Chapter 5 #2
“Did ye expect me to stomp about like a war horse?” He grinned, and the curve of his mouth, exposing pearly white teeth, transformed his face into something even more astonishing. It was as if a lantern had been lit within him, making him radiate a warmth she could not explain.
“Yes, I suppose I did,” she fumbled to reply, as she perched on the edge of the chair, worried that it might give way beneath her.
In kind, Laird Dunn sat down on the floor, though it did little to diminish his imposing presence. Even seated, the top of his head would have reached to Heather’s bosom, had she been standing.
An awkward silence stretched between the two, becoming more awkward as Heather felt the burn of his intense gaze upon her.
A rush of heat moved up from the depths of her fluttering stomach, spreading out across her chest in patches of embarrassed pink.
If she could see the flushed dappling, then he surely could.
Just because he is extraordinary to behold does not mean he is not capable of terrible deeds, she chided herself, knowing she was being na?ve.
“Are ye goin’ to say somethin’, Lass, or are we to spend this encounter in silence?
I daenae mind which, but I would ken in case ye’re seekin’ quiet.
” He broke the silence first, with a note of humor warming up his words and, as a result, the flushing in her chest. By now, it had reached her neck, and would soon infiltrate her cheeks.
Heather stared down into her lap, hoping the shadow of her chin might cover some of the blush.
“I wanted to ask for your account of what occurred,” she said uncertainly.
“I should not have come down here in a state of emotional turmoil, as I did earlier. I like to think that I am a just person, so I would give you a fair trial, here and now.”
She did not mention the things Jemima had spoken about, though they had created the driving force behind her visiting the Laird again. Indeed, she had let her grief get the better of her, when she should have allowed herself to listen. Just in case someone had gotten the situation wrong.
“I shouldn’ae have been so churlish with ye, either,” he conceded. “It wasnae right nor honorable of me to turn me back on ye, when ye’re obviously in great pain.” His fingers extended subtly toward her, as if he wanted to offer comfort. Of course, Heather did not reach out. She would not.
Tears stung at her eyes, for there was a loneliness to being the only daughter of an Earl.
She could not freely unburden herself of her struggles and pains, as she was forever expected to hold her head high and show no emotion.
And, with no mother to hold her or soothe her, or stroke her hair, she lacked a physical comfort that she craved.
One that tormented her, now, as she fixed her gaze on his outstretched hand.
“I didnae kill him, Lass,” he said, so softly it nearly broke her already broken heart.
“I didnae ken him, but when ye heal a man, ye become kin for a while. Also, his last words were spoken to me, and that’s somethin’ I hold in high regard.
I would’ve helped to bury him with nothin’ but honor and respect in me heart, if yer faither hadnae accused me like I was naught but a common brute. ”
Heather’s eyes met his. “He spoke his last words to you?”
“Aye, Lass.” Laird Dunn smiled sadly.
“What… did he say?” Heather’s insides clenched, for she was not sure she actually wanted to know.
What if they were painful? What if they were desperately sad?
What if he had pleaded for their mother, as she knew men sometimes did when they were on the brink of death?
Worse still, what if the next words out of Laird Dunn’s mouth were a lie?
The Laird scooped his hair back off his face.
“He wasnae makin’ much sense, but his fever was ragin’, so I didnae expect it would.
At first, he thought he was already dead, which isnae a good omen.
” He paused. “I gave him watered ale to quench his thirst, and then he asked after yer faither. I said I’d fetch him, but yer brother ardently refused.
Said he didnae want yer faither to ken somethin’ and that he wasnae sure what was real and what wasnae. ”
The rush of warmth ebbed as Heather concentrated on the story, puzzled by the revelation. “What did he not want my father to know?”
“He wouldn’ae say, in the end. He just kept beggin’ me to save him, then he said…
“He’s killin’ me. He’s killin’ me again.
” I daenae ken who he was talkin’ of, but I’m nae the only one who thinks it’s suspicious.
” Laird Dunn shifted so his back rested against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him.
“He was about to tell me somethin’ when a cough set in.
A bad one, considerin’ the damage to his chest. All I heard of it was “attacked me,” and then he… passed.”
Heather squirmed uncomfortably in her chair as she listened to the tale, trying to hear any hint of deceit in the Laird’s voice.
In truth, she did not want to believe him, but he seemed so very genuine.
His eyes, revealed to be green in the glow of the firelight, were intent and honest. His expression, tense with sorrow and anguish, was not the kind that could be performed.
Nor was the bitter confusion in his tone.
“I’m sorry for yer loss. Sorry I couldn’ae save him.
As a healer, ye cannae save everyone, but I did want to save him,” Laird Dunn added.
“Believe me or daenae, but think on this—why would I lie to ye when yer faither is goin’ to have me killed either way?
Would I nae gloat over it instead? Also, consider why I wouldn’ae have just killed him durin’ the first few hours of me healin’, instead of workin’ meself to exhaustion, without a wink of sleep, to try and keep him alive? ”
Inside her, where her heart beat with life, she somehow knew that he meant everything he had said.
It was not a sensation she understood, feeling trust in a stranger she was supposed to hate, but like the grief and guilt that swirled within her, it would not be denied.
And, for once, it appeared the idle gossip of maids and servants had been grounded in truth.
Something else was going on, but with her brother gone, she wondered if she would ever find out what.
“I think someone wants me dead, Sister.” A memory came back to Heather, half-remembered.
Her brother, confessing that to her as they walked in the grounds.
“I cannot explain it, dear thing, but I believe I am in danger. If you should notice anything strange, or hear anything among the maids, you must inform me.”
How could she have forgotten? Her heart lurched, remembering how she had brushed off her brother’s remark as nothing but nerves, for he had been about to ride away with Cromwell’s army.
How she wished, now, she would have listened more intently to his fears.
Perhaps, that would have made this inner confusion that much easier to wade through.
Indeed, she might have been able to keep him from going altogether.
“I am not saying that I believe you,” she said stubbornly, clasping a hand to her heavy heart. “But if I were to consider your words, what would your suspicion be? If not you, then—”
“I heard a noise, Halston,” a loud voice cut through Heather’s troubled contemplation, jolting her nerves. “I swear to you; I did.”
“The door was locked, you fool. Don’t tell me you’re hearing ghosts again? Only children believe in that sort of thing,” came a second voice, followed by the echo of footsteps coming down the staircase at the very end of the passage.
Heather glanced quickly at the Laird, and whispered, “I will return tomorrow, Laird Dunn.”
“Owen,” he replied, extending his hand to her once more.
Too overwhelmed with panic to think clearly, her hand reached impulsively for his.
His fingers closed around hers in a gentle grip, his palms rough and warm, as if he toiled hard.
The light squeeze gave her a sudden burst of courage, her fingers squeezing back in return before she hurried away from the bars and the mysterious, not-so frightening Scotsman.
Seeking the wooden door opposite, she opened it as carefully as possible and slipped inside, knowing the gaoler would not be here at this hour. Gallagher Castle did not have enough prisoners, ordinarily, to warrant a gaoler who kept watch through the night.
There, she hid herself inside a closet on the far side of the dark, dismal room and prayed the guards would not come looking in there.
If they did, and she was found, she would have a great deal to explain to her father.
Then again, it appeared that he also had a great deal to explain.
Namely, why he was holding an innocent man captive?
She rubbed her palm, where it had touched Owen’s. Or am I truly more na?ve than I think?