Chapter Seven #2
It was her. What had Miss Woodburn been doing in the dungeon, helping him? Even an hour after he opened his eyes again and left the house to get some fish, he wondered if the dream had been real. She said she had not been down there. She would not have helped him.
But had she?
How had she lived when the rest of her kin had perished?
When he reached the stream, he saw something stuck between two rocks at the water’s edge. A dead fish. A wee bit away was another, then another.
Logan walked along the shoreline, counting the dead fish washed ashore. There were eighteen. Not a coincidence. Not some sickness that overtook so many fish at once. It was likely something they ate—something he fed them.
Poison.
His blood ran cold. But he did not feel ill. Still, poison fed in small amounts…. Miss Woodburn was doing it. That’s why she insisted on preparing his food. She was killing him slowly. She’d wasted no time. What was he going to do about it?
Astoundingly, he was not as angry as he thought he should be. If he found out that anyone else was trying to kill him, he’d waste no time being first to draw that person’s blood. But he did not want to hurt Miss Woodburn. So, the question remained: what was he going to do about it?
One thing was for certain. They were not going to eat fish for breakfast.
He left the water’s edge and turned toward the trees, hoping to hunt for something to eat. Halfway to the tree line, he looked over his shoulder at the house. Nothing moved. She was asleep.
He briefly considered going home and waking her with questions. But she would deny trying to poison him. If, on the other hand, she proudly admitted to the deed, what would he do but appear the fool when he let her get away with it?
Nae. He would let her sleep. Besides, he was hungry.
He would not mention that she was trying to poison him to his cousins if they came by today. They would not take kindly to it. But he wouldn’t offer them any food.
And he would not eat anything she prepared. He’d only eat his own damn food.
He spotted a quail just within the tree line and he shot it with his pistol. He hurried into the trees to retrieve his prize. When he saw another bird, he followed it deeper into the woods and shot it.
After securing the second quail to a long stick he found, he walked further in, searching for roots like silverweed and wild carrots. Also, bog-myrtle leaves to flavor his food.
When he entered a small, sunlit clearing, he spotted some pignut growing in patches of tall grass. He went to it and picked some to roast.
Shoving the last pignut into a pouch hanging at his side, he heard a sound and turned to his left.
When he saw Miss Woodburn standing at the tree line, looking into the clearing at him, he thought about drawing his dirk. Nae. He wouldn’t let her know that he knew.
“What are ye doin’ here, Miss Woodburn?” he asked as she came forward.
“I saw ye from the house and hurried to catch up to ye.”
Aye, she did not like being alone.
He nodded and turned away from her to continue looking around for more food.
“I tried not to make too much of a clamor since I saw that ye were hunting,” she explained, though he had not asked. “Did ye change yer mind about eating fish?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“Quail stew then?” she pressed when he stopped speaking. “Let me pre—”
“Nae. I will prepare it. I dinna know how I would prefer it. I will decide and cook it how I wish. Ye are free to go sew or explore or whatever ye feel like doin.”
“Hmm, I will likely just stay with ye.”
“Nae,” he told her. “I dinna want ye to stay with me. I want ye to grow accustomed to bein’ alone and comfortable in it.”
“Grow accustomed to being alone?” she repeated, going pale and then crimson. “Where do ye intend to take me? Mr. Cameron, ’tis worse to be surrounded by people and still feel alone than it is to truly be alone. Which new master will ye pawn me off on?”
“I dinna intend to pawn ye off on anyone.” He saw dandelions and pulled up their roots. “Ye willna be surrounded by anyone. Ye will be alone. Here.”
“Here?”
“Aye.”
“With ye?”
“Nae. Alone. I will visit.”
“Ye want to leave me here alone, surrounded by hills and mountains?”
Finally, he straightened and looked at her. “Aye.”
Her nostrils flared a wee bit. “Nae. I willna stay here alone. I will escape. I am in good condition. I can climb my way out.”
“Why would ye do that and go somewhere unsafe?”
She looked as if there were things she wanted to say but didn’t.
“Ye will be safe here,” he told her.
“What do ye care about my safety?” she asked, sounding earnest to match her wide eyes.
“I am no’ a monster, Miss Woodburn. Though we are enemies, I dinna want to see ye mistreated or unsafe. But I willna stay here with ye. ’Tis unwise fer us to be spendin’ so much time together.”
She scoffed and drew out a little laugh that made his belly flip. “I assure ye, Mr. Cameron, I could spend every day with ye fer the remainder of my life and never feel anything fer ye.”
“Aye, but I dinna know if I would be so unaffected.”
She stared at him without saying a word.
Indeed, he wasn’t certain she was even breathing.
She did not ask him what he meant or why he would say such a thing.
He was glad. He would have had no answers if she asked.
Aye, she affected him. He hated himself for it but there it was.
The truth. He could not help but look at her with every other breath he took.
He found the not so subtle nuances of her facial expressions distracting and beguiling.
She was easy to read whether she was sad or angry, surprised or curious.
And those glimpses of authentic concern for him, though they were few, made him feel lightheaded and weak.
Not only weak in physical strength, but weak in conviction, and resistance. The best thing he could do for his own sake, was to be away from her.
If she hated him as much as she claimed to, she would be glad to be away from him.
“I will leave after we eat,” he informed her, knowing this was the best thing to do.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted.
Involuntarily, his gaze dipped to her mouth. He watched as she formed words. “Mr. Cameron.”
Her voice stole like the song of a nightingale across his ears.
“Are ye afraid of me?”
His eyes lifted to hers. She was not smiling, but serious. He thought he probably should not laugh at such a preposterous notion.
“What do ye think I am, lass?” he asked, beginning to feel insulted. Do ye think I dinna know yer schemes? He did not say it. It was enough that he knew. “Do ye think I am already weak fer ye?”
Her expression changed for an instant into one he had not seen before. Interest. She stared at him as if she was searching for something well hidden.
But all too quickly, her delicate brow creased lower over her blue eyes, darkening them with her usual anger and hatred. “Dinna be.”
He smiled when he had the urge to scowl. “Fear no’. I will make sure it doesna happen.”
He gathered his things and started back for the house. She followed. He wanted to look behind him. Was she there with a knife ready to stab him in the back? Was she picking poisonous plants and herbs to add to his supper?
Finally, he looked over his shoulder at her. When he caught her eye, he motioned with his chin for her to step up. And then he saw it. A tear breaking free to roll down her cheek.
He stopped and turned to fully face her. “Are ye cryin’, lass?” Damnation, was she going to weep when he left?
She swiped her fingers over her cheek and nodded, quickening her step to catch up, and then pass him.
“I was thinking about how I wouldna be able to kill ye.”
Logan looked after her as she stormed into the trees. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at her declaration and her raw honesty or tie her up and deliver her to the nearest village.
If he lived that long.
He didn’t laugh, but he smiled.
It was equally as dangerous.