Chapter 3 #2
Rose didn’t know how long she stood there.
Dumhnull stayed with her, not urging her to leave nor speaking, a solid, comforting presence.
Her chest felt hollowed out, her mind empty.
She didn’t know what to do now. Her father would die.
Everyone died. Rose knew that, but she needed her father alive and well.
There were things she needed to say to him but could not when he was so ill, could not in good conscience tell him when he was so close to death.
And now it appeared she might never have the chance.
“I must go,” she said numbly, handing the tankard to Dumhnull and turning away from the fire. “My father needs me.”
“You should rest before undertaking another such journey so soon after the last. I cannot believe you came here alone.” He exhaled loudly. “Wallace will return with you.”
Rose swiped a hand across her eyes and gave a strangled laugh. “Aren’t you in enough trouble over me? I’ll be fine.”
He stared down at her, brow creased with intense concern, as if she’d somehow become his responsibility and he was in a conundrum as to what to do with her.
“You tried to warn me,” she reassured him. “I didn’t listen. Thank you for your kindness, but you’ve done enough. I can take care of myself.”
This did nothing to alleviate his disquiet. He looked so troubled that she forced a quavery smile.
“You worry too much.” She raised a hand and touched his hair, threaded liberally with silver. “You have too much gray for one so young.”
He grew very still. When she met his gaze, it had changed.
His face was taut, his brilliant eyes intense as they stared into hers.
She was momentarily frozen, held breathless by his eyes.
She dropped her hand abruptly. Why would she touch a man she barely knew in such a familiar manner?
She turned away, shaken by the way he still stared at her and her own urge to lay hands on him.
“I must go. Thank you.” She turned and hurried toward the end of the hall.
She was crossing the courtyard when she heard his swift steps behind her. “Where are you going? The gatehouse is that way.”
“I know, but I left my things outside the postern door.”
He did not reply to that but stayed beside her, so she could only conclude he meant to make certain she did leave. But once outside the door, a guard closed and bolted it behind them both. Rose held her bundle in her arms and frowned up at Dumhnull.
“You are unlike any groom I’ve ever known.”
“Have you known a great many?”
“I’m a healer, remember? Grooms have a nasty habit of getting kicked and stepped on and sometimes even bitten by their charges.”
“Ah,” he said, and she thought she detected a hint of a smile. He took her bundle from her and began to walk. The berm was wide enough for two, so Rose fell into step beside him.
“I suppose I don’t seem like a groom because…I’m not really one.”
She looked at him cautiously, putting more space between them. “You’re not?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I am…sometimes. I’m related to Strathwick…and we’re friends.”
“Oh,” Rose breathed, nodding. “I knew there was something more there. You don’t have the…presence of a servant. So you’re not in terrible trouble.” She looked up at him. “I’m glad.”
He looked away, his mouth a stern, hard line.
Did this man ever smile? She studied him as they walked.
He kept the pace sedate, unlike when he’d led her through the castle.
She inhaled the scent of rain and earth, strong after the storm.
They walked for several minutes in silence but for the muted sound of their footsteps and a distant dripping.
His presence calmed and comforted her. Was he a bastard son?
She saw the resemblance to the MacKay chief in the black hair, the eyes, the fine, strong bones of his face, but the resemblance ended there.
Dumhnull was clearly older, but it was more than silvered hair.
It was something about him, world-weary and wise. Something that drew her dangerously.
“Why do you keep trying to help me, Dumhnull?”
He shook his head, seemingly perplexed by his own actions. “I know not.”
Rose thought she knew but didn’t offer up her opinions.
Though she’d only met the groom the night before, she’d liked him immediately, and a bit more than was wise for a woman betrothed.
Not only that, but he was a groom, and a bastard if she read his meaning correctly, and she thought she did.
A hopeless attraction, nevertheless strong and undeniable.
She’d indulged in such a doomed affair once before, and had learned her lesson; there would be no repeat of that folly here.
He stopped at the bridge, staring out at the gray, misty morning and the villagers emerging from their cottages.
“I can take you no further.” He did not hand over her bundle.
She looked up at him expectantly. It seemed as if he couldn’t look at her. He stared hard at the village with penetrating blue eyes that seemed to pierce the stone cottage walls and see the inhabitants within.
“I’m sorry you came all this way for naught,” he said.
She shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”
He exhaled impatiently, looking skyward for a moment. “I feel as if I should have been able to do more.”
Rose placed her hand on his arm, drawing his gaze to her.
“I always feel that way. That’s why I’m here.
All for naught it seems. Wasted time away from my father when his time is so short.
” She sighed. “But I don’t suppose I would have done anything different had Lord Strathwick written back and said no.
For some reason I felt that if I could just speak to him he would say aye.
But he’s not the man I thought he’d be—or hoped he’d be. But I had to know, and now I do.”
He stared down at her, his beautiful gaze moving over her upturned face. “You’re so much bonnier than I expected.”
Rose started to smile, but it quickly turned to a frown. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head and looked away, thrusting her bundle at her. “From the letters. He read them to me sometimes. You were different in most of them.”
Rose clasped the bundle to her chest, her mouth falling open. “He read them to you? So he could mock me?” Her face flushed as she turned an evil glare on the castle. “I cannot believe he mocked my letters!”
His brows flew upward in bewilderment. “Did I say he mocked you?”
“Why else would he read them aloud? I met him—I know what he’s like!
” She closed her eyes, mortified, trying to remember all the things she’d written, but her mind fixated on one letter, the one she’d poured her heart into and still had not managed to move him.
“How many others did he entertain with my folly?” she muttered, face aflame.
She didn’t wait for his answer. “I must go!” She whirled away, running across the bridge, not stopping until she reached the blacksmith’s cottage.
At the door she looked back. He still stood at the bridge, staring after her.
That had not gone at all as he’d planned.
Not that he’d had any sort of plan in regards to Rose MacDonell.
She’d just barged her way into his life and wouldn’t seem to go away.
Even when she was away. He stared at the cottage she’d disappeared into, his irritation increasing.
Irritation because in his own lands he could not risk crossing the damn bridge to go after her.
Why he had an itch to do that was simply beyond logic.
He was already eliciting curious stares from villagers going about their business.
He spotted a tall man with a thick blond beard.
Allister. He exhaled grimly and returned to the castle.
His people watched him hesitantly, clearly uncertain at this point how to address him.
He did not spend time enlightening them.
Once in his own chambers, he still found no peace.
His brother sat behind the desk, letter in hand. The wooden box sat open.
Drake smiled guiltily. “The mulled wine was very good, thank you. I’d never guess you’d never made it before.”
“I didn’t make it then, either.”
William crossed the room and snatched the letter from Drake’s hand. He folded it carefully, glowering at his brother.
Drake gazed up at him, amused and entirely unabashed.
This only further irritated William. He was inordinately vexed, but in truth, he did not know what he was vexed about, could not pinpoint any one thing.
The way that woman had violated his home was enough to enrage anyone.
But that was not it. Not at all. He was not angry about what she’d done.
Indeed, he understood it. He understood her.
Perhaps that was it—a sense of helplessness at his inability to help her.
That was closer to what vexed him but not it exactly, either.
He wanted to help her, but damnit, he couldn’t. Could he?
Drake leaned back in William’s chair, regarding his brother thoughtfully. “She’s bonny, I’ll give you that. But a damn shrew.”
“She’s not a shrew. She’s desperate. I was her last hope.”
Drake scratched beneath his chin, still regarding William thoughtfully. “I suppose. She’s a wildcat, though, aye? Too bad she thinks I’m you.”
“Why is that?”
Drake leaned back further, propping his feet on William’s desk and crossing them at the ankle. “We never go anywhere anymore, and no one ever comes here—well, at least we don’t allow anyone in.”
“That was your idea,” William pointed out.
“And a fine one it is—things have been far more peaceful around here since we’ve become recluses. But I grow bored of this place. Of these women.”
“I thought you’d set your eye on Betty.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “She insists she’s still married, despite the fact Allister had her driven from the village with stones.” He shook his head, helpless. “Naught I say will loosen her laces.”