Chapter 16
“I am fine, lass. And I suspect that ye are doin’ a good deal better than before,” Creighton observed wryly, trying and failing to calm his breathing.
Desire tore through him, making him shake.
He couldn’t recall the last time that he’d been affected so powerfully by anyone.
The kisses and touches had just been… well, he couldn’t say what they were meant to be, only that he was so relieved that she’d woken up at all, so glad that she wasn’t going to simply slip away, fading into nothing in her bed.
The relief caught him off guard. He didn’t want her to die, of course not, but ultimately, wasn’t she just a means to an end?
This betrothal wasn’t genuine. It was a temporary step toward a peace treaty, nothing more.
He should have stayed away from her bedside, instead of sitting there day and night, watching her and waiting for her to wake.
Thank heavens she wouldn’t find out about that, though. He’d be spared that humiliation at least.
Clearing his throat, Creighton picked up a drying sheet and carefully dried his wet hands. His shirt was soaked, water dripping loudly onto the floor.
I should nae have done that.
His desire refused to be quieted, arousal throbbing through his veins, begging for his attention. Fortunately, he was stronger than his own desires. He always had been, and always would be.
With this pointed thought in mind, Creighton turned back to Nora. She had her knees drawn up to her chest again, wet hair slicked back from her face. Wide-eyed, she watched him with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, obviously uncertain as to what should come next.
“Ye should get out before the water cools,” he stated bluntly. “I daenae want ye to catch a chill.”
She nodded a little too energetically. “Aye, that seems right.”
“Shall I help ye get out and dry yerself off?”
He knew he had to offer, knew that she might still be too weak for this. He was already reaching for the drying sheet when she cleared her throat somewhat awkwardly.
“Nay, thank ye, Creighton. I’m feelin’ stronger, I… I’ll be fine.”
He paused, holding her gaze. Her eyes slipped away from his.
What was that in her eyes? Embarrassment? Confusion? Or just regret? Regret would make a lot of sense. They had already crossed boundaries in their pseudo-betrothal, but this was something else entirely.
Enough, he warned himself. Think about that later.
“Very well,” he said aloud. “I’ll go into the other room while ye dry yerself off. Would ye like to put yer nightdress back on, or a new gown?”
“A new gown, I think. Somethin’ loose and comfortable.”
He nodded, letting his gaze slide away from hers. Without another word, he stepped out of the washroom, keeping his back turned.
She appeared about ten minutes later. Creighton had returned his chair to its usual place, well away from the bed.
His equilibrium had mostly returned, and the desire had faded to a manageable level.
It threatened to stoke up again at the sight of her, with her fresh, damp hair and glowing skin.
However, he powered through it, flashing a tight-lipped smile.
“They’re bringin’ food for ye,” he stated. “It will be here soon. Many people in the Keep are glad that ye are recoverin’. Ye have already made a good impression.”
This seemed to surprise her. Her eyebrows flew up toward her hairline. “I didnae think I was so well-liked.”
“This place is full of surprises,” Creighton responded with a wry grin. “I am glad ye are well, because I need to be away for a few days. If ye had died when I wasnae here, I would have had Laird Bryden accusin’ me of arrangin’ yer death.”
He punctuated this with a wry laugh, to show that he didn’t really care.
The laughter rang hollow. The truth was, he should have left yesterday, but had put off the journey to wait for her recovery.
The thought of Nora dying, slipping away when he was not here—perhaps being poisoned a second time, without him there to watch carefully over her—made him feel queasy.
It made his stomach tighten with fury and panic, made him want to draw his sword and start swinging at nothing.
But that was a good way to expend one’s energy uselessly, so he drew in a long breath and forced himself to be calm.
Nora didn’t seem to have noticed his tension.
She was still moving carefully, undoubtedly still weak and uncertain from her long rest, but there was a spring in her step, a brightness which he knew came from one of two things—a hot bath, or a climax.
In her case, it was likely both. He watched her move around the room, already at home in her new surroundings, slipping open drawers and rifling around in them.
“I think Laird Bryden would be wary to accuse ye of that,” she stated lightly.
“Ye think nae? A mysterious poisonin’? Come on, lass, it’s classic. And while I fully intend to catch the perpetrator, the fact remains that I have not yet found the perpetrator.”
“Where are ye goin’? I could come with ye. I could use the opportunity to expand the search for me sister, perhaps consider…”
“Nay,” he interrupted firmly. She paused, briefly taken aback, and glanced quickly up at him. There was a flash of reproach in her eyes, quickly hidden.
Creighton shifted, crossing one ankle over the other. He would not allow himself to be affected by her disappointment. Her reproach had no impact on him, none at all. He cleared his throat and waited for her inevitable response.
“And where is it that ye are goin’?” she continued, after a moment’s affronted pause.
“To visit me cousin and me aunt. Me cousin, as I think I’ve said, is Laird MacCrimmon. It was his sister, Skye, who went with yer Laird Bryden.”
“He’s not me Laird Bryden. In fact,” she added thoughtfully, “Now he’s hers.”
Creighton’s eyebrows flickered, and he decided not to offer any opinions on this comment.
“Well, that is where I’m goin’,” he said, after a moment. “We have clan matters to discuss. I might leave Laurie to stay with them for a few days.”
“Clan matters?”
He paused, wondering if it would be wise to keep this matter from her.
Nay, he decided. The truth will come out one way or another. Best to start as we mean to go on.
“Ye said that Laird Bryden would never accuse us of havin’ ye killed,” Creighton said aloud.
“Ye are wrong. Ye were poisoned three days ago, and news of the event reached Clan Bryden within one day. I have had Bryden envoys here, accusin’ me of havin’ ye killed.
Or of tryin’ to have ye killed, at least. I explained as best I could… ”
“And did Evander believe ye?” Nora burst out. She’d stopped rifling through drawers and was instead staring at him in dismay.
“I daenae ken,” Creighton answered, honestly enough. “I hope that he did, but at any rate, things are uncertain now. It’s wise nae to take anythin’ for granted. If me treaty with Clan Bryden falls through, I must ensure me cousin’s support. We must be prepared for war.”
War. That awful word made Creighton tighten his jaw. More bloodshed, more expense, more uncertainty, more pain. He hated it, hated it. He’d do whatever he could to avoid it. Paying a visit to his cousin and aunt was a small price to pay in exchange for some security.
“Well,” Nora said slowly, taking a step forward. “If ye wish to convince the Highlands that ye did nae arrange me death, which I ken ye did nae, by the way, ye would never have risked puttin’ poison in Laurie’s shortbread—then do ye really think it’s wise to leave me behind?”
Creighton lifted an eyebrow. “Thank ye for yer faith in me. And as to that, what exactly do ye mean about leavin’ ye behind?”
She shrugged. “Well, I’ll be here alone. Tired. Sick. Sad.”
He rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “Daenae be ridiculous. Ye cannae possibly imagine that travelin’ across the Highlands would be better for yer health than remainin’ here.”
“I didnae say it was. I said it was the look of the thing. If ye take me with ye, then ye are showin’ everybody that ye are watchin’ over me. Besides, I am yer betrothed.”
He groaned aloud, pacing over to the window. “Everybody kens that betrothal is nae real.”
“I did nae say that it was real. I said that all this was about the look of the thing,” she argued, with a surprising vigor for a woman who was unconscious only an hour or so ago.
Heaving a sigh, Creighton stared out of the window.
The sky was dark by now, the last streaks of light gone altogether.
The day had been heavy and cloudy, and tomorrow was likely to be just as miserable.
Traveling wasn’t necessarily difficult, as long as there was no rain.
Rain bogged down the roads, making travel troublesome and dangerous if not blankly impossible.
In bad weather, a horse and rider might scarcely be able to travel from town to town, let alone a little girl and a weakened woman in a carriage.
“Are ye listenin’ to me?” Nora prompted, when he apparently took too long to respond. “I am nae tryin’ to nag, or complain for complaining’s sake, I just…”
“I didnae think that ye were.”
With the darkness outside the window and the flickering light in the room behind him, all Creighton could see now was his own reflection, silhouette in the black glass.
He watched Nora step up behind him. She looked at him uncertainly, and at one point reached up as if to touch his shoulder.
His whole body tensed, bracing for the touch.
But she hesitated, then let her fingers curl back into a fist. Her hand dropped, and Creighton exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Disappointment flooded through him, a sharp and uncomfortable realization. He didn’t want to be disappointed that she hadn’t touched him. He didn’t want…
He stopped thinking. Worrying too much about what one wanted or didn’t want was a sure way of ensuring that you got nothing.