But he’d never believed he was born to be laird. Feeling responsible and actually being accountable were two different things entirely. The first was a choice. The second was an expected duty.
Feminine voices drifted on the breeze, dragging him back from his reverie. Sunlight glinted red in Lynelle’s golden hair as she approached with Keita. His body tensed. Christ! When had he started thinking of her as Lynelle?
When you kissed her.
‘Are you returning to the castle now, laird?’
William turned at the sound of Ian’s voice.
‘Aye.’
‘Can I walk with you? I need to see my father.’
‘I welcome your company, Ian.’ He told himself his agreement had nothing to do with the sudden need to avoid Lynelle’s probing questions.
They bid the villagers farewell and started back along the path. Despite Ian’s presence, the woman walking beside him proved a constant distraction.
There was something different about her. An air of confidence and certainty shimmered around her, as if she’d discovered a well-kept secret. He could think of many ways to encourage Lynelle to share her knowledge with him, but doing so would mean being alone with her.
The short journey across Castle Loch seemed to take forever. Though he stared at the rippling water, he remained acutely aware of every word Lynelle spoke, every gesture she made. Relief ploughed through him as the boat bumped into the pier.
William kept a slight distance between them as he escorted Lynelle into the keep. No words passed between them, but her gaze locked with his for a whisper of time before she descended to the healing room below, and he took the wide stairs up to Edan’s chamber two at a time.
***
‘I win!’
William groaned inwardly. Not again. How could Edan win the second game of draughts with such ease? Seated in the bailey, enjoying the mild sunshine, William was having trouble concentrating.
Edan’s triumphant grin widened as a group of giggling young serving maids approached. They spouted on about Edan’s daring and bravery, causing his underdeveloped chest to swell.
Standing, William offered his seat to the bright-eyed maids, allowing Edan some privacy to soak up their praise.
William strode around to the back of keep, drawn by the sound of steel clashing with steel. Donald had kept up the men’s training since William had become laird, though it was a duty he’d previously enjoyed. Removing his shirt and picking up a heavy sword, he sparred with several of the men, relishing the physical exertions placed on his body.
After splashing his face and upper body with cool water, he left Donald to guide the aspiring swordsmen. Today, he lacked the clear-headed concentration required to hone their skills.
Donning his shirt, he sought out Malcolm, Closeburn’s steward. Food stores of fresh meat were low and William decided to organize a hunt in a week or two to replenish the larder. As they spoke, his gaze constantly drifted upward to the keep’s highest level and the window that no eyes had peered out of for half a year.
The sun hung low in the west by the time William sought out Edan. He patiently waited for Edan’s flock of admirers to disperse, then carried his grumbling brother back to his chamber.
William teased Edan about the young lasses vying for his attention as they shared the evening meal. Edan repaid him by beating him at draughts for a third time.
‘What’s troubling you, Will? You’ve hardly eaten and I’ve never bested you at draughts three times.’
Pushing out of the chair he’d placed beside the bed, William paced the length of the chamber. He halted at the far side of the room and looked at his brother’s concerned face.
‘Tell me, Edan. If there was nae such thing as the curse of the bleeding swan, who would you blame for the deaths of our loved ones?’
All colour drained from Edan’s cheeks.
A flash of pain seared William’s chest as his brother lowered his gaze to the coverlet. He desperately wished he’d held his tongue.
‘Forget I spoke, lad. It was a foolish question.’
‘Nae! It wasn’t.’ Strong emotion shone in his brother’s eyes. ‘Do you think me too young to have shared similar thoughts?’
Aye, he had. William approached the bed and resumed his seat. ‘Then tell me.’
Edan looked at him. ‘The hurt was so great I believed I would die along with them.’ He swallowed. ‘But I didn’t, and then I grew angry with each of them for leaving me.’
William understood such anger. He’d suffered the same burning fury.
‘Then I was glad I wasn’t struck down with the ague, and relieved I hadn’t gone out in the boat with Roger that day. I hadn’t died, but my selfishness caused the most pain of all.’
‘It isn’t selfish to want to live, Edan.’
‘Then why do I feel guilty for being alive?’ Anguish almost robbed him of his voice.
William’s heart constricted. Reaching forward, he gripped Edan’s hand and squeezed. ‘I haven’t the answer as to why, lad, but I assure you, you don’t suffer alone.’ William tightened his hold on his brother’s hand.
‘The swan curse was an easy choice and saved me having to find fault with anyone,’ Edan said. ‘But after being wounded, I’ve had plenty of time while lying here to think about who is to blame.’
William stiffened, fearing Edan’s next words.
Grey eyes lifted to meet his.
‘Nae one is to blame, Will. Not Jinny, not me and certainly not you.’
A whisper of light broke through the darkness around William’s heart. He stared at his brother, surprised by Edan’s maturity.
‘I should have asked your opinion sooner,’ William said as he stood, releasing Edan.
‘Aye. You should have.’
William heard the serious note in Edan’s tone. ‘I’ll not forget to ask your thoughts next time.’
‘I’ll ensure you don’t.’
William’s smile mirrored Edan’s. ‘There is something I need to do,’ he said as he walked to the door. Turning back, he said, ‘I’ll fetch Mary to keep you company. With your luck today, you may even best her at the board.’
‘Not likely.’ Edan’s groan was cut short as William closed the door.
He spared a glance at the stout oak door across the way. He’d been granted absolution from the living twice this day, and the woman sleeping within the sealed chamber had been the first. Her faith in him had formed a crack in the blackness surrounding his heart. Edan’s belief in him had widened the breach and doubled his hope.
But before he opened his heart to bask in full light, he had one last ghost to lay to rest. He needed absolution from the dead.
***
Lynelle pressed her ear to the wood and held her breath as she listened for further signs of life outside her room. The murmuring of voices had stopped and there were no more sounds of footsteps or latches clicking into place.
If Edan was ill or someone needed her skills, she was certain they would send for her. No one came.
Sighing, she turned and gazed about the chamber she’d spent the last few hours prowling around in. Everywhere she looked, William’s face seemed to take shape. She saw him in the pale stones forming the walls, in the low flames flickering in the hearth.
She made her way to the window, peered into the night and found a sense of space in the darkness. But the illusion soon faded and left her feeling confined, once again. Restlessness was new to her. She’d always bided her time, holding no expectations for anything.
But today things had changed.
Until she returned to Fenwick, it was pointless dwelling on what her father’s reaction would be. Helping Leslie deliver a healthy babe was something she prayed would transpire, but she had no command over when it would happen. Though on seeing Leslie today, looking more swollen than the previous day, Lynelle was sure the babe would come in a day or two.
Would William send her on her way the moment the infant drew its first breath?
Saint Jude. She was running out of time.
While the timing of certain matters was beyond her control, there was one outcome she could hasten, if she only had the courage.
Wrapping her arms about her middle, she closed her eyes and drew forth the memories and sensations evoked by William’s burning kiss. A shiver rippled through her, leaving a trail of gooseflesh dotting her skin and a deep yearning in her heart.
Resolve filled her. She had to know William’s thoughts, was desperate to know his feelings. She wanted...
She marched across the room, pulled the heavy door open and made her way to Edan’s chamber before her courage failed her. Fear of being rejected made her hesitate, her hand poised to knock. She could withstand rejection, but could she return to her room without knowing what William’s choice would be?
Her soft knock went unanswered. As she shifted from foot to foot, contemplating going back to her chamber or knocking again, the door suddenly opened, revealing Mary’s kind face.
‘What is it, lass?’
‘Nothing. I...how is Edan?’ she said, hoping the poor light in the corridor hid the flush warming her cheeks.
‘Edan is sleeping as all healthy young lads should. Especially since I allowed him to best me at draughts.’
Lynelle returned Mary’s smile with a nervous one of her own. ‘I am pleased to hear he is well.’
The door cracked open a fraction wider and Lynelle couldn’t stop from straining to see past Mary’s generous form and into the chamber.
Edan was alone.
Her attention fell on Mary, who appeared to be inspecting her thoroughly.
She peered down at her form and the fire in her cheeks spread down her neck and across her chest. After a busy day tending clansmen in the village and then in the healing room, she’d stripped off her clothes, washed, and welcomed the feel of the loose linen nightgown Keita had loaned her. Though it covered her decently from neck to toes, it was hardly attire fit to wear outside a bedchamber. Saints above, even her feet were bare.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Goodnight...’
‘Wait, lass.’
The urgency in Mary’s tone stilled Lynelle’s flight. She turned around to face her. ‘Is something amiss?’
Mary slipped out into the dim passageway, leaving the door ajar. A deep frown scored her forehead, as she peered down the length of the corridor toward the stairs. Lynelle looked in the same direction, a coldness seeping into her belly.
‘I worry for William,’ Mary whispered.
‘Why? Is he ill?’ Lynelle couldn’t hide the fear in her voice.
‘Nae, but he looked troubled.’
‘Where is he?’ Lynelle’s mind raced. ‘Has he gone from the castle?’
‘Nae.’ Mary slowly shook her head. ‘He didn’t say where he was going, but I watched him climb the stairs.’
‘Are there chambers above?’
‘Only one,’ Mary said solemnly.
‘And?’ Lynelle’s heart pounded. ‘Please, Mary,’ she said clutching the woman’s arm.
‘‘Tis the laird’s chamber.’
Lynelle stepped back, struck dumb for a moment by such an ordinary answer. ‘Mary, William is laird. It seems natural for him to...’
‘You don’t understand, Lynelle. William hasn’t set foot there for the past half year.’
‘But why?’
‘William blames himself for not saving each of his family. The foolish man doesn’t think he deserves to be laird of Closeburn.’
Lynelle had sensed William’s misguided guilt. She’d even shared her thoughts on the subject with him this morn. But she hadn’t suspected the depths he’d gone to in denying his rightful place as laird. Why had he changed his mind about entering the chamber now?
‘William is a worthy laird, but deeply troubled.’ Mary’s expression was grim.
Lynelle searched the end of the passage as if the flickering shadows concealed the answers.
‘I would go to him myself,’ Mary said. ‘But I gave my word I’d stay with Edan.’
‘I’ll go.’ Clutching her nightgown with clammy hands, Lynelle headed toward the stairs.
Chapter 21
WILLIAM stared at the imposing door before him, the iron-studded timber softened by the glow from the taper he held. Dread prickled his skin. He wanted to run, to leave the hurtful memories and the possibility of reliving them.
Inhaling deeply, he reached for the latch and pushed the door inward. Cool air rushed out to meet him, threatening to douse the candle and plunge him into darkness. He shielded the flame with one hand and waited until it settled. Then squaring his shoulders, he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.
A hint of disuse tinged the air. He willed his eyes to adjust to the room’s dim interior and battled to slow his racing pulse. The candle’s meagre light pushed back the shadows, offering a glimpse of the chamber’s secrets.
The ornate fireplace on the far wall stood still and silent. No fire danced in its belly, no flickering flames illuminated the intricate patterns he remembered adorning its sides and the thick, stone mantle above. He refused to look higher. Not yet.
His gaze skittered over numerous trunks stacked in the corner to his left. The timber screens failed to hide the solid reminders of those who’d come and gone. Behind the door stood the robe Mary visited daily to fetch William’s clothes, and the carved wooden chest filled with the rest of his belongings.
He turned to the massive bed located on the dais. The closed hangings hid the silky coverlet and matching pillows from sight, but couldn’t shut out the recollections of Roger’s last drawn breath, or those of his mother, Ilisa.
Stabbing pain sliced through his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if shuttering the view could somehow block the ache. Forgotten images crowded his mind.
Memories of Roger and William scrambling onto the high bed, their mother’s laughter filling the air as the brothers raced each other on hands and knees to reach her loving arms. The scent of roses as he sank into her hold, blinking across at Roger’s smiling face as they shared their mother’s loving embrace. The sound of their father’s booming voice, causing both their eyes to widen. A swift tightening of the arms around them before powerful hands snatched them up, throwing a son over each shoulder, a tickle and their childish laughter that continued long after they’d been shooed from the room.
Lord God how he missed them.
But knowing he could recall such memories, something he hadn’t acknowledged until now, eased the anguish twisting his heart.
He opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders twice before forcing his feet to cross the large square rug muffling his footsteps. Crouching low, he set alight the neat pile of logs he suspected had been awaiting his return. Strangely, his heart no longer raced.
The woody scent from the crackling fire swirled around him as he straightened and touched flame to the fat candles at each end of the stone mantle. Setting his taper down, he wiped damp palms over the plaid draping his hips and slowly looked up.
The framed portrait of his parents loomed above him. Roger Kirkpatrick’s deep brown eyes shone with pride and strength. William studied the square jaw and dark hair, physical traits he’d inherited. At twelve, the news of his father’s death in battle had stunned him, but his distress had paled in comparison to his mother’s quiet devastation.
Shifting his gaze to the face of the young woman beside his father, William’s chest constricted. Long brown hair, a shade lighter than his, fell about her slender shoulders. Her ever-present smile forever caught on canvas, dazzled brilliantly. It always had, even after his father’s death. But William had often noticed the slight trembling of her lips when she thought no one was looking. Her courage, right up until her death a year ago, humbled him even now.
Clutching the cold stone mantle, he searched his father’s gaze. Did he only imagine a sense of approval in the unblinking eyes?
Had he been torturing himse
lf with self-blame and guilt for things he had no control over?
A log snapped in the grate, the sound breaking the hush of the chamber. As he stared into the growing flames, a sense of serenity seeped through him.
He clenched his fists against the contentment he was certain he shouldn’t be feeling and studied the trunks along the wall, waiting for the familiar ache to return.
Sadness loomed, but it was without blame, born only of grief for losing someone precious. Spinning about, he strode to the window and pulled back the shutter. A chill breeze swept in, cooling his face and neck. He inhaled the cold night air, but still the calming warmth invading his chest remained.
He gripped the sill and stared into star-studded darkness. The village slumbered beneath the moon’s light and as his eyes adjusted, he caught stray wisps of smoke rising from each cottage. Faces of the villagers and castle folk flashed through his head. His people. His knuckles strained as a surge of protectiveness swamped him.
Suddenly, Lynelle’s face appeared in his mind. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of being her protector. He groaned as his body tensed with the desire to do more than defend her.
He’d planned to seduce her slowly, had enjoyed every shiver his caresses had evoked, every quiver she’d tried to hide. He was sure she’d been unaware of the tiny breathless gasps his touch had inspired and his body had roared to life at her guileless reaction.
But he wasn’t prepared for her innocent seduction of him. Her methods had surprised him most.
Using words of kindness, she’d encouraged him to forgive himself. Her optimism had ignited a spark of hope in his cold heart. He’d known her for such a short time, but she seemed to understand him, perhaps better than he did himself.
He was here in this chamber tonight because of her.
He was in danger of falling under her spell.
Praise Saint Patrick she was secured in her room below, out of his reach. He didn’t have her gift for words, but he could show her how grateful he was with every inch of his body.
The Healer Page 18
