Chapter 25
With Cohen gone, Darragh had the entire afternoon to himself.
His days started at nine, two hours later than usual. He enjoyed a nice warm bath, which lasted an hour after the thirty minutes he took to pull himself out of bed and undo his bandages.
It was eleven by the time he was dressed and ready to start the day. Breakfast called for him, but he decided a day of laziness was warranted and called for a tray. Meals were noticeably more enjoyable when one’s mother wasn’t fussing over impertinent details, like well-being and such.
His mother had been aghast when she found him in Talia’s workroom yesterday. She had spent lunch and dinner pestering him about his ability to eat on his own, which he thought unnecessary, considering he was performing the action with dexterity.
Cohen had informed him that he would be visiting the blacksmith that afternoon, as he had requested, and would then pay a visit to the gatehouse, where he intended to interrogate the guards about suspicious persons visiting the keep. Until he returned, there was nothing to do.
The dogs were not successful in tracking the culprit. Oil was such a commonly used resource, and the hounds were having trouble pinpointing any peculiarity. Their search was limited to the grounds. When the dogs failed, they took a different approach.
The arsonist had shot haphazardly, which meant he hadn’t had a clear view of the stables, but had been at a distance where the arrows could carry. The parish’s belfry offered both a view that justified the shots and a plausible distance.
Upon investigation, the minister had informed them that no visitor had been received at that time. Another dead end.
Darragh finished eating by noon and then resolved to find Talia.
The door to her workroom was ajar when he arrived. He found her leaning over her desk, her lips pursed in concentration. He stole into the room, keeping his footfalls quiet. He hadn’t realized then that he was about to give her the fright of her life.
She rose half mindedly and turned round, then screamed. It was a surprise she did not drop the vial in her hand. He rushed to her, intending to comfort her. But she did not let him touch her. Instead, she drove her fist into his shoulder in resentment.
“Ye frightened me.”
He smiled apologetically. Still, she kept him at arm’s length.
“I didnae mean to.”
He could not fault her apprehension when his shoulders had begun shaking with laughter. She slammed another indignant fist over his heart. This time, he doubled over, clinging to his shoulder as he howled in pain.
“Me love,” she cried, rushing to him. “Pardon me, I forgot about yer wound. Does it hurt so much?”
Darragh enjoyed the way she wrapped her slender arms around him and led him to the cot reserved for her patients. Until his head touched the downy pillow, he did not relent.
“I havenae checked on ye all morning.”
“I have also been remiss.” He held on to her forearm like a man on his deathbed about to proclaim his valedictions.
Such theatrics seemed to tug on her heartstrings. She cuddled him as one would a wounded kitten.
“Ye are me patient—”
“And ye are me lover.”
Darragh knew he had won with that. She gave him space to rise, then he took her hands and pulled her between his legs. He wanted to kiss her, but her gaze was fixed on her shoes, her cheeks flushed.
“What have ye been up to?”
“The vet gave me a list of medicines to make for the horses.”
“Then I have to thank ye for takin’ care of me assets.”
Perfect, she was looking at him now.
“How do ye intend to do that?”
“Like this.” He pressed a peck to her lips. “And maybe like this.” Then another, before he deepened the kiss.
She sighed into his mouth and let her weight rest against him. He released her hands and cupped her face, kissing her harder.
Emboldened, her fingers snaked up his back and settled on the nape of his neck, before raking through his hair. Her grip was tight, keeping his mouth on hers. A bolt of pleasure shot down his spine.
She stroked his neck, and a thrill of pleasure rushed through him. She shouldn’t be so good at this. She shouldn’t be dominating his senses. His body responded hard, his cock jerking to life.
She loosened her grip on his hair and traced his forearm until her fingers fell into the gaps between his, then she was intertwining their hands while he held her face.
Now, if the hand on his back inched down just a little, then a little more, then a little more—
She pulled away from him and stared down at his hands.
Right, he should have wrapped them in bandages. The skin was pinched, but was healing nicely. Two days from now, it would look as though he had never been burned.
“Where is the gauze I put on yer hands?”
Her glare was the most arousing part of the afternoon. He liked it when she used that authoritative voice with him. His senses were still addled by that searing kiss, so it took him a moment to clear his mind and steady his breathing.
“I took them off.”
“On whose orders?”
“I couldnae enjoy me bath.”
“If ye were havin’ trouble with washin’ yerself, ye should have asked me for assistance.”
Under different circumstances, he would have taken her statement as an invitation to an afternoon of sensual pleasure, but when she was in her workroom, she became a different person. Sober.
“I ken. I am sorry.” It helped that she had not dropped his hands. He pulled her close and grabbed her hips. “I am fine now, I promise.”
As the healer, she did not want to believe anything other than her diagnoses, but as his fiancée… Well, she would have treated unfamiliar patients with more sternness.
“I want to take ye somewhere today.”
By her exasperated sigh, he knew he had won.
The stream stretched on longer than it appeared. It went on for miles, cutting through the moors and rocky woodlands, and ended in a waterfall that fell into the ocean.
Talia could not have known this. Not many people from the clan had traveled so far into the moors to discover this. It was better that way, as the ocean, which was more of a beach, bordered MacTarvish lands.
They passed by the ruins of the stables, and Darragh felt the scar across his back tingle.
“Do ye ken what caused the fire?”
He had not told her about the attack on purpose.
“Daenae worry yerself.” He tried for a calming smile, but he quickly realized it was the wrong approach.
“Why nae? Ye took yer sword with ye, which ye never do, so this is something I have to worry about.” They had stopped walking. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I havenae had to treat an arrow wound until yesterday. Were we attacked?”
He was beginning to understand that his betrothed was no pushover.
“It’s—it’s nothing so serious.”
He told her as much as he knew, leaving out the part about the suspect. That much she didn’t need to know.
She looked more aggravated after he finished speaking, which he soon learned was not empathy.
“Where ye truly intending to keep something like that from me? I am yer future wife, the future lady of the clan. We cannae have secrets like this between us.”
“I understand.”
They continued the trek.
“Do ye have any idea who it could be?”
He hesitated. Could he lie again to her face? What if she caught on?
“Nay.”
He watched for her reaction. She looked behind her, where the ruins faded into the background, her expression blank.
“I sent Cohen to investigate a lead,” he added.
He could tell her about the arrows if she inquired further.
“What is yer plan now? Ye cannae keep the horses in the paddock forever.”
“Until I rebuild the stables, they will be kept in the village stables. Farmer Hendry also has a shack that can house four horses.” He shrugged his shoulder instinctively.
He should have been shackled by the new weight thrust upon him.
But his joints rolled and glided without strain, and his spine was as straight as a rod.
The thought of restoring his castle no longer stirred dread.
In fact, he looked forward to undertaking new endeavors, anticipating their result earnestly.
“Talia, would ye like to redesign the stables?”
She cringed instantly. “I daenae have an architectural bone in me body.”
He offered an encouraging smile. “I believe ye can do it.”
What better way to introduce her as the lady of the clan than by giving her the first project?
She sighed. For now, the conversation had ended, but he would bring it up again.
“Have ye met Daisy yet?”
That seemed to pique her interest.
“That little brat? She keeps nuzzling me hair.” She raked her fingers through her tresses and examined them as if expecting to find proof.
“She likes the way ye smell.”
“Well, I daenae like being bald. I shall stay away from her forever,” she said resolutely.
“That’s too bad,” he muttered.
He would have to figure something out about their riding lessons.
Talia walked ahead of him now. The path had become more rocks than packed dirt, and she found it easier to navigate the outcrop than to cling to his arm and watch her feet.
Her skirt was bundled in her hands, revealing white velvet slippers. She looked over her shoulder, positively distraught. “Where are we going?”
Her white slippers were turning a murky brown. If they happened to be wool-lined, she was about to have a very uncomfortable time.
“Have ye ever considered an outdoor wedding?”
He caught her as her ankle twisted on a slope; she had been looking at him when her feet slid into the rocky dimple. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest.
He thought she would be a little vexed, but the near fall seemed to amuse her. She broke free from his hold and jogged ahead. Her steps were no longer tentative or calculated. Now that the worst was over, she was worry-free. She looked like she was enjoying herself, lifting her skirt and beaming.
Was that a skip? Perhaps the near fall triggered childish whims that had been buried deep.