Chapter Five
Elspeth had no idea why the owner of the house had a basin—large enough to house her—brought to her room by Jamie and Steafan, though Steafan could have carried it without any help.
Following them was Logan Cameron himself and Ewen toting two buckets of water each.
After three more trips, the basin was more than half-full, and she stood facing her host.
“What is this all about?” she demanded. “Why have ye done this?” She paused to angle her head and give herself a sniff. “Do I offend?”
For an instant, she thought she spied the merest trace of a smile trying to remain hidden on his face.
“Miss Woodburn, do ye always question good things?”
“I am no longer familiar with good things, Mr. Cameron. And tell me why I should freely accept good things from my enemy?”
“Bathing is a human need,” he answered, appearing affected by her admission, but doing his best to conceal it behind a derisive smile. “Dinna consider it—or me—anything more than what ye see.”
“Verra well,” she retorted. “I shall do as ye say.”
He huffed a short laugh and turned for the door. “Let us hope ye are always this agreeable.”
“Careful,” she said softly as he walked away. “I will dash yer hopes to pieces by the wayside.”
Ewen bumped his shoulder into hers as he moved to follow his cousin. “He had nothin’ to do with it, gel.”
“Nothing?” she demanded quietly so as not to bring his cousin back. “’Twas because of him that ye and yer kin went to Dunley Keep. Because of him, I lost everything. My father and mother.” She swallowed back her tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of any Cameron.
“Please leave,” she said and turned away from him. She didn’t turn around again until she heard him shut the door behind him.
She was thankful none of them had tried to force his way with her.
The thought of it spurred her to think of the new herb packets that were wrapped and labeled, ready for their task.
Foxglove, pinches of the rarer, potent Belladonna, and the pine needles of the yew.
It was all mixed and ready to be fed to them in the tiniest amounts to avoid the quick, violent deaths they deserved.
Her belly flipped at the thought of finally avenging her family. She didn’t ponder if what she was going to do was morally right or wrong. She couldn’t let that stop her.
It hadn’t stopped them from killing young Padrig. What had he ever done to harm anyone? His eyes misted when their mother squished a spider crawling up the wall. Padrig, with his bright, untainted smile. He expected to see the best in everyone, and most of the time, they showed their best to him.
But the Camerons slaughtered him in front of their parents.
She allowed her tears to fall freely when she stepped into the basin. She sat for a long time, until the water grew tepid and memories of her family were set aside for the time being. Never too far away in her thoughts, but always ready to spark when the time came to exact her revenge.
Her bath though, when she set her attention to it, was heavenly.
If Logan Cameron were anyone else, she would have thanked him for it.
What kind of man was he anyway? He did not seem cruel or hard-hearted, the way she imagined he would be when and if she ever found him.
He clearly had power in his clan, whether it was because his father was Lochiel of Lochaber or because of something else, they all did what he wanted.
But he didn’t behave as all her other masters had. They all possessed power in one way or another. They all wielded it harshly, uninterested in the lesser folks who suffered under their hands.
The Viscount of Blackburn, Lord Geoffry Arlow was especially cruel to the less fortunate—like her. He was the first man who owned her. She likely wouldn’t have survived him for a full year in his house.
Thankfully, one of his many enemies killed him on the road when the viscount was returning home from a visit to Dundee.
The killer, Mr. James Frazier laid claim to her and the rest of the viscount’s servants. He kept her for half a year before he died of dysentery. She did not offer to help him with her knowledge of medicine.
After that, she was taken away to a village in Stirling and sold to the highest bidder.
She had cried. She cried every single morning when she opened her eyes and every night before she closed them.
That was the first year of her captivity.
In the five years that followed, every master she had slung his or her power around like a sword.
She ate when others remembered to feed her, or to keep her obedient.
The only way to keep going was to heap sins atop the Cameron clan’s head.
Hatred had kept her alive, though the price was high.
It poisoned her and tore holes in her where loneliness and terrible guilt settled to take root.
She could not let things like a soft bed and a long bath sway her.
When the sun set and her matted hair dried—there was nothing she could do to get the mats and tangles out, Elspeth sat in one of the chairs staring into the cold hearth.
She’d dressed in a small pair of breeches and a dark brown tunic that was built for a boy.
She didn’t care what she wore. At least the garments were clean.
She wasn’t surprised when a knock came at the door. Her food hadn’t been forgotten.
“Aye?” she called out when no one entered.
“Tis Logan.”
Her heart thumped at the sound of him speaking his name. She felt her forehead for fever.
“Come in,” she told him, even as alarms went off in her head to tell him to stay away.
The door opened. Her mouth felt a bit dry, her head a little light.
He appeared and then stepped inside, filling the room with his presence.
“Are ye hungry, lass?”
She nodded, grateful he hadn’t forgotten her locked away in this room. “Thank ye, Mr. Cameron.”
He crooked one side of his mouth. “Fer feedin’ ye?”
She nodded. “And fer not fergetting?”
She wasn’t expecting him to move so quickly to her by the bed. “Miss Woodburn,” he told her in a deeper voice than he’d used before, “Dinna thank me fer somethin’ I would do fer my enemy—of which ye are, lest we ferget.”
“I willna ferget,” she swore.
“Good. Hold up yer head as if ye deserve and expect to eat, because ye do, and ye should.”
She nodded, mainly because she didn’t know what to say to him. She hadn’t held her head up in so long, she’d forgotten how to.
“I’ll return with ye food, then.” Without another word, he left.
His kin returned a moment later for the basin and buckets of water. She thanked them in a quiet voice, unable to act indifferent to kindness.
When Mr. Logan Cameron came back, he carried a tray in both hands and set it down on a small rectangular table, then pulled one of the chairs in front of it.
She almost thanked him three more times, but she had to remember what he said—and that she hated him.
She sat and dipped her gaze to the two bowls, one with steaming stew and the other with day-old black bread. There was a clay cup with water in it for washing down the bread.
Was Mr. Cameron fattening her up for some nefarious reason? She almost set her spoon back down.
“Somethin’ troublin’ ye?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe and watching her. “Tis no’ poison.”
“Did ye cook it?”
“Aye,” he told her.
Her belly groaned. She placed her hand on it, hating herself for what she was about to say. “I fear I canna eat anything ye prepare, knowing how ye feel about me. If ye’ll allow it, I would like to cook my own meals.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He could have been angry or detached. It was difficult to tell.
“I wouldna try to poison ye,” he assured her. “If I wanted ye dead, I would run ye through with my sword.”
Her gaze on him flashed. “If that was meant to comfort me, it did not. Does this mean ye willna allow me to cook?”
He studied her, mayhap looking for her deception. He would never find it. She learned long ago how to mask her feelings.
“Cook fer yerself then,” he allowed. “Dinna get in my way.”
She nodded and watched him leave. After a short wait, that made her tap her foot against the chair, she hurried for one of her pouches and secured it to herself beneath the waist of her breeches.
When she touched the latch to her door, for a moment, her heart thumped madly in her chest. Had he locked it again?
It opened.
Inhaling a deep breath, she stepped into the hall. She looked around. Empty.
Did Mr. Cameron’s cousins live here with him?
Did he live alone? Would it be just the two of them—nae!
He was going to send her away with Ewen.
Away to where? She hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to know.
She worried she wouldn’t have enough time to poison the Camerons slowly.
She would have to put enough of her herbs into their food to kill them with one dose, but the rest of his kin would hunt her down if she was suspected…
or she could do her best to remain with Logan Cameron.
She knew she had to feed the four Camerons who were with her. None could be left out or they would kill her. How was she going to get them to trust her to eat what she prepared?
She smiled, entering the Main Hall. He had every kind of herb and spice to prepare something delicious.
She scooped all the meat out of Mr. Cameron’s stew and re-seasoned it with more fragrant herbs. And a small pinch of her special blend of poison. She also prepared her own non-poisonous broth.
No one would fall ill after the first ingestion. She could eat some in their sight and gain their trust to eat it when she didn’t die.
The key was to make her food even more delicious than Mr. Cameron’s. She could do it. Over the years spent as a scullery maid in the kitchens of various keeps and homes, she had learned how to prepare the best dishes.
“Ye made yer own then.” Mr. Cameron entered the Main Hall and met her at the simmering pot.
“I used what was left of yers and just added a few herbs and mushrooms.”