by Aileen Adams
Ceana took a step back and frowned in suspicion. “Why?”
“Because I asked for them,” he replied, his anger growing. How dare she speak to him like that? She had never taken that tone with him before and he didn't appreciate it now. “No, let me amend that. Because I demand them.”
Ceana stared at him a moment, perhaps trying to gauge the level of his anger and seriousness?
He thought she knew better.
He took a step toward her.
With a grunt of frustration, Ceana pulled the thongs from her belt as Phillip held out his hand. Instead of handing the satchels to him, she tossed them to the floor.
One of the leather satchels spilled open, disgorging tiny yellow flowers. It took everything he had not to grab her and shake some sense into her.
What had gotten into the woman? While a temperamental creature, one who often succumbed to her temper, he had never known Ceana to act this way. Jealousy because someone else was here watching over Jake, her former beau? Resentment because he didn't trust her skills? Threatened by Sarah’s own beauty—
The thought and comparison surprised him, gave him pause. Sarah was not beautiful in the classical sense of the word. Her features were not as fine nor delicate as Ceana’s. Her hair not a vibrant color of red, but a mousy brown. Her eyes, not soul-searching green.
Still, despite her circumstances and the fact that he had kidnapped her from her home, the past couple of hours had shown him the depth of Sarah's compassion. To him, she was beautiful, inside and out. It was too bad that he could not say the same of Ceana.
Ceana shifted her gaze from him to Sarah. It was obvious what she thought of the healer.
His captive.
She didn't know anything about the situation that had brought Sarah here, but he doubted that even knowing the truth would have altered her opinion in any way.
He didn’t care what she thought. He had to think about his brother.
“Go,” he said.
Ceana glanced at him, then Jake, and then slowly nodded. Faced him as she turned to leave.
“Fine, I'll go. But when your brother dies, don't blame his death on me. You want to trust a stranger more than you trust me? Someone you've known nearly your entire life? The burden is on you, Phillip.”
With that, Ceana turned and left the room.
Despite his annoyance with the local healer, he knew what she said was true. Had he made the right decision? Choosing Sarah over Ceana?
He turned to his captive, watching him warily. What Ceana said was true. He was placing his trust in a stranger and not in the skills of a woman he had known for most of his life.
She swallowed.
“I asked you about her skills,” Sarah said softly. “I need to know.”
Phillip shrugged. “Her mother was a healer, her grandmother before her. She grew up here, in the village nearby. We—Jake and I and Ceana—often played together as children. Her mother passed on her knowledge to her.”
She continued to eye him, nodding, her hand moving, gesturing for more.
He continued. “Jake and Ceana were close once. We all thought they would become engaged, but nothing happened.” He paused. “Why are you questioning her skills?”
Once again, Sarah bit her lip. Realizing that she had no choice, she spoke as she gestured to the herbs on the bed. “As I said to Ceana, none of the herbs here are beneficial in treating a wound such as Jake has suffered. Maybe not even help with bringing down a fever.”
He gazed down at the four leather satchels now lying on the floor, one of them which had spilled its contents. “What are you saying?”
He knew what she was saying, but he just didn't want to believe it. When it came down to it, could he trust her? Or was this a ploy to drive a wedge between him and Ceana, possibly even Agnes?
No, he discounted that as unreasonable. Why would she? Why would she even care? She had one goal in mind. To go home.
“Answer me,” he said. “What will those herbs do?”
She hesitated. “Maybe Ceana is not as skilled as you believed,” she said simply.
While she may have told a partial truth, he knew there was more, but at least for now he also didn't want to pressure her. He wanted her focus on taking care of his brother, not being afraid of him.
“Will he be all right for a while?”
“I'm not sure,” she replied. “I'll sit with him.”
“No,” he said. He got the impression she was being honest with him, at least for the moment. “You must rest for a while. A bath has been drawn in the chamber next to this one. Agnes has seen to it that that there are clean clothes for you also. You must rest for a while. Tomorrow will be another long day.” He glanced at Agnes. “Will you sit with Jake for a while? Notify me if there is any change whatsoever.”
Agnes nodded and sank into the chair beside the bed. He turned to Sarah. “Follow me.”
Sarah glanced at the satchels of herbs on the floor and then followed him out of the chamber to the one next door.
9
The minute Sarah left Jake’s room, exhaustion nearly overwhelmed her. She did need rest. A warm bath sounded wonderful, as did clean clothes. Her head pounded anew, and she knew that if she didn't get some rest she would be no good to Jake and, even worse, might make a mistake that would cost him his life.
Phillip paused in front of a heavy wooden door just a few steps from Jake's chambers.
She was so tired she felt dazed. Nearly bumped into him when he paused.
He opened the door and gently pushed it open.
She looked past him, eyes widening with surprise.
Here? She was to rest here?
The fire in the fireplace not only looked comforting, but inviting. Warm. Steam rose from a large wooden tub in front of that fireplace. On a chair nearby was piled a stack of linens she could use for drying after her bath. A luxurious four poster bed was nestled into one corner of the room, graced with a heavy coverlet and plump pillows.
Oh, so inviting!
In the opposite corner of the room stood a small armoire and beside that a washstand with a large, shallow wooden bowl and a small barrel with a ladle attached to it by a leather thong. Water for cleansing.
“Wash the dirt from your journey. Then lie down and rest for a while. I will have Agnes fetch you.”
With that, he turned and left the chamber.
Sarah stepped further into the room as the door closed softly behind Phillip. She hadn't expected this. Rather, she had expected, as a captive, to be shackled somewhere. The stables maybe? Was there a dungeon underneath this castle? Perhaps. But to be a captive in a room as comfortable as this?
She shook her head in disbelief. Curious, she stepped toward the bed to look at the clothes that had been laid out for her. Extended her fingers to touch the dark blue kirtle and beige underdress. Obviously used, but the texture of the fabric and the weaving still much finer than her own.
What would Heather think about all this? Sarah could hear her giggling now, sitting—maybe even bouncing—on the bed, running her hand gently over the heavy, thickly padded coverlet.
Sarah did sit on the bed, but only for a moment. If she lingered, she would never get into that steaming water in the wooden tub that had been brought into the chamber and placed deliciously close to the fireplace. She would lose the chance to wash the dirt and dust from her skin, to don clean clothes. Only after a bath would she allow herself to lie down and close her eyes for a few blessed moments.
Before she succumbed to her exhaustion, Sarah stood and quickly undressed, dropping her filthy, torn clothes in a pile at her feet. As she stepped toward the tub, her gaze found the small square object lying on the floor beside it.
Soap!
She had seen it once, at the laird’s house. The housekeeper, whom she and her sister had befriended, let them hold the oblong square in their hands. Had shown them how it worked. They dipped their hands into the water and then rubbed the bar of soap back and forth on th
eir hands until it created a small lather. The scent of lavender and chamomile had risen from the soap, delighting their senses and causing them both to laugh with glee.
Sarah gingerly stepped into the tub of water, but found it comfortable enough to quickly sit, her knees pressed close to her chest. The water level rose to just cover her breasts.
Deliciously warm.
Soothing her aches, relaxing her muscles.
Oh, this feels like heaven!
She reached her arm over the edge of the tub and clasped the soap, lifting it to her nose. It smelled like a rose. She groaned with delight.
Knowing the water would quickly grow cool, Sarah washed, the piece of soap gliding over her wet skin, leaving a trail of scented roses wafting into her nostrils. While a bit awkward, she also washed her hair, leaning her head as far forward as she could manage. Cupping her hands, she poured water to saturate her hair before washing it with the soap also.
By the time she finished with her hair and pulled it over her shoulder to wring it out, the water had cooled. She began to shiver. Loath as she was to leave the tub, she stood, reaching for the linens as she did so.
Suddenly, she felt a draft.
The flames in the fireplace flickered and danced.
Frowning, she glanced toward the door.
She barely squelched a startled cry when she realized that not only was it halfway open, but Phillip stood in front of it, staring at her, his gaze taking in every inch of her; to her dripping wet hair, lingering on her breasts, caressing the indentation of her waist and in the flair of her hips. She scrambled to cover herself, one arm placed over her breasts, the other over her private parts.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled.
He didn't seem the least bit sorry. He didn’t move, either.
She turned away from him and reached for the linen, anxious to quickly cover herself from his discerning gaze.
“Stop!”
She froze, half bent, arm extended for the linen, heart pounding. Gracing him within an inglorious view of her buttocks, she dared to slowly look over her shoulder.
Her heart skipped a beat.
His gaze focused on her back and then her right hip and her waistline.
She knew what he saw.
“You're bruised.”
She said nothing.
Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she turned away from him, arms covering her breasts.
He stepped closer.
She tried to prevent him from seeing more than he already had. To her dismay, she felt a feather-light touch on her shoulder blade. Startled, she pressed her toes against the floor of the wooden tub, every muscle in her body tense, prepared to flee.
Flee where?
He traced the raised scar along the back of her neck and down across her shoulder blade that she had carried with her since the day of her mother's death.
Her first savage beating from Patrick. Crazed with grief and fury.
She shivered again, but not so much by cold this time.
His touch evoked strange feelings within her. Her heart raced. Was it fear or something else?
He touched another scar, traced its crescent shape in the middle of her back, between her spine and the outside of her rib cage. Then another on her upper right arm, that one still pink and puckered.
“I didn't give you those bruises,” he said. “The skin is yellow underneath. A few days old. But the scars…”
He didn't touch her again, made no move to, so she quickly snatched at the folded piece of linen, swiftly shook it out, and held it close to her body.
“Get out of the tub.”
She swallowed and obeyed, her backside to the fire now, warming her skin. She clutched the linen to the front of her body, covering herself from his view. She refused to meet his gaze.
“Look at me.”
She ignored him, humiliated. Not only because he had seen her naked, but because he had seen her shame.
His voice gentler, he spoke again.
“Sarah, look at me.”
This time, she did. She didn't like the expression on his face. Why was he angry?
“Who did that to you?”
She didn’t answer.
“I am no stranger to injuries nor scars. Many of these are old, years old, but others are not. Nor are the bruises. Tell me.”
By the time he finished, his voice was a low growl.
She grew frightened.
“Tell me!”
She shook her head, bit her lip and cringed. Her reaction elicited an instant change in his demeanor.
He took a step back. Muttered something under his breath that she couldn't understand.
Suddenly, she found herself wrapped in his embrace, the warmth of his hand caressing the back of her waist, just above her hips. She glanced up at him in startled dismay, her heart pounding, every muscle in her body tensed. Her first instinct was to bolt, but the way he looked down at her, his gaze searching hers, changed her mind.
His eyes were riveted to her lips. Warmth blossomed inside her, surprising, since she stood nearly naked in front of him.
He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. Taken totally off guard, and having never been kissed before, Sarah wasn't sure how, or if, to respond.
Why was he doing this? Was he kissing her out of gratitude for helping with his brother or was it nothing but lust?
She was not familiar with this aspect of men's behavior. Of course, she knew how animals mated, and people for that matter. She had taking care of women heavy with child, had delivered more than a half dozen. But the actual act of… he couldn't possibly!
A mewling sound escaped her throat. She wanted to lift her hands, to push him away, but her fingers tightly clutched the linen sheet in front of her body. She didn't dare release her grip, or she might expose a part of herself—while he had certainly seen her exposed, that had been an accident. She wasn't about to give him another look.
His kiss deepened, evoking strange yet evocative sensations within her. The pressure of his lips was infinitely gentle, tender, almost caressing. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently, as if testing her resistance.
The warmth of his palms on her shoulders, the feeling of his lips on hers, the heat emanating from his body coupled with the warmth of the fire from behind her made her feel boneless.
His mouth pressed gently against hers, and then, instinctively, she responded.
Hesitantly at first. She wasn't sure what to do so matched the pressure of his lips with her own.
He made a sound, low in his throat, almost a sigh, his breath warm against her lips. Though it felt like long minutes, the kiss only lasted a few seconds. Then he lifted his head, slowly removed his hands from her shoulders and stared down at her, his eyes… searching hers?
She found her gaze locked with his, unable to pull away. She stood naked in a room with a man who just kissed her.
Her captor!
She should be protesting, and quite loudly at that, but she didn’t.
“Why?” she finally stammered.
He didn't answer. With a sigh, he backed away, gestured toward the clothing on the bed.
“I didn't intend to interrupt your bath. I just came to tell you that Jake is resting peacefully for the moment. Agnes has gathered up the herb satchels that Ceana left in his room. Make use of what you can, otherwise come first light, I can arrange for you to venture into the garden, the fields behind the castle, or the woods beyond to gather what you need.”
Still clutching the linen close to her body, her lips tingling with the aftereffects of his kiss, she nodded.
“That will most likely be necessary.” She dared to ask. “After I have done what I can for your brother, you will release me? Let me go home?”
He frowned, his gaze once again sweeping down the length of her.
To her surprise, he shook his head.
“Not until you tell me who did that to you.”
She frowned. “It is of no concern to you!”
/>
Why was he doing this? Why did he care? All she wanted to do was get back home, to Heather.
“Perhaps not, but you have piqued my curiosity. Besides, I find any man who strikes a woman to be a coward.”
She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. He was a Highland laird. They had a reputation for being brutes— violent, uncouth, base and without morals. At least, that's what she had been led to believe growing up.
But Laird Phillip Duncan was the opposite of everything she had been told about Highlanders. Nevertheless, her personal life and history were none of his business. It had nothing to do with why he kidnapped her nor her ability to care for his brother.
She said as much.
He turned and strode toward the door, scowling again.
Frustration? Anger? Like she had seen on his face when he had confronted Ceana earlier.
“I'm warning you, Sarah,” he said. Calmly, but the underlying tone of threat was ever present. “I would suggest that if you want to go home, you cooperate—”
In a fit of pique, she stomped her bare foot against the wood floor, producing a dull thud against the floorboards.
“I have cooperated! And against my will, I might remind you! I have told you that I will do the best I can for your brother. But it may be too late. He's in… his condition is very severe. He may not recover. Are you going to blame me if he doesn't survive?”
She felt intimidated by the look he gave her.
Only moments ago, he'd kissed her so tenderly, so softly.
Now he was her captor again.
She was beginning to discern that he was not a man used to people confronting him, arguing with him, or disobeying him. While he had yet to lay a hand on her in anger, she didn’t trust him further than she could throw him. She trusted no man. Especially one not as handsome or as intriguing as Phillip Duncan.
The door closed softly as he left the room.
She stood frozen for several moments, just in case he decided to reenter. She heard his footsteps moving down the hall.
All grew quiet.
She quickly toweled herself dry and stepped over to the bed and hastily donned the clothes, relishing the sensation of the well-worn but clean clothing against her skin. Maybe she would lie down, just for a little while, although she doubted she would sleep. She had been away from home for two entire nights, heading into a third. She was incredibly worried about Heather. How was she faring against her stepfather's foul temper, especially since Sarah had been gone for so long?
