Chapter Fourteen

“I am going to join the rest of you for the evening meal.” Emily picked a simple gown from the wardrobe in the bedchamber. “I have been stuck in this room for nearly three days.”

Fiona looked up from the half-burned log she’d just turned in the small hearth. “The healer said ye should rest.”

“I have been resting. For three days.”

“Ian wants ye to wait until Old Gwendolyn checks ye again.”

“And when is she coming?” Emily tried not to sound grumpy. The first day she truly had not minded staying abed. Her head had hurt and her side was bruised from the fall. Yesterday had been somewhat tolerable, although her sisters had kept up a nonstop conversation and Fiona had hovered over her like she were truly an invalid. But today… She’d had all she could take of being confined to four walls.

“I doona ken. She has rounds she makes. ’Tis better ye wait.” Fiona replaced the poker in its stand. “Is there anything else I can do for ye?”

Emily gave her a wary look. Ian’s sister was trying to change the subject, a tactic she was all too familiar with, having used it herself to steer Juliana and Lorelei away from things they could not have when they were younger. She wasn’t about to be led off her topic.

“Yes. You can walk with me up to the ramparts so I can get some fresh air…and a change of scenery.”

Fiona shook her head. “Ian wouldna like ye going up there.”

Emily frowned. “Why not? Does he think that I cannot climb stairs just because I slipped and fell?”

“The steps are uneven… Besides,” she continued quickly as if she’d just had a revelation. “They are strenuous. Gwendolyn said ye are nae to strain yourself. So…I canna let ye climb them.”

Emily eyed her suspiciously. Fiona had been acting very much the watchdog since the accident. As soon as Ian left in the mornings for the fields, she would appear. She didn’t leave the room unless Juliana and Lorelei were there and even then, she didn’t stay away long. It wasn’t until Ian returned, usually well after dark, that Fiona left for the night. A thought struck her.

“Did Ian tell you to keep me prisoner in this room?”

Fiona’s eyes widened slightly and Emily realized that he must have told his sister to not let her out of her sight. “He did, didn’t he?”

“Nae!” She denied it a bit too fast. “Ye are nae a prisoner.”

Emily shrugged. “Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. A confined guest, then?”

His sister didn’t answer directly. Instead, she looked around. “Ye doona like this room? We have others that are empty.”

She was changing the subject again. “The room is fine.” And it was. Emily had to admit the windows allowing the morning sun in made it a more cheerful room than her former one. The walls were paneled in wood, which kept the cold from seeping through the stone, and there were rugs on the floor to keep her feet warm.

Fiona waved her hand about. “We’ve brought the things from the old room, too. Are ye missing something?”

“No.” She was making another attempt at keeping Emily from leaving the room. “Everything is here.” Not that she had much. Apart from her clothing, she had few personal items…a simple hairbrush and hand mirror, a few inexpensive baubles that hadn’t been worth selling, and a picture of her parents. “But that is not the point. I am bored sitting here.”

Fiona brightened. “I can get ye a book from the library. What would ye like to read?”

Emily narrowed her eyes slightly. She might as well test a theory that was beginning to form in her head. “That is an excellent idea, but, since I have not had an opportunity to look over your selection, I will accompany you and choose something myself.”

“Oh, I doona think—”

“What? That I am incapable of choosing a book? Or that I might stumble and fall in the hallway? There are not even any steps to climb, since this chamber is on the first floor and so is the library.”

“’Tis nae that—”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Emily looked at the gown she’d intended to wear. She didn’t have time to change into it lest Fiona come up with yet another excuse for her to stay in her chamber. The wrapper she wore around her night rail would have to do. No one, except a few servants, was in the castle at this time of day anyway. She marched to the door. “Are you coming with me?”

Fiona actually looked distressed, and momentary guilt swept over Emily. She didn’t mean to cause the girl discomfort. Ian had no doubt left orders for his sister, and she suspected Fiona didn’t want to face his wrath at being disobeyed—men!—but she needed to get out, if only to the library. “If Ian is upset, he needs to be upset with me, not you.”

She nodded reluctantly and pointed to the gown on the bed. “Do ye want to change first?”

Emily shook her head. “This will be fine.”

“Then let me make sure nae one is about.”

“I will be fine.” Emily opened the door and stepped out in the hallway. To her surprise, Hamish was standing only a few feet away. He glanced over her shoulder at Fiona and some unspoken message must have taken place for he nodded briskly before he turned to walk away.

Emily gazed after him. Why was the castellan standing outside her door? Was he eavesdropping? Or…had he been told to guard her door? But why?

…

“I thought I told ye to keep the countess occupied.” Ian tried to keep the ire out of his voice as he looked at Fiona, seated across the desk from him in the library late that evening. Hamish had told him about the afternoon excursion.

“I tried!” She didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in her own voice. “Emily is feeling better and she doesna want to be stuck in a room. I doona blame her.”

“The cook has instructions to send a tray up with Effie.” After her tearful response to his questioning, Maggie had suggested she be personally responsible for keeping an eye on whatever was served to Emily. The maid had been only too happy to prove herself. “Did that, at least, get done?”

“Aye, but Emily was nae happy about that, either.”

He supposed she wasn’t. He hated feeling confined, too, so he understood her agitation, but until he had a chance to do some more investigating, Emily was safer in her room.

“She asked me today if ye were keeping her a prisoner.” Fiona gave him an accusatory look. “Mayhap ye should tell her the truth.”

“I doona ken what the truth is. Yet,” he added.

“That ye think someone loosened that board on the steps on purpose.” Fiona glared at him. “That it was nae accident. Ye said so yerself.”

He probably should nae have told his sister that, but he hadn’t known any other way to convince her how important it was to keep an eye on Emily. Or, rather, on anyone who came near her.

“And ye ken why I told ye.”

That seemed to mollify her somewhat. “Aye. And I will protect her.” Fiona patted her boot. “I’ve got my sgian dubh right here.”

“Hopefully, ye will nae have to use it.”

“Still.” Fiona frowned. “Do ye nae think Emily should ken she is in danger?”

“I doona want to alarm her,” Ian replied, “nor do I want her being suspicious of our brothers.”

“Ye mean Devon.”

Ian winced slightly. He didn’t want to think his brother was responsible for inflicting harm and danger on Emily, regardless of his anger at the English in general. He’d insisted he’d nothing to do with using the passageway to her room. And, in spite of his surliness, Ian had never known Devon to lie to him.

“’Tis nae fair to accuse him without proof,” Ian said.

“True.” Fiona studied him. “Is that why ye have nae told our other brothers about the stairs?”

“Partly.” While they knew someone had put whisky in the tea, because Emily fell asleep, they had already left for the fields when the fall from the stairs had happened. Devon didn’t need his brothers thinking he was guilty. Besides, they were all needed for the barley harvest. “I doona want a lot of questions being asked right now. I doona want to give the true culprit any reason to think we suspect the fall was anything more than an accident.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”

“There was enough talk about the whisky,” Ian said. “’Tis better that just ye and Hamish ken about the stairs for now.”

“Why did ye even tell Hamish then? I told ye I would protect Emily.” She patted her boot again. “He is nae as skilled with a blade as I am.”

Ian couldn’t help but smile. Fiona was proud of how accurate she was with a knife. “I doubt he would dispute that.” Nor would anyone else who’d seen her practice, but that was neither here nor there. “As castellan, he hears and sees things we doona. Servants talk. I had to tell him so he’ll ken what to listen for.” And, Ian wanted the castellan to provide protection for Fiona, although that was something best left unsaid.

“Hmmm. Well, ye need to think what ye’ll say to Emily. She caught Hamish standing outside her door this afternoon. She dinna ask me why, but I could see she was thinking on it.”

“Could ye nae have made an excuse?”

She glowered at him. “I tried to get to the door first so I could wave him away, but Emily was closer. She had it open before I could get there.”

He sighed. “It was nae yer fault. I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened. “Keeping Emily in the dark is nae going to solve matters.”

“I suppose ye are right.” Ian rubbed his eyes, which burned from lack of sleep. The clansmen were working from dawn to dusk to harvest the barley, and he worked alongside them as any worthy laird would. He spent his nights thinking about who would hate Emily so much as to attempt to kill her. Unfortunately, there were scores of his clan who hated Sassenachs.

“Ye need to talk to her.”

“I ken.” He sighed again. Not all of his tossing and turning at night was because of the accident. A large part of his restlessness was due to recalling the kiss he’d given Emily. A kiss she was unaware of, but would live in his mind for months, if not longer. He suspected the memory might be permanently embedded in his brain. The warmth of her mouth, the soft fullness of her lips, the silky texture of her skin… When he finally slept, his body reacted like that of a green lad with his first maid. One lustful dream followed another, like tumbles in the hay. He’d managed not to see her since the first day, determined to get his reaction to her under control. Yet, he couldn’t avoid the situation forever. And, as Fiona pointed out, Emily could not be confined to her room forever, either.

He took a deep breath. It was time to confront his fantasy.

…

Emily managed to escape her sickroom the following morning, although perhaps “escape” was too fanciful a term, since Fiona had, for some reason, left her alone and the castellan was not standing out in the hallway. Actually, she had just opened the door and walked out.

She felt like she’d escaped, though, which was somewhat ridiculous considering she’d been confined for only three days in a very comfortable room, and Strae Castle was her home.

Passing the Great Hall that was empty now, since the workers had already left for the fields, she made her way to the smaller dining room. She doubted her sisters would be there. Juliana generally forewent breakfast and Lorelei tried to keep London hours, albeit Emily made a point of making her rise before nine o’clock. Since she’d been stuck in her room, Lorelei had probably taken full advantage and was still sound asleep.

Emily expected Fiona to be in the room. Instead, Ian sat alone at the table, half turned away from her, looking out the window. Sunlight glinted off his raven hair, the strong outline of his jaw made prominent by a shadow beard. He was dressed simply in doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt, open at the throat and its sleeves rolled up. No doubt he was getting ready to leave for the fields, yet the informal attire and his rather tousled look seemed almost intimate.

She paused just outside the doorway, unsure what to say to him. He’d left her room that first day while she had still been somewhat groggy, although she recalled every detail of his kiss. Even now, three days later, the memory was strong enough to send a quiver to her stomach, as though a bevy of quail had taken wing. For a wicked moment she wondered what he’d do if she confronted him with the fact that she was aware of it? Would he kiss her again? She tsked at herself. When had she become a romantic ninny?

He must have heard the sound, for he turned away from the window to look at her. He rose, his whisky-colored eyes turning slightly darker. Or maybe they looked that way only because he’d moved away from the sunlight. She gave him a tentative smile.

“Good morning. Do not blame Fiona for letting me out,” she said quickly. “I was about to go stark raving mad.”

He smiled. “I willna have Fiona flogged then.”

Emily felt her eyes round before she realized he was teasing. Or, at least, she thought he was. He must have sensed her hesitance, because the smile widened into a grin. “Ye need nae fear that will happen, lass. If any fool were to attempt to try, my sister would likely turn the whip on the man. And I am nae a fool.”

He’d called her lass. She knew it was a common term, but she’d heard it used only to describe Scottish women. Did that mean he was beginning to accept her presence here? Maybe one day, she’d no longer hear Sassenach? The more she learned about his people, the more she wanted to be a part of them.

He sobered. “Do ye think me a fool?”

“What?” She blinked, aware that she’d been woolgathering and felt warmth flood her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Well, ’tis good then.” He pulled out a chair. “Would ye sit?”

She took the chair and watched as he drew his own to the table. “Are you not going to the fields today?”

“Aye, but a bit later.” As if he’d rung some invisible bell, Effie and another maid appeared in the doorway with two covered trays. As they set them down, the fragrant aroma of cinnamon porridge wafted up along with the smoky-sweet smell of roasted boar dribbled with honey.

“This smells delicious!”

“’Tis a hearty meal.” Ian picked up the basket of freshly baked bannocks, their still warm scent assailing her nose as well, and offered her one. “’Twill strengthen ye now that ye are up and about.”

She gave him a wary look. “Then I am not going to be sent back upstairs?”

He swallowed the bite of bread he’d taken before he spoke. “Fiona told me ye felt like a prisoner there.”

Not exactly a direct answer, but she was determined not to be confined. “I did. One can lie abed for only so long without anything to do.” Something sparked in his eyes and she realized how that might have sounded. She felt heat sweep across her face and chewed her lip. Dear Lord! How had that slipped out? “I…I mean…it is quite boring to be confined. By myself.” Goodness! That didn’t sound much better. She worried her lip again, willing herself to remain silent, lest she babble some other wanton-sounding thing. Ian contemplated her for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. And prayed she wasn’t blushing again. He rattled her even when she didn’t think he was trying to.

His voice was noncommittal when he spoke. “I doona want ye to feel like a prisoner, but I do want ye to take care, lass.”

There was that word again! It gave her a rather warm, cozy feeling. And it took another moment before she realized what he’d said. “Take care? What do you mean?” When he looked uncomfortable, she added, “I am not usually clumsy and I have never fallen down stairs before, but thank you for your concern.” When he frowned slightly, she widened her eyes. “Do you think someone meant me harm?” It looked to her like he actually squirmed in his chair.

“I doona ken for sure. The board came loose somehow.”

“That is fairly common in old houses,” Emily answered, “and, I would think, especially in old castles.”

“Mayhap.” He didn’t appear convinced. “I dinna like finding that someone put whisky in your tea as well.”

She frowned. “That is fairly common, too. Someone may have thought they were doing a good thing.”

Ian looked as though he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. “I hope ye are right, but until I can do a bit more checking around, which will be when the harvest is done, I want ye to stay close to Fiona.”

So she had been right. Ian had instructed his sister not to let her out of sight. That probably meant he’d told Hamish to stand guard as well.

She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking while a chill slithered down her spine. She was still a Sassenach surrounded by Scots—one of whom didn’t like her. At all.