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Once Ceana had finished breaking her fast, Flora left to return the platter to the kitchen. Willie had taken the dogs for a run, leaving her without so much as her pets to fill her time. Four days she had been lying in bed and would be daft if she did not get out of it soon. Carefully, she swung her legs over the side, clenching her teeth against the throbbing pain in her feet.
A knock sounded at the door. Flora must have returned. "Come."
Alex walked into the room, leaving the door open behind him. His long hair had been recently groomed and covered his broad shoulders like a dark mantle. When he looked at her, his appealing mouth spread into a broad grin, which she was certain had unnerved many a lass, for it most definitely did her.
Her heart drummed against her chest, as she drew the bedclothes across her lap. The man is far too attractive for a woman's own good, her mother would have said.
"You're sitting up. Good. How are your feet?"
She shook her head. "I fear they're no better. They pain me greatly, even after taking the potion the healer left."
"I'm sorry." And he truly was, for Ceana could see it in his expressive dark eyes. "The healer was adamant that you dinnae try to walk until your feet are healed."
She sighed. "Flora said as much, but if I continue to just lie here, they're never going to improve. Besides, I've always hated being in bed—unless I'm sleeping." She should have kept that last remark to herself and scolded herself for her own naivety. Men and women did far more than sleep when they were in bed. The servant girls at Teineaer had told her as much—and more. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.
He chuckled. "A good portion of the ladies I ken would lie in bed all day if given the opportunity," he said, clearly oblivious to her discomfort.
Saints above! Had he meant what she thought he had? Of course, he would know many such ladies. A man as handsome as Alex MacPherson would have an abundance of women ready to warm his bed. Perhaps, even now, he had a mistress staying at Blackstone, ready to satisfy his every desire. The thought did not set will with Ceana and caused an odd sort of ache in the pit of her stomach.
"Would you like to move to the window seat? 'Tis a beautiful morning, with the sun sparkling like jewels on the blowing snow."
Sweet words dripped from the man's tongue like honey, something Ceana should keep in mind. "Aye, but I cannae walk."
"No matter, lass. I'll carry you."
He would what? She was wearing naught but a nightgown, and though it covered her from neck to toe, it was quite thin. But she was so tired of the bed and would dearly love to sit beside the window and peer outside for a short while. "Very well, if you dinnae mind?"
"Nay, not at all." Moving to the bed, he gently slipped one arm beneath her legs, and the other around her back, lifting her as if she weighed naught. Every shift of the hard muscles of his arms and chest were most evident through the thin material she wore, and it made her breathless. She slipped her arms around his neck, shivering, as his long silky hair brushed against her skin.
Alex groaned inwardly, as he noted with absolute clarity, every lush curve of Ceana's body pressing against his. The heat of her burned hot through his clothing, igniting his desire. Guilt stabbed at him, chastising him, for his body's betrayal. How could he want another woman so, with Rowena lying cold in her grave?
The gossamer fabric separating his hands and Ceana's pale skin conjured an image of him slowly undressing her, gliding his hands over her silky skin. His heart drummed against his ribs, as he fought to still his need. He glanced down at her and found her rich brown eyes gazing up at him, her full pink lips mere inches from his own. She had been sent to tantalize and torment him, he was certain of it. And she was doing a damn good job.
"Much thanks," she said, as he gently, though reluctantly, placed her on the window seat.
"You're most welcome," he said, hearing the hoarseness of his own voice. He shoved back the heavy drapes and opened the shutters, allowing the sun to fill the room with its bright light. Along with it came the cold, and its effect on Ceana's full breasts, straining against the thin fabric, was most evident.
Alex forced his gaze away and grabbed a thick wool blanket from the bed. He covered her from chin to toe, protecting her against a chill, and preserving his sanity. "Are you warm enough, lass?"
With the sunlight draping her head and shoulders, she nodded and smiled up at him.
A vision of pure innocence she was, without even an inkling as to how she had wreaked havoc on his long-starved body.
Flora entered the bedchamber with an armful of clothing. Her mouth fell open when she saw Ceana sitting on the window seat, but said naught. "M'laird," she said, curtsying, before emptying her arms in a chair. "The healer said to keep ye feet up, m'lady."
"Very well," she said, allowing the maid to reposition her long legs until they were stretched out along the cushioned seat.
He clenched his teeth, as the memory of how desirable she had felt in his arms struck him like a stone. He raked his fingers through his hair. What had come over him? Had he suddenly gone daft?
"You're so kind to carry me over here." She looked out the window, and the glistening snow reflected in her deep brown eyes captivated him even further. A fae, she was, spellbinding and entrancing.
"My pleasure." And it was—more than she would ever know. He shook his head to clear it and remembered the real reason he had come. He sat down on the opposite window seat. "Ceana?"
"Aye?" She looked over and smiled.
His chest tightened. "Do you ken a man called Art Grant?"
She thought for a moment. "I recently spent a night at the camp of a man called Art, but he never gave me his sir name. He was most kind." Her eyes widened. "Tell me naught has happened to him?"
"Nay. He is well and waiting to see you."
She looked much relieved. "I'm so glad he's not out in this weather. But why is he here?"
"My men discovered him tracking you the night you were found? Do you ken why?"
She shook her head. "Nay, but he certainly was worried about me and warned me of the impending storm. I should have listened," she said, dropping her gaze to her lap.
Ceana tugged at his heart in a way no other woman ever had—save Rowena. "No reason to worry, lass. You're safe now."
"Aye, and most grateful."
"Would you like to see Grant? He appears to be quite worried about you."
"Of course. I'd very much like to see him again."
"Very well. I'll return with him after the midday meal." He rose to his feet." Is there anything you need?"
"Might I see the dogs?"
"I'll have Willie bring them back to you."
"Much thanks."
He nodded, then left the bedchamber, wondering how the hell he would endure being in her presence and not touch her while she remained at Blackstone. Then realized the thought of her leaving gouged a gaping hole in his soul.
***
CEANA WATCHED ALEX go, confused by the strange yearnings he stirred within her. She wanted to trust him—trust him enough to tell him the truth about being a MacGregor, but fear of what he might say kept her from it. Perhaps if she knew more about the handsome laird, she would know whether or not he was as trustworthy as he appeared to be. "Flora?"
The maid finished straightening the bedcovers and hurried across the room. "Aye, m'lady?"
"Does the laird have a wife?" She held her breath as she waited for the answer.
Flora chuckled. "Nay, 'tis his long-departed mother's bedchamber he's given ye. Brought ye here when he found ye nigh frozen in the snow, he did."
"Has he ever had a wife?" Ceana was not certain why she needed to know.
"Nay, but many a lass has coveted the station. None seemed to strike his fancy." She frowned. "But there was one lass who did capture his heart. The laird had seen twenty-five summers, when he fell in love with Lady Rowena, the daughter of the laird of a neighboring clan, and desired to wed the lass."
Ceana leaned forward, hanging on Flora's every word.
"'Twas two years past, and the Yule season. The laird had thrown a grand ceilidh to celebrate. The two of them looked so happy together that night, as they danced around the great hall, while the piper played one reel after another. Their laughter filled the air above all others. But the following day, disaster struck. For while returning home with her family, Lady Rowena's horse was startled by a herd of roe deer, and she was tossed to the ground. She died right then and there."
Flora's face blurred before Ceana. She could well imagine the profound sadness in Alex's dark eyes and the unbearable pain that had ripped through his heart upon learning of Rowena's death, for she had felt such pain herself at the deaths of her parents. "How terrible!"
"Lady Rowena's death grievously affected the laird, and if not for his sister and her husband, he might well have stayed inside his bedchamber, drowning his sorrow in whisky day after day, until he was taken to an early grave himself."
Ceana gazed into the fire. As the Laird of Blackstone, Alex would most certainly be in need of an heir. Did he still grieve for Rowena? For the love of the woman and the life, he had ripped away from him so suddenly? Could anyone else ever take her place in his heart? "You mentioned a sister?"
"Aye." The maid smiled. "Lady Sorcha she is and wed to Galen MacKinnon, heir apparent to Moorloch Castle on the Isle of Mull. They've two bairns, twins they are, a wee lad and lass. Hair the color of autumn leaves, the wee lass has, like her mother's. 'Tis Lady Sorcha's nightdress yer wearing, as well as the green gown I just brung ye."
Ceana gently brushed her hand across the wool gown, noting with admiration the flawless stitching, and detailed needlework along its hem and bodice. A fine piece of clothing it was. "She'll not mind my wearing this?"
"Nay. She has as kind a heart as ye'll ever see."
"Is Lady Sorcha the laird's younger sister?"
"Aye. She's a few summers younger than his twenty-seven."
Which meant Alex was eight years older than herself. Ceana had at first believed him to have seen around thirty summers, but then he had smiled, and years melted away. She had thoroughly enjoyed learning about him and his family. "I hope you dinnae mind my asking you so many questions?"
Flora smiled and shook her head. "Ask whatever ye like, m'lady, and I'll tell ye what I ken."
"Much thanks. Perhaps I should get dressed before the laird returns with Art Grant, which isnae going to be easy with me not being able to stand on my feet."
"We'll manage," Flora declared, before helping her out of her nightclothes. And with the maid doing most of the work, she was soon dressed, though her legs and feet remained bare, as she was unable to endure anything—even stockings—touching them.
Flora had just finished brushing out Ceana's hair when a knock sounded at the door. She smoothed her skirts down over her legs and feet. "Come."
Alex entered the room, looked at her and smiled.
Ceana's heart pitched.
"Lady Ceana, this is a good friend of mine, Drostan MacKintosh, heir apparent to Willowbrae Castle."
She smiled. "I'm most pleased to meet you, sir."
Drostan grinned. "I assure you, my lady, the pleasure is all mine."
Alex cleared his throat. "Grant is waiting out in the corridor. Would you like to see him?"
"Of course." Ceana was glad for the opportunity to thank Art for his kindness.
Alex went back to the door. "Come in."
Art entered the room, grinning, and hurried past Alex and Drostan to where Ceana sat on the window seat. "Lass, I'm pleased to see ye're getting well." He frowned. "I was most worried."
She patted his hand. "I ken you were. I'm sorry. You tried to warn me, and I should have listened. Please, sit down." She pointed to the opposite window seat.
He turned and looked at Alex.
"Whatever the lady wishes."
Art sat down. "I saw where ye fell in the loch, which give me even more cause to worry. I feared ye'd freeze to death afore I reached ye."
Ceana deeply regretted causing Art so much anguish. She looked over at Alex and smiled. "And I would have indeed perished, if not for Laird MacPherson, and the rest of the good people of Blackstone Castle." She turned back to Art. "I wish to tell you just how grateful I am for the food and shelter you provided me in my time of need."
"Ye were more than welcome to it, lass." Art slowly got to his feet. "I'll leave ye fer now. I dinnae wish to overtire ye, m'lady." He bowed close to her ear and whispered, "I need to speak with ye alone, lass. 'Tis of the utmost importance."
Ceana nodded, glancing across the room, to where Alex and Drostan appeared to be deep in conversation. Could they be talking about her?
The older man smiled, then walked over to the others.
Alex grinned, sending a shiver down her spine. "I'll return a bit later to check on you, lass."
"I'm glad you allowed Art to visit me."
Alex nodded.
Drostan winked. "If you need a bit of company later, just send for me."
Alex glared at his friend.
"I appreciate your kind offer." She was certain, with his devilish good looks and honeyed tongue, that Drostan MacKintosh had no lack of women competing for his undivided attention.
Alex left the bedchamber with the others close on his heels.
Ceana watched them go, wondering what in the world Art wished to speak to her about. She could not for life of her imagine what it might be. Then the unthinkable occurred to her. Had he somehow figured out she was a MacGregor? Her breath froze in her chest, and she trembled. And had he come there to blackmail her to keep him from telling Alex?