Chapter 18
Cameron resurrected Sunny’s fire as quietly as possible, then rubbed his arms as he made his way to the kitchen to start water for tea.
It was spring, or so the calendar said, but he wasn’t believing it at present.
Then again, he’d faced twenty-eight springs with far less clothing and much skimpier rations, so he had no reason to complain.
Actually, he had no reason to complain about anything, especially since he was no longer heaving his guts up.
He felt wonderful, though he suspected Sunshine had brewed her tea stronger than necessary to get him to that point.
Perhaps he could add murderous herbal rage to all the reactions she seemed to have to him.
At least she’d allowed him to stay. Either he’d looked truly pitiful, or she’d simply wanted to watch what happened to him each time he walked over her threshold.
It gave him the same sort of headache he’d been having for various reasons over the past se’nnight.
Sunshine’s threshold, Patrick MacLeod’s courtyard, words from the past . . .
Cameron, ride for the MacLeod witch.
Odd, how he hadn’t thought about those words or that battle in years.
He also hadn’t thought about the gaps in his memory that seemed to follow that battle.
It was as if he’d gone for a ride, then fallen off his horse and woken in hospital in a century that was most definitely not his own.
Magic? He’d been convinced of it at the time.
He wasn’t so sure he wasn’t convinced of it still.
He took a deep breath, pushed aside his unproductive thoughts, then caught the kettle before it whistled.
He poured boiling water over red raspberry leaf, then waited for it to steep in the French press.
After a few more minutes of studying the view from the window, he poured two cups of tea and walked over to where he could enjoy a different view.
He sat down and applied himself to a cup of something he was quite certain wouldn’t make him retch.
And whilst he drank, he looked his fill.
Sunshine was the picture of peace. How lovely to have a life where one knew that the day that followed waking would be just as agreeable as the day that had passed.
He envied her.
She took a deep breath suddenly, sighed, then opened her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then sat up and looked at him.
“You stayed.”
He pointed to the darkening circle beneath his left eye. “I was wounded at your hearth. Poisoned, as well.”
“I think you deserved both.”
He smiled. “Likely so.” He held out a cup. “Too early for tea?”
“Is it ever too early?”
“Never, especially when the tea is liberally laced with whisky.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” she said, taking the cup from him. “Look where it got you last time.”
Aye, looking at you first thing in the morning. He could honestly say it had been well worth the price.
“Did you shower?” she asked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I didn’t, but I did cut my face to pieces with your razor, then nosed about in your loo and nicked a new toothbrush. I’ll let you have one of mine in return when you come to my house.”
She froze. Then she very carefully got up and stepped past him. She set her mug on the mantel, then continued on into the bathroom. He heard the distinct sound of the door locking.
Cameron bowed his head. His first thought was that he had grossly overestimated his appeal. Hard on the heels of that came the realization that Sunny’s hesitation likely had less to do with him and more to do with his situation.
Of his being engaged to another woman, that was.
He rubbed his hands over his face. If he’d had any sense at all, he would have agreed with her, left a note of thanks on her counter, then ridden decisively back to Cameron Hall to return to the unwholesome bit of business that was his life.
Nay, if he’d had any sense, he never would have plunged himself into an intoxicated stupor to have an excuse to seek her out, nor would he have spent the whole of the past week trying to avoid thinking about her.
Actually it had been more than a week; it had been from the moment he’d had his arms full of her in James MacLeod’s great hall.
He’d spent the ensuing days either thinking about her or trying not to think about her.
Now he was supposed to walk away when he was actually sitting in front of her fire?
Impossible.
He finished his tea, made Sunny’s bed for her, rolled up the camping mattress and folded the blankets, then sat in the chair near the fire and watched the bathroom door.
He heard the shower running. Soon after it stopped, he heard the sound of a blow-dryer briefly. Then there was silence for so long, he wondered if she had ducked out of the bathroom window to escape him. He wouldn’t have been surprised.
But before he could decide if he should knock or not, the door opened and a fresh-scrubbed Sunshine Phillips came out. It was the single most appealing sight he’d ever seen in his life.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked past her into her kitchen before he did something monumentally stupid, such as haul her into his arms and kiss her.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” he said.
She hovered at the edge of her kitchen. “Do I dare eat it?”
“I promise to leave out the lobelia,” he said.
He opened her fridge and looked inside. No butter, no eggs, no milk, and no sausage.
Bread that looked like it might have been ground in a medieval mill hemmed in on all sides by lots of green things.
“There’s not a damn thing in here to eat,” he said in surprise.
He looked at her. “What do you live on?”
“Salads. It keeps my chi balanced.”
He shut the fridge. “You’re not one of those nutters who runs about trying to save the rest of us from our bangers and mash, are you?”
“I don’t care what you eat,” she said archly. “I’m just particular about what I eat.”
“Lass, there’s nothing wrong with porritch. I guarantee you, the oats never saw it coming.”
She looked at him for a moment in surprise, then she smiled.
He was very grateful he had the counter to lean against. He was certain it was the first true smile he’d had from her. It made him want another.
Her smile faded all too quickly. It was followed by a look that somehow said she was coming to some sort of decision about him. He didn’t move, lest he startle her into making one he wouldn’t like.
She put her hands in her pockets. “We could go beg a meal from Patrick,” she said slowly. “You might find something more to your taste there.” She looked at him, then. “Unless you have plans for the morning.”
Cameron hadn’t survived thirty-five winters because he was dense, nor because he was unable to read his opponents.
Sunny was pushing him in the direction she wanted him to go; he would have staked his hall on it.
He found that he didn’t care why. If it meant another hour or two in her company, he would gladly pay whatever price she intended to exact from him.
“I don’t have plans for the day,” he said. Unless those plans included thinking a great many things he shouldn’t be, actually. Wondering how he might have her company for more than just the day, for another. Best not to think on that, probably.
“Let’s go,” he said without hesitation. He walked over to her hearth and banked her fire. He looked around the house to make certain it was put to bed properly, then took her jacket off the hook by the door and held it out for her.
She hesitated only slightly before she allowed him to help her. He shrugged into his own jacket, put his boots on, then opened the door for her. He was almost able to ignore the cold chill that ran through him as he followed her over the threshold.
He walked around the house with her, made certain his mount had food and water enough for a bit, then followed her along a thin, worn track.
“Stay on the path,” she said at one point, looking over her shoulder at him.
“I have on boots,” he said with a smile. “The nettles won’t vex me.”
“I’m not talking about nettles.”
He snorted. “Are you now going to tell me some sort of MacLeod fireside tale about ghosts and bogles? Fairies? Other otherworldly happenings?”
“There’s something spooky about MacLeod soil,” she said seriously.
There always has been, he almost added, but decided voicing that would just give credence to the foolishness. But he did trade places with her just the same. “Let me go first. If something untoward happens, I’ll be the one it happens to first.”
“Very gallant, my lord.”
He smiled at her over his shoulder. “My worst fault.”
She smiled, a hesitant smile that left him wondering if he hadn’t lost his wits along with everything he’d eaten the day before. What in the hell was he doing, flirting with a woman he couldn’t have?
He was mad.
But she was like the first breath of true summer sunshine after an endlessly cold winter and a damp and nasty spring.
He had the same feeling wash over him that he’d had whilst standing in his office, that feeling of pleasure at just the thought of her name.
It was, the saints pity him, all he could do not to just stand and lift his face to the light.
He did look back periodically to see if she was still following him, then finally reached back and took her hand.
She didn’t pull away—which surprised him—but he wasn’t going to argue.
He enjoyed the feel of her fingers linked with his for a good quarter hour until he found himself within sight of Patrick MacLeod’s courtyard.
Sunshine pulled her hand away from his and tucked it firmly into her pocket.
He would have protested, but he supposed she was right.
He was even more convinced of that when he caught sight of the good lord of Benmore’s glare.
He stopped a handful of paces away from Sunny’s brother-in-law and wished acutely for a sword.