Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
T he arduous days of searching for Malcolm had seemed to take their toll on Eamon and his men. The relentless pursuit, the weather, which had turned rainy and windy and the constant battle against fatigue had seemed to leave them battered and weary. Catherine could see that their need for rest was undeniable, and finally, Cam relented and granted them a respite that allowed them to return closer to home after being gone more than a week.
Eamon's shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of responsibility. Catherine knew he had been relentless in his determination to apprehend Malcolm, but she could see the toll it had taken on him and his men. Some were coughing, others were pale with fever, and could barely stand. Catherine couldn't help but feel a deep worry for their well-being.
As Eamon neared, she could see the shadows under his eyes, the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Yet, he carried himself with a rugged determination, refusing to show any sign of weakness in front of her.
"Eamon, you and your men are in such a state. You need rest and care."
Eamon's lips curved into a wry smile, but his eyes held a weariness that betrayed his rugged exterior. "Aye, lass. We've been through worse."
Catherine's brows furrowed in frustration. "That doesn't mean you should neglect your health. It's not a sign of weakness to admit when you need help."
Eamon's gaze met hers. "Catherine, there's much to be done. The clan relies on us."
She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle yet firm. "And you can't help them if you're not well yourself. You need food, and rest before you catch pneumonia.” She tugged on him trying to get him to go with her.
There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he finally nodded and started moving with her. "Aye, you're right. I'm in your care, then."
With that, Catherine led him toward the castle, her heart swelling with affection.
Catherine got Eamon into his room and then waited as he changed into a long linen shirt and got beneath the bed linens. While she was outside his door, she’d asked Sally to bring up some stew for him as well as some cool water both for him to drink as well as for her to use to bring his fever down. She’d noticed while helping him up the stairs that his skin was warm to the touch.
Sally had done as she asked, returning with all of that as well as some herbs to alleviate his symptoms. She also built a fire in the hearth as it hadn’t been done yet, and told Catherine to send for her if she needed anything else.
Catherine spent the next two days nursing him, getting his fever to break and making sure he rested and ate when necessary. She was busy wringing out the cloth when he woke up.
"Ye're truly committed to caring for me, aren't you?" Eamon said, his voice still raspy from illness.
Catherine turned around and smiled, her eyes softening with concern. "Of course, Eamon. I can't just stand by and watch you suffer."
He reached out and touched her hand, the simple gesture conveyed his gratitude as he held hers. "Thank you, Catherine. You've a kind heart."
However, their harmonious atmosphere shifted when a casual conversation took an unexpected turn. As Catherine poured him another cup of herbal tea, she said, “I’m glad you are appreciative of it. Some men are resistant of seeking help when they need it.”
Eamon's brows knitted together, his tone defensive. "And what's wrong with that? A man should be able to take care of himself."
Catherine's expression turned incredulous. "But why suffer needlessly when help is available?"
"Because it's a matter of pride. We're men, Catherine. We're nae meant to be coddled like wee ones."
“You’re being ridiculous, Eamon,” Catherine said, her hands on her hips in frustration. She’d barely slept over the last two days trying to take care of him and her nerves were frayed to begin with.
Eamon stared at her mulishly. "I'd prefer to be alone if it means keeping my pride intact."
Catherine, hurt by his words and the way he dismissed her efforts, huffed and stormed out of the room, leaving Eamon to stew in his own stubbornness.
Alone in the hallway, Catherine felt hurt by his dismissal, and a simmering frustration that their connection had been marred by a difference in perspective. As she walked away, her steps heavy with unspoken thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder if her dreams of love in this unfamiliar time were destined to be dashed by the very realities that separated them.
In the days that followed her disagreement with Eamon, Sir Kellan's attentions only grew more pronounced, despite Catherine trying to dissuade him from doing so. He courted Catherine with his eloquent words, read her books of poetry and gifted her small tokens of affection. Each gesture was carefully calculated to enchant her, she knew that, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop him because she felt as though she and Eamon were through.
One afternoon, as they sat by the loch, Kellan's fingers brushed against hers as he handed her a delicate wildflower he had plucked from the meadow. His eyes, pale blue like the loch's waters, held an intensity that made Catherine wary.
“You’re a lovely woman, Catherine,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes.
Catherine stared at him wishing he was Eamon and feeling guilty for doing that when Eamon wanted nothing to do with her. Sir Kellan leaned in for a kiss. Catherine didn’t move, but let it happen. It was sweet and innocent, yet she felt nothing like she did when Eamon kissed her.
As quickly as it began, Catherine pulled away, guilt coursing through her because she didn’t feel for him what he apparently felt for her. "I... I should be going," she stammered, feeling flustered as she jumped to her feet.
Kellan chuckled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You've a way of always leaving me wanting more, lass."
Catherine managed a nervous smile, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She excused herself, hurrying back to the castle with her heart pounding in her chest.
In the safety of her room, she sank onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. She felt as though she’d betrayed Eamon, even though it seemed Eamon no longer wanted to have anything to do with her. He’d said his pride was more important than her. So why couldn’t she enjoy Sir Kellan’s advances? Those thoughts caused her to burst into tears that didn’t subside until she eventually fell into a restless sleep.
As the days went on, Catherine found herself avoiding Kellan as much as Eamon—not that it was hard to avoid him when he was back out on patrol, but her mind was in a constant state of turmoil over the two of them.
Her heart and body longed for Eamon, but feeling that he’d rejected her, she wondered if she should open her heart to Sir Kellan. He at least had remained steadfast in his pursuit of her. Maybe she’d been wrong to think of him as a frat boy only looking for one thing? She just didn’t know anymore.