Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The study at Castle Grant had always been Duncan’s most reliable refuge.
It was a room built for order. Maps were hung neatly along the stone walls, the shelves lined with ledgers and correspondence, and a broad writing table worn smooth by years of practical use dominated.
Here problems were usually simple. They revolved around numbers, land disputes, supply lists and letters from neighboring clans that required careful answers but rarely emotional ones.
In this room Duncan Grant usually thought clearly.
Today he did not.
He was sitting behind the desk with a letter open before him, though he had read the same sentence at least four times without absorbing a word of it. It was something about grain shipments… or cattle. Possibly both.
He exhaled slowly and leaned back in the chair. This was ridiculous. He had faced battles with greater concentration than he was currently managing over a piece of parchment. And he knew precisely why.
His jaw tightened faintly as the memory rose again, uninvited and far too vivid, of the loch that morning and the moment Elaina had run and jumped into the water. He had expected hesitation. Perhaps an indignant retreat to the castle. At most, a cautious wading into the shallows.
Instead, she had launched herself into the loch with the reckless abandon of a storm breaking against shore. Duncan rubbed a hand across his mouth, half amused despite himself.
Stubborn woman.
The image shifted in his mind. It moved from the leap to what had come after, the moment she surfaced from the water onto dry land. Her dark-blonde hair had come loose from its braid, water streaming down the length of it. Her gown had clung to her entirely without mercy.
Duncan’s fingers curled slightly against the arm of his chair.
It had been… distracting.
More, actually. The word did not even begin to cover it.
It had been dangerously captivating.. Soldiers did not live delicate lives, and travel alone produced more than a few undignified situations.
He had seen women in wet gowns before. But none of those memories had ever followed him into his study hours later.
None of them had lodged themselves so firmly in his mind.
He should not have watched. He knew that. A gentleman would have politely looked away. But Duncan Grant had not been feeling particularly gentlemanly at that moment.
The wet fabric had clung to her back just as mercilessly as it had the front, outlining the graceful strength of her shoulders, the narrow curve of her waist, and the swaying movement of her hips.
The image had followed him out of the loch. It had followed him through breakfast. And now, apparently, it intended to stay with him for the remainder of the day.
Duncan dropped the letter onto the writing table. The truth was growing rather inconvenient. He was drawn to her, far more than he had expected. It was not merely her appearance, though that alone would have been enough to trouble a weaker man.
It was the whole of her. It was her stubborn pride, her quick wit. It was the way she refused to bend under pressure he had seen break far stronger people and the way she had looked at him in the water, as though she disliked him entirely, but deep down, they both knew the truth.
Duncan leaned back again, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He had dealt with attraction before. It was rarely complicated. But this… this felt complicated, because Elaina was not simply a woman who had caught his interest.
She was a mystery; a guest who was not entirely a guest; a healer who carried secrets close enough that even his instincts could not quite uncover them.
And now, she was also the woman whose wet gown and flushed cheeks had followed him into his study and refused to leave.
Duncan lasted perhaps another ten minutes in his study before accepting the obvious.
No work would be accomplished that day. With a quiet exhale, he pushed back his chair.
He then left the study and moved through the castle with the easy confidence of a man entirely at home in its halls.
Soldiers nodded as he passed. Servants stepped aside respectfully. None of them questioned his direction.
The chamber that now served as the healer’s quarters lay near the southern wing, where the light was strongest and the air moved easily through the windows. It was an ideal place for herbs and remedies. Duncan slowed as he approached the doorway. The door itself stood slightly open.
He stepped closer and paused. Elaina was standing at the long wooden table near the window, with her back half turned.
Sunlight fluttered across the room, catching in the dark-blonde strands of her hair as she worked.
She had rolled her sleeves to her elbows, and the simple motion revealed slender, capable forearms dusted lightly with flecks of green.
In her hands she held a mortar and pestle.
Slow, steady movements were grinding the herbs within it: crush, twist, lift, repeat.
The sound of stone against stone filled the quiet room in a calm, rhythmic cadence.
She had not noticed him yet and Duncan found himself strangely unwilling to interrupt. For all her sharp words and fiery temper, there was something unexpectedly peaceful about watching her like this. She was focused and completely absorbed in her task.
A small collection of dried plants lay spread across the table beside her.
They were bundles tied neatly with twine and leaves separated into careful piles.
Several small jars stood nearby, each labeled in a precise hand.
She moved among them with ease, selecting a pinch of one herb and a measure of another.
Duncan leaned one shoulder lightly against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched. There was dedication in the way she worked. Every motion was deliberate. Every ingredient was chosen with certainty.
He realized, with a flicker of reluctant admiration, that this was likely the truest version of Elaina he had seen so far.
The pestle paused briefly as she examined the mixture. Then she resumed grinding, a little more slowly now. Duncan watched the steady movement of her hand, the soft scrape of stone against stone filling the quiet chamber again. For a moment, he wondered if she truly had not noticed him.
“How may I help ye, me laird?”
She did not turn around.
Her tone was calm, almost innocent, and that, Duncan suspected immediately, was entirely deliberate. His mouth twitched.
“So ye did notice me.”
The pestle continued its slow rotation inside the mortar.
“I noticed ye several moments ago.”
“Yet ye didnae bother tae look.”
“I am working.”
Duncan shifted slightly against the doorframe, folding his arms.
“Aye,” he said mildly. “Ye appear very dedicated tae it.”
Another slow grind of the herbs.
“And now that ye have announced yer presence,” she added calmly, “perhaps ye might explain it.”
Duncan found, somewhat annoyingly, that the simple question did not come with a simple answer.
Because he could hardly say the truth, that he had been unable to stop thinking about her since the morning, also that the image of her emerging from the loch had followed him through half a dozen attempts at reading a letter.
Instead, he cleared his throat lightly. “I only came tae see how ye were settling in.”
The pestle slowed again.
“And,” Duncan continued, choosing his words with care, “whether there was anything ye might be needing, such as supplies or assistance. Whatever a healer requires tae dae her work properly.”
This time the pestle stopped entirely. She remained still, then she finally turned. The sunlight caught her face as she faced him, and Duncan felt a brief, unwelcome tightening in his chest.
She smiled as she spoke. “Well,” she said, wiping a trace of green powder from her fingers onto a cloth beside the table, “that is unexpectedly considerate.”
Duncan lifted a brow. “Are ye surprised?”
“A little.”
Her eyes moved briefly around the room before returning to him.
“But I am perfectly fine,” she continued. “The room is warm, the light is excellent fer drying herbs, and the castle seems tae possess a rather impressive supply of remedies already.”
“That would be because the previous healer was with us fer many years.”
“Then said healer had excellent habits.”
Duncan nodded once. “And ye require naething?”
“Naething.”
She tilted her head slightly as she studied him. “In fact,” she added lightly, “I might even say that ye are daein’ a very good job of making me comfortable here.”
She didn’t say that mockingly, but she wasn’t completely serious either. He straightened a little from the doorframe.
“High praise.”
Elaina’s smile widened just a fraction.
“Careful, me laird,” she said. “If ye continue behaving so reasonably…” She let the thought hang there a moment. “…ye might even begin tae earn me trust.”
Duncan opened his mouth to answer. He was not entirely certain what he intended to say, something teasing, most likely, but the words never came.
That was the exact moment that the door burst open, with the sort of enthusiastic energy that made even the hinges protest loudly.
“Good morning!” The voice arrived before the rest of her did.
Catriona swept into the room like a gust of bright Highland wind, her arms stacked precariously with a collection of books that looked as though they had been rescued from several different corners of the castle library.
Her dark curls bounced around her face as she crossed the room with determined cheer.
“Elaina, I found them!” she announced triumphantly. “Or at least I think I did. Some of them might be about farming, but the words look medicinal.”
She dropped the pile onto the table with a heavy thud that sent a small cloud of dried herbs dancing into the air. Only then did she seem to notice her brother standing in the corner.
“Oh!” Catriona beamed. “Duncan, ye’re here, too!”
Duncan blinked once. “What,” he asked slowly, “is all this?”
Catriona clasped her hands together with visible excitement. “Elaina has agreed tae teach me!”
Duncan looked from the books to Catriona, then to Elaina.
“Teach ye what?”
“Healing,” Catriona said happily, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Elaina, Duncan noticed, did not look nearly as surprised as he felt.
“Ye agreed tae this?” he asked her.
Elaina lifted one shoulder lightly. “She asked.”
“And ye said aye.”
“She seemed enthusiastic.”
Catriona nodded vigorously. “I am very enthusiastic.”
Duncan rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“This castle went years without a healer,” he said thoughtfully. “And now, apparently, we’ll have two.”
Catriona’s eyes lit up. “Och! That makes it sound official.”
“It was nae meant tae,” he replied dryly, though a hint of amusement tugged at his mouth. He glanced at her sidelong. “Unless of course, ye’re ready tae take on the responsibility. Long hours, stubborn patients, folk who think a cup of broth will cure a broken bone.”
Catriona lifted her rebellious chin. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Aye?” he asked, with a raised brow. “Then, I’ll be sure tae send the most difficult cases straight tae ye.”
She ignored him entirely. “Elaina says the first thing I must learn is identifying herbs,” Catriona continued, already pulling one of the books toward her and opening it with great determination.
“Which is excellent because I once mistook something poisonous for sage and the cook refused tae let me near the kitchens for a month.”
“That sounds wise of the cook,” Duncan muttered.
Catriona waved a hand dismissively. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Ye nearly killed half the household.”
“It never happened.”
Duncan sighed slowly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as if the effort of reasoning with his sister had suddenly become too great for one morning.
Elaina made a soft sound that might have been laughter, though she quickly disguised it by reaching for another small bundle of herbs. Duncan noticed anyway. He always seemed to notice her.
“Well,” he told them, “I believe I’ll leave ye tae yer healing business.”
Catriona brightened immediately. “Already?”
“Aye.”
He gestured vaguely toward the table now covered with books, herbs, and Catriona’s enthusiastic curiosity.
“And I’ll pray, too,” he added.
Catriona blinked. “Fer what?”
Duncan considered this gravely. “Fer the safety of the castle.”
Elaina’s shoulders shook slightly as she tried to suppress another laugh. Catriona grabbed a small bundle of dried herbs from the table and tossed it toward him. Duncan caught it easily.
“Out,” she ordered, pointing toward the door. “Ye are disrupting me studies.”
Duncan held up the bundle of herbs she had thrown.
“Ye probably dinnae even ken what this is,” he teased.
“That is rosemary.”
“Fer memory?”
“Aye.”
“Good,” Duncan said, tossing it lightly back onto the table. “Perhaps it will help ye remember nae tae poison the laird of the castle.”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “Go.”
Duncan chuckled under his breath. “Aye, aye.”
He turned toward the corridor, pausing just briefly in the doorway, but still long enough for his gaze to flick once more toward Elaina. Then he stepped out into the hall and left the two to their work.