side, feeling for broken ribs, he guessed. "The horse threw her?"
"Aye, I think so," Cam answered, although it had almost looked to him like she'd leapt off to avoid being crushed against a tree.
"She didn't hit the ground," Annabel muttered, examining the forming bruise now.
"Nay. She hit a tree," he admitted.
"And her leg?" Annabel asked, shifting her attention to the large abrasion.
"The horse scraped her against another tree first."
"I will need to clean it well, then," Annabel said on a sigh and straightened with a shake of the head. "She tries so hard, but these lessons are making her miserable."
"She does no' need them. I do no' care if she can sing or dance," Cam said grimly. "If I'd wanted a lass who could sing and dance I'd ha'e married one. I want her. And I'll tell the daft woman that again when she wakes up. There'll be no annulment."
"Annulment?" his mother gasped and he turned to see her frozen in the bedchamber door, horror on her face and a passel of servants on her heels. "I should say not. Who the devil said anything about an annulment?"