Chapter Eight
Rose rubbed her eyes. The little dots she’d marked on the map blurred and swam. She’d met with Beatrice and Maggie again earlier in the evening and now there were more markers on the map. Still she could see no pattern.
With a sigh, she pushed it away. It was late. Outside the window, all was black and the only illumination in the little study came from a single candle perched in a holder on the edge of the table.
“Time for bed,” she told herself. “You can pick this up in the morning.”
She hated the delay. Who was to say how many more people would get sick in that time? How many others would have to pay for her lack of progress?
But there was nothing she could do. She was so tired she could barely think straight and in her current state who could say she wouldn’t miss a vital clue?
She heaved herself up. Picking up the candle holder and shielding the flame with one hand, she let herself out.
The corridors of the castle were eerie at night, lit only intermittently by candles in sconces along the walls.
She made her way through the keep until she reached the staircase that led up to the guest wing. Here, she paused. The door to the great hall lay on her left and it was slightly ajar. Firelight glowed within. Perhaps she wasn’t the last person awake after all.
She stuck her head around the door and peered inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The tables and benches had been cleaned down and the floor swept but a fire still burned in the hearth, casting warmth and light through the room.
A figure was sitting by the fire, sprawled in a chair, staring into the flames.
From this distance the figure was nothing more than a silhouette, but even so, Rose recognized Cailean. Nobody else in the castle was as big as he was. His eyes were fixed on the dancing flames. A bottle dangled from one hand.
She ought to go to bed. She ought to turn around, hurry up the stairs, and leave Cailean to his thoughts. But she didn’t. He’d been on her mind all afternoon.
So instead of retreating, she stepped silently into the hall. Her shoes made no sound on the flagstones as she wove through the tables and approached the fireplace.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”
Cailean whirled at the sound of her voice. In a flash, he was on his feet, dagger in hand.
Rose swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on the glinting metal so close to her face.
Cailean’s eyes widened as he realized it was her. He tucked the dagger back into his belt.
“Rose?” he growled. “What are ye doing here? Ye shouldnae sneak up on me like that! I could have hurt ye.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Rose replied. Jeez, how did somebody so big move so fast? “I won’t make that mistake again, believe me. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“My… my apologies,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I hadnae realized anyone else was still awake.”
He slumped back into the chair, indicating for Rose to take the other. She lowered herself into it, enjoying the warmth that washed over her from the fire. Cailean stared in the flames, saying nothing. After a moment, he took another swig from the bottle.
“Drinking alone, eh? Never a good sign.”
His dark eyes flicked to her. “Nay, never a good sign,” he agreed, his words slurring slightly. He was, she realized, a little drunk. Several empty bottles were scattered on the floor around him, enough to knock most people out.
He held the bottle out to her. “Drink?”
She reached out and took it. “Thought you’d never ask.” Setting the bottle to her lips, she took a large gulp. And then nearly choked as her throat lit on fire.
“Ugh. You could have warned me it was whisky!”
He raised an eyebrow. “This is Scotland. What else did you expect it to be?”
Okay, he had her there. With a shrug, she took another long gulp. This time she managed not to choke and almost enjoyed the warm feeling that settled in her stomach.
“What are you still doing up?” she asked him.
“I could ask the same question of ye.”
She took another swig of whisky. “Working. I lost track of time. How about you?”
Firelight danced in his dark eyes as he watched her. He was utterly still, most of him hidden in shadow. “Do ye ever wish ye could have yer time over and do things differently?” he asked.
Rose snorted. “All the time. If I had a penny for every mistake I’ve made, I’d be a very rich woman.”
His lips curled in a wry smile. “Mistakes? A MacFinnan spellweaver? I dinna believe it.”
Oh, you’d better, Rose thought. Because my life is full of them.
Thoughts of Dennis suddenly crowded into her mind. She had barely thought about him at all since she’d come here, nor the wreckage of their marriage. But now she couldn’t help herself.
If she could have her time over like Cailean said, would she have done things differently? Would she have given more time to her marriage and tried harder to make it work?
She took another swig of whisky. Already, she was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. She normally avoided alcohol, and she knew drinking strong spirits was not a good idea. But she didn’t care. The oblivion that drink could provide suddenly seemed very enticing.
Cailean had gone back to staring at the fire. There was something in his hand and he was turning it over and over without even seeming to realize what he was doing.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Cailean looked at her and then down to the object. It was a silver brooch in the shape of a lily, its gilded edges catching the firelight. He didn’t answer for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to speak at all.
“It was my wife’s.”
Rose sucked in a little breath. “Oh. Mable told me what happened to her. I’m sorry, Cailean.”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “Dinna be. It was a long time ago.”
Not so long that it doesn’t still cut you up inside, she thought.
His dark eyes found hers. “How come ye are not married, lass?”
She winced. She fidgeted on her seat. “I was,” she said at last.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ye lost yer husband?”
She shook her head, not wanting to him to misunderstand. “Divorced. He’s still alive—but he’s gone all the same.”
Cailean studied her. She saw no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. “Perhaps that is worse. After all, death is not a choice.”
She nodded, surprised by the insight. “Perhaps. It was all so clinical when it ended. Like closing a bank account.”
Why was she telling him this? She’d not even discussed this with Elise so why was she opening up to Cailean MacNeil as though she’d known him for years?
The whisky, she told herself. You know it wasn’t a good idea. She glanced at the bottle that she still held in her hand.
“Ugh. I’m too old to be drinking this stuff.”
“Old? Hardly. And besides, it’s medicinal.”
“Is that right? Perhaps I’ll add it to my treatments. If nothing else, it will make my patients more pliable.” Rose stretched her legs out towards the fire, warmth curling around her ankles. “Remind me never to drink with a Highlander. You folks don’t know moderation.”
“Or perhaps we just have regrets to drown.”
His words landed heavily between them. Rose took another swig from the bottle then passed it back to Cailean. “I’ll drink to that.”
He took it and raised it to her in salute. “Here’s to regrets.”
“And on that note, I think it’s time I went to bed,” Rose said. She climbed to her feet and staggered, her head suddenly spinning so much she had to steady herself on the back of the chair.
Cailean rose easily, not staggering at all, despite the amount he’d already put away. “Careful, lass. Falling flat on yer face on this floor isnae pleasant. Believe me, I talk from experience.”
“I’m fine,” Rose said, waving a hand. “I’m not drunk.”
Cailean just raised an eyebrow.
“Fine! Maybe I’m a little tipsy but I’m perfectly capable of walking, thank you very much.”
To prove her point, she pushed away from the chair back and began walking towards the door. The floor lurched alarmingly and her head swam. Oh, hell!
She put out a hand to steady herself on one of the tables, but missed, and went sprawling. But before she face-planted into the unforgiving flagstones, strong arms went around her and lifted her back to her feet.
She found herself looking up at Cailean. His big hands were gripping her hips and as he set her back on her feet, he did not let her go. To steady herself, she placed her palms against his chest, feeling the contours of his pecs beneath his linen shirt.
Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “Not a word,” she said. “MacFinnan spellweavers do not get drunk. And they certainly don’t need help to stand from handsome lairds.”
“Handsome, eh?” Cailean said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Peeling one of her hands from his chest, Rose poked him with a finger. It was like poking granite. “Don’t let it go to yer head, buster.”
“I wouldnae dream of it.”
The flames in the fireplace cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the contours of his cheekbones and the gleam of his eyes. She found her gaze tracing down his face and coming to rest on his lips. They were full and smooth, parted slightly.
What would it be like to kiss those lips? Would they feel as silky as they looked?
“Rose.” Cailean breathed her name softly and the sound of it sent a shiver right through her. Something sparked in his eyes as he looked down at her and for a second—just a second—she wanted to kiss him more than anything in the world.
He dipped his head slightly and she thought he was going to do just that. But in the next instant, he lifted his chin and took a deep breath, as though getting a grip on himself.
It broke the spell. Rose stepped back, putting space between them. “I… um… good night, Cailean.”
He watched her for a moment, his face half in shadow. “Good night, Rose.”
Before she could do something stupid, she turned and staggered from the room. She managed to make her way up to her chamber where she fell into bed fully clothed and sank into grateful oblivion.