in agreement. Murdoch merely arched a snowy brow. Gilchrist wavered, his gaze drawn to his disfigured hand. How easily Alex’s words could unman him. Mayhap he was right.
“Och, what are ye talkin’ about?” Hugh said. “He’s fair fit.” Hugh pushed back from the table and rose. “And did ye think to take her to Craigh Mur yourself, Alex?”
“Aye,” Alex said. “I did.”
“And pay a no-so-friendly surprise visit to the Macphearsons, as long as ye were in the vicinity?”
Alex sprang to his feet, nearly toppling the bench and Gilchrist to the floor.
“All right!” Gilchrist slammed his good fist on the table. “That’s enough, both of you.” Hugh and Alex stood rigid, nodding slowly, each at the other, as if some silent challenge had again been leveled. “No one is going to Craigh Mur,” Gilchrist said. He glanced at Murdoch’s ever calm expression. “The woman stays here—for a time, at least.”
Before any of them could respond, Gilchrist rose from the table and left the cottage, pulling the door closed behind him. He leaned against the timbers of the door frame and inhaled deeply.
Damn this all-consuming interest in her! What had come over him? He’d not felt this way about a woman since…
“Bah!” Gilchrist fisted his hands at his sides. ’Twas dangerous, this interest. He could not afford to compromise his position as laird. That was the most important thing, was it not? The reason he must stay away from her.
At least that’s what he told himself. And stay away from her he would.
Hugh had been right all along. He should put away such nonsense and take a Davidson bride. Secure his place as leader. Gain his clan’s respect.
Gilchrist looked up to see Arlys standing not ten paces from him, a covered basket in her hand. How long had she watched him? “What d’ye want?” he asked.
She moved closer. “Alex. He is in the cottage?”
“He is.”
She smiled at him suddenly. “I have brought him some fresh honey cakes.”
Gilchrist stepped aside to let her pass, when his eye caught a whip of dark hair and a pale-green gown.
Rachel.
Peg was leading her down the hill from the castle, toward the row of cottages where they stood. Arlys frowned as she followed Gilchrist’s gaze, which was now fixed on the Englishwoman.
Rachel appeared full recovered from her faint. She walked briskly, without assistance. In fact, Peg had to run to keep up with her. She was heading straight for them.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced quickly at Arlys. “Those honey cakes, ye wouldna rather share them with me?”
She tore her murderous gaze away from Rachel and let her blue eyes light on him. His words surprised her, he could tell. She recovered herself quickly and smiled. “Aye,” she said.
Her voice was breathy, her demeanor suddenly flirtatious. Gilchrist willed himself to hold her gaze even as he heard Rachel’s footfalls approach, then stop abruptly before them.
Aye, ’twas time he lay this dangerous interest in the Englishwoman to rest. Without another thought, he grabbed Arlys around the waist with his good arm and pulled her into an embrace. She dropped the basket as he kissed her hard on the mouth. He was vaguely aware of the broken honey cakes lying ruined at their feet.
The eager girl responded with well-practiced skill. But ’twas not her lips he tasted, nor the fragrance of her hair that permeated his senses. His all-consuming awareness was for another.
Out of slitted eyes he watched Rachel’s response. Shock, and something more. Pain. He read it in her face. He felt it as much as saw it, and the knowledge caused his heart to pound, his head to spin.
Damn her! And damn himself for caring.
Rachel closed the door of the cottage and pressed her forehead against its cool timbers. She drew a deep breath and tried to get a grip on her shifting emotions.
“Are ye truly an English lady?” Peg asked. “Or, or are ye a whore, d’ye think?”
She whirled on the girl and Peg jumped backward like a startled kitten.
“I—I didna mean to offend ye.” Peg’s wide, doe eyes and naive concern softened Rachel’s anger. “I’m just curious is all.”
“I know you didn’t, Peg.” She gestured for the girl to sit at the table, then joined her.
“Ye truly dinna remember, do ye?”
She smiled. “Nay, I do not.”
“Some of the women say ye could be both—a fine lady and a whore. But Moira says ’tis nonsense and we must no speak such things.”
Both. Could such a thing be true?
She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. As always, the image of the high place burned bright, obliterating all other thoughts. For all she knew, she could be the queen of England.
More likely a common whore. She recalled the way her cheeks burned and her blood stirred when Gilchrist held her atop his mount that first afternoon. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she’d wanted it, too. She shook off the unsettling memory.
Her path was clear to her. She must get to Craigh Mur. She must find out who and what she was. Mayhap she was a married woman with children. Rachel moved a hand across the flat plane of her belly. That possibility hadn’t crossed her mind until just this moment. Children. Nay, she was certain she had none. She would feel it if she had.
“Would ye teach me?” Peg asked abruptly, interrupting her thoughts.
“Teach you?”
The girl ran her hand over the tattered cover of the book that lay on the table, then pushed it toward her. “Aye, the healing arts. Will ye teach me?”
Rachel had not had time to examine the old woman’s book. She opened it now and scanned page after page of bold script, lists of herbs and their common uses, simples and other preparations, and a log of injuries and illnesses she had treated. Gilchrist’s name caught her eye, but before she had time to read what the old woman had written, Peg reached out and caught her hand.
“I canna read it, ye see. The old woman wanted to teach me, but I was no much of a student.” Peg’s childlike face colored.
“You can’t read?”
“Nay. Few can. Only the laird and a handful of others. I knew right off that ye could, though. ’Tis a wondrous thing for a woman, is it no?”
Of course the girl couldn’t read; what had she been thinking? Reading was for scholars and priests, and precious few others. But Peg was right—she could read. Rachel’s eyes flew over the words on the page. ’Twas Latin. She could easily decipher the old woman’s hand.
“I am the clan’s healer now,” Peg said.
