Highland Surrender (14 page)

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Authors: Dawn Halliday

BOOK: Highland Surrender
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“Are you referring to what happened between you and Sorcha MacDonald? What did you do to make Alan duel with you?” Ceana tried to picture the earl pursuing the very pregnant and very happily married Sorcha, but the image was not forthcoming.
“I kidnapped her.”
She raised her brows.
“I knocked down their door, snatched her naked from her marriage bed, and brought her here. To my bedchamber.”
Ceana fought to keep her jaw from dropping. Keeping her breaths steady, she gently pulled the bandage from behind his shoulder. In truth, the wound shouldn’t need cleaning today. It was an excuse to stay with him longer. To have him to herself.
“What happened?”
“She denied me. For the first time.”
At that, she did look at him. “You’d been lovers.”
“Yes.”
“But she wouldn’t have you after she married Alan.”
“No . . . not for . . . Well, no. Not really,” he said uncomfortably. “She escaped from me. Alan nearly killed me before he went to Sherrifmuir. And now we have all come round full circle.” He stared at the wooden beams in the ceiling, his gaze turning wistful. “I’m glad they found happiness together.”
“And now it is your turn.” Rocking back, Ceana studied his lips, resisted the urge to trace them with her fingertip.
“Is it?”
“Of course.”
“I must be a good leader. I must marry Elizabeth. But”—his eyes, dark and full of longing, locked onto hers—“Ceana, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Ceana drew in a measured breath. “You mustn’t think anything of me. I’m only a simple country healer. That is all I can be to you.”
“I know that.”
Again, she felt that dart in her chest, and a part of her acknowledged that she’d wanted him to argue with her. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted him to fight for her.
She yearned for his regard. She cared for him.
No
. Impossible. She’d warned Rob against a similar folly last night, and in her case, the folly would be even greater.
“Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t Elizabeth occupy my every thought?”
“I don’t know.” Ceana spoke the words she knew she must, but they emerged without intonation. “Your betrothed
should
occupy your every thought.”
“She doesn’t. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s a lovely girl.”
“Aye, and perfect for someone of your rank too.” Again, Ceana took a deep breath. She hated this, but it was absolutely necessary. “She is a true lady.”
Cam shook his head, and grooves formed in his brow. “I thought the people would admire her as I do, but instead they hold themselves aloof.”
“She’s English. People are distrustful of the English. As they well should be.”
“But Elizabeth? She’s all innocence and sweetness. Surely they can see that?”
“Outwardly, she is perfection, but she also holds herself aloof. She doesn’t give away her true nature to anyone.”
His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“Like most people, she is more complex than she appears.”
“Do you think so?”
“Aye. I know it.”
“She is the niece of an English duke.” Cam frowned. “I wonder at times why she agreed to marry a bucolic little Scottish earl, why her uncle agreed to the betrothal.”
Ceana snorted. “I’d hardly call you bucolic. And little . . . ?”
Before she could stop herself, her gaze wandered down his long body, pausing at the bulge between his legs. Unable to quell the ridiculous heat creeping across her cheeks—for heaven’s sake, she was behaving like a virginal maid—she wrenched her gaze to his shoulder. “Your wound looks well. I’ll rewrap it. Tell me if it begins to pain you.”
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.

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