by Paula Quinn
Overjoyed to see him, Temperance ran to him and jumped into his arms. “Where have you been? You had us worried about you.”
“Is Grant still here?” he asked her, and squeezed her to him hard enough to halt her breath. “Where’s Gram?”
Temperance disengaged from him and stepped back to have a good look at him. He looked well enough, save that his clothes were dirty, along with his face, and his eyes were set on her bedroom door.
“William, what in blazes happened? Where have you been?”
He didn’t answer but broke away and started for her room.
She followed him, but he warned her not to come inside. She didn’t take too well to warnings and entered the room right behind him.
Cailean was asleep, looking like a peaceful angel, but this was no time to pause to admire him. His appearance didn’t stop William from moving toward the bed. “Grant!” he shouted, waking him.
“William.” Temperance tugged on his arm.
He ignored her and stared down at Cailean, waking up.
“I’ve just returned from Lyon’s Ridge. I met a young scullery maid named Annie. Know her?”
Cailean blinked his sleepy eyes, then shook his head.
“She told me that your cousin Patrick was ill but was recovering well.”
Cailean scratched his jaw and slid his gaze to her. “Ye didna meet him, then?”
Temperance swore under her breath. Now Cailean knew she’d lied. Whatever would he think of her? She felt so foolish she could barely look at him, but she did. And she was glad she had, else she would have missed the slightest curl of his smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes rather than melancholy.
“Nay.” William made half a turn and set his hard, knowing gaze on her, apparently suspecting she’d lied. “I didn’t meet him.”
Temperance took a deep breath and faced whatever was coming from them. She tilted her chin ever so slightly and let the truth fly, setting her eyes on William. “I was trying to save his life. If I would have told him the truth he would have left this sickbed and likely died.” She turned to Cailean next. “You should be thanking me.”
He acquiesced without a word, bowing his head slightly to her. “You have my heartfelt thanks, yet again, Miss Menzie.”
Her heart slowed almost instantly and she wondered how he’d managed to soothe her nerves within the space of a breath. She wanted to thank him for easing her mortification, and for making her smile in the midst of missing her father. Each time she did, she found herself able to breathe a little easier.
“Annie told me much about you,” William continued woodenly, dragging Cailean’s gaze back to him.
Both men were quiet for a moment while something passed between them. Had William’s fingers just moved closer to the hilt of his sword? Had Cailean’s eyes just slipped to her? Temperance watched the men’s silent interaction. What the hell was going on?
“I was rushing back here to see to your… welfare,” William continued, “when I ran into Kate, one of Maeve’s gels.”
Cailean blinked at him. It wasn’t much of a reaction, but it was something, in Temperance’s estimation. He recognized the name. Who was Maeve, she wondered?
“Maeve is a madam,” William said, turning to look at her as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Marion was going to be forced to be one of her whores.”
“Was?” Temperance asked with a shaky voice. She prayed it wasn’t too late for Marion. Poor William, if what Cailean suspected was true. “Is she dead?”
William shook his head. “No. She lives, still untouched because of Mr. Grant here.”
Temperance slowly turned to look at Cailean, who was sitting up, grimacing as he stretched. Because of him? “What did he do?” she asked quietly, watching him and the way the sunlight fell over his jaw.
“Kate told me that you paid Maeve handsomely to keep Marion away from other men by sending her off to Perth, to a castle called Ravenglade. Why?” William asked him in a deeper, more menacing voice. “Why Ravenglade? Who is there?”
“M’ brother and his wife,” Cailean replied. “When they hear that ’twas me who sent her, they’ll keep her safe.”
Temperance didn’t move. Why would he do such a thing? Marion was untouched and alive because of Cailean. She wanted to smile at him, lean down and kiss him. So there was a man beneath all that ogre?
“Why did you protect her from others?” William demanded softly. “Do you have intentions toward her?”
Cailean had been correct, then. William cared for Marion. Temperance had thought she was settling, when William was settling too. All his fire and determination to find Marion was from more than just a desire to keep Linavar safe. It was also for Marion. Poor William; what he must be going through. She pitied both herself and him for being forced into lives they didn’t want in order to keep peace with their overlord. There would never be peace if Temperance killed the lord’s son. Unless…
A way to do it without blame falling on her hatched in her mind, and she smiled at her dear friend.
She loved William, but she wasn’t going to marry him. She couldn’t. She didn’t want an extraordinary life, just a life worthy of the one her mother had died to give her.
“I have no interest in Marion,” Cailean told William. “She was offered to me and I refused her. She reminded me of someone I once knew and she looked terrified, so I offered m’ aid. I remembered her in a dream but ye were no’ here to tell ye.”
William remained quiet for a time, letting what the Highlander had told him sink in. When it did he exhaled as if he hadn’t done so in weeks. “You have my thanks,” he told Cailean. “I owe you much.”
Grant shook his head, then continued. “M’ brother is the Earl of Huntley and lord of Ravenglade. Marion is safe.”
“William.” Temperance touched his arm. “You should have told me about your feelings for Marion.”
“Why?” He set his rich, dark eyes on her and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing would have changed as long as I never found her.”
“And now that you have found her?”
He turned to look at Mr. Grant and shook his head. “Nothing changes still.”
“Nay, Will. We spoke about this the night my father was killed. I told you what Father had said.”
“Aye, Temp, but he didn’t get twenty years. And I too spoke to him earlier that day. I promised him that I’d see to you.”
She didn’t care about promises she hadn’t been a party to.
She didn’t want to argue now. Now she wanted to leave the room so she could ponder what was so special about this “someone” Cailean had once known, whose mere likeness to Marion had compelled him to save Marion from being assaulted by the men of Lyon’s Ridge.
She also wanted to escape the haunting splendor of Cailean Grant’s eyes. They fell upon her often, hooded and lackadaisical, seeming disinterested for the most part. But they kept returning to her, proving otherwise.
She turned for the door and caught Cailean’s eyes on her yet again. Their gazes met and she thought she might have seen his nostrils flare a little, a glint of something warm in his stone-cold eyes. He smiled at her. The smile was soft, subtle, coming from somewhere deep and genuine. It gave her hope that she could find happiness again. With him.
Hell, she didn’t want to marry William.
If she had to marry, she’d prefer someone like—she let her gaze linger over Cailean’s face—him.
Chapter Ten
Alone with Deware, Cailean watched him pace before his bed. The smith looked pale. Beads of sweat glistened along his temples. Cailean felt a little ill himself. Annie had obviously told Deware that he was a Black Rider. He was caught, his true identity revealed. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared for the accusations having to do with Seth Menzie’s death. But none of them came.
Deware’s dark eyes settled on him and for a moment Cailean thought he was going to have to fight for his life. “You can imagine what went through my mind when Annie told me.” D
eware stopped pacing and stared at him. “You lied to all of us. You’re a Black Rider and I brought you back.”
“Ye saved m’ life,” Cailean corrected him.
“I should kill you now. But for what you did for Marion…”
Even recovering from a dangerous infection, Cailean knew William wouldn’t stand a chance against him. The smith hadn’t been raised by Grants and MacGregors to be a warrior. He did wonder, though, why Deware didn’t tell Temperance what he’d discovered.
“I knew ye would either try to kill me or just let me die if ye knew the truth,” Cailean admitted. “I know what happened to her faither and I decided to leave Lyon’s Ridge and the Murdochs. I wanted to come here first to offer m’ aid but someone stabbed me. I ask that ye dinna tell Miss Menzie.”
Deware blinked at him, then stepped closer. The seriousness of his expression compelled Cailean to prepare to spring from the bed.
“I will not be the one to tell her, Grant. You will. For saving Marion I will grant you time. But know this, I will gut you while you sleep if you harm Temperance in any way.”
“I have no intentions on harmin’ anyone. I just wish to recover and go.”
“When do you think you will be ready to leave here?”
“I’m afraid,” Cailean began, “this time might take a wee bit longer than the last. There’ll be a long way to travel to get home and I dinna want to fall ill again in the middle of nowhere.”
“Of course,” Deware agreed. “When you’re ready, I would ask you to travel to Perth and bring Marion back. Please,” he added when Cailean was about to refuse. “As repayment for saving your life and bringing you back here. I cannot leave the village without showing them that their lives come second to Marion’s. I must stay and protect them.”
Cailean admired such dedication to his people. His cousin, the MacGregor clan chief Rob MacGregor, had devoted his life to his people, as any great leader should. He’d do it. He’d bring Marion back. She was in Perth. It wouldn’t be difficult.
“I’ll bring her back.”
“And then,” Deware finished steadily, “you will leave Linavar and not return.”
Cailean eyed the soon-to-be leader of Linavar. “So ye could marry Marion without losin’ Temperance to me.”
“I’m not going to let Temperance lose her heart to a Black Rider, if that’s what you mean,” Deware assured him. “I’m going to marry her to keep her and the others safe from all of you.”
Deware obviously wasn’t aware of Temperance’s plans to kill Murdoch—or Cailean. Cailean looked toward the door. As soon as he was well enough, he’d fetch Marion, bring her back, and then be gone from here. Good. He didn’t want Temperance to lose her heart and he certainly didn’t want to lose his. He wasn’t prepared to endure the loss of anyone else in his life. Life took away. He knew it well enough.
“As ye wish,” he conceded. “I should be fit to leave by Christmas.”
“Ye’ll stay as long as ye need,” Gram said, entering the room with a tray of food.
Cailean cut her an affectionate look. He liked the old woman. Even though she believed him to be dangerous for Linavar, she took careful care of him. “If ye keep spoilin’ me with yer delicious cookin’, I’ll never want to leave. Might I suggest servin’ me last week’s milk?”
Her weathered skin creased and puckered when she smiled, setting down the tray. “I should chase ye out of here with my broom on yer tail, before Murdoch comes looking fer ye and accuses us of yer condition. But in truth, I’m tired of giving a damn about Mr. Murdoch or his father. I won’t cast a helpless man out into the snow. Our compliance doesn’t stop them from doing vile things—them and their hell-spawn mercenaries. They’ve already proven that.”
Cailean couldn’t keep his eyes from moving to Deware. Would he tell Gram?
Cailean had come here to tell them the truth. But the shame it brought with it made that more difficult than he could ever have imagined, so he said nothing.
He sure as hell didn’t want someone else telling them. The sooner he left and paid his debt to Deware, the better the chances they’d never find out. “Christmas. I’ll leave on Christmas. ’Tis what?” He turned back to Deware for confirmation. “Three or four days from now? If that’s agreeable?”
Deware nodded, but his eyes were already turning for the door. Cailean’s followed and beheld Miss Menzie standing beneath the archway. He sat up straight and, for a moment, let the sight of her fully affect him. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t look away. Judging from the woolen mantle draped around her shoulders, and her rich pink cheeks, she’d been working outside.
“’Tis too soon.” Her voice… or her gaze, finding and settling on his, stilled his breath and muddled his thoughts. What was the secret he was trying to keep from her? “You don’t want to leave too soon again, do you, Mr. Grant?”
“Nae,” Cailean said. As long as Patrick was safe and recovering, Cailean didn’t need to rush to his side. “But I really should be getting—”
“You cannot leave on Christmas,” she went on. “Christmas is a somber-enough time. Don’t make it worse by leaving.”
She’d be sad he was leaving?
He quirked his mouth at her just a bit and hoped she didn’t notice. “The day after, then.”
She shook her head. “Leave after Hogmanay.” She came to him in a rush of sweet-scented air, like honeysuckle, or streams and pine. “’Tis just a little while longer, and at least you will be here to celebrate with us. For now, though, you need your strength and you can begin by eating.”
He could do that, especially if it was Gram’s duck-and-parsnip stew. He decided the fever had done damage to his head, for he didn’t mind staying here a wee bit longer.
“Perhaps William”—she turned to her friend—“can excuse us for the night. Stress to your thoughts can sometimes be as dangerous as stress and strain on your body.”
Cailean couldn’t read her. Was she truly concerned about him? Deware looked as if he didn’t know either, but left the room without saying anything else.
When she turned to smile at Gram, the elder shook her head at her. “I’m staying.”
“Of course.”
Cailean admired Temperance for maintaining grace despite the disappointment that glazed her eyes while she motioned for him to turn over on his belly. Did she want to be alone with him? Why did the thought of it thrill him and make him want to run… leap from the window?
But then she dipped her chin and veiled her gaze beneath her lashes. She looked as if the weight of the entire kingdom fell on her shoulders.
He was responsible.
He handed his bowl to her, and when she reached for it, he let his fingers brush across hers.
“Thank ye fer yer care, lass,” he said, keeping his voice low, though Gram looked as if she might be about to take a nap in her chair. “I dinna deserve it.”
Temperance lifted her gaze to his, a quizzical tilt of her mouth making him want to shake his head, as if she weren’t real and he needed to prove it by scattering her to the four winds.
“Should I have refused to let you convalesce in my bed?”
He wanted to look away from the depths of her eyes. He felt as if he were drowning in them. “Aye, ye should have.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I dinna want to bring more trouble to ye.”
Her smile brightened into something glorious, but he missed most of it when she poked him in the shoulder to get him to turn onto his stomach.
This time he obeyed and let her tend his wounds.
“If for nothing else”—her breath warmed his ear when she bent to it—“you saved Marion and that alone earns my care.” She straightened and waited for him to carefully turn back over. “’Twas verra kind of you to do it.” She pushed him forward gently and fluffed his pillow. “You mentioned that she reminded you of someone you once knew.”
Cailean’s heart stalled. He’d mentioned that?
“Some
one you loved, mayhap?”
He didn’t want to speak of Alison. He didn’t want to remember. But hell, he did remember every day. He wanted peace and he looked to an angel to get it. He didn’t know why she made him want to tell her all, why he thought he could find solace in her arms.
“I—ehm—” Gram snored and his gaze softened on her. Did he want to let go of the stale, bitter shadows of the past? Mayhap. “I was coming to love her.” It was more difficult than he’d imagined. He forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to end the topic of their discussion.
It wasn’t.
“What became of her?” Temperance asked as she sat at the edge of the bed. Her eyes wide, her fist under her chin. Cailean liked seeing her sitting there, comfortable and ready to enjoy her night with him. But he hadn’t mentioned Alison to anyone. Even Patrick barely knew anything about her. He sat up and rested his elbows between his bent knees. No one in Camlochlin had wanted to bring up Sage after she died, and that had been fine with him. Not talking about things kept them away and that’s where he wanted to keep all those raw emotions.
But they were destroying him.
“She was shot on her way into m’ arms, where she…” He paused, unprepared for speaking of her. “Where she died, telling me she was sorry.”
“Oh,” his bonny nurse whispered, lifting her fingers to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and vivid. They drew him to peer closer, to mayhap even fall into their azure depths. Cailean looked away. He didn’t want to fall again.
“I didn’t mean to…,” she began, then paused and tried to begin again. “Forgive me for…”
He held up his hands. He didn’t want her to feel sorry about anything. “There’s nothin’ to fergive. M’ sister-in-law tells me to speak of it, else ’twill eat me from the inside. Turns oot she’s correct.”
She nodded and light shimmered in her misty gaze. “Aye,” she agreed in the barest of whispers. “I can see it in your eyes.”