The Highlander's Woman (The Reckless Rockwoods #3)

by Monica Burns

  “Enough,” he snarled despite the way his gut wrenched at the thought of Patience not trusting him enough to love her no matter what she looked like. “Do no’ ever interfere in my affairs again.”

  “Yes, Julian.” There was a note of trepidation in his sister’s voice and he stretched out his hand until his fingers touched a wet cheek.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said with a sigh of regret. “But you cannot fix people like you can a piece of broken furniture.”

  “Well, she did say she would consider coming,” Muireall whispered with a small trace of defiance.

  “And what makes you think I want her here?” Julian asked sharply. “I have no need of her pity.”

  “But if she came, it wouldn’t be because she pitied you, Julian. She loves you.”

  “I’m done with this conversation, Muireall. Do no’ interfere in this matter again. Is that understood?”

  “Aye.” It was a clipped answer that indicated she was unhappy with his decision, but he knew she’d abide by his order. “But I do no’ regret asking her to come home.”

  Julian snorted with mild disgust at his sister’s defiant reply. The sound of muffled voices in the foyer outside the library made him stiffen. Since the accident, he’d refused to accept callers. He had no use for anyone’s pity. Before he could speak, Muireall’s hand squeezed his arm before he could object to the visitors.

  “Do no’ argue with me about this, Julian,” his sister said quietly.

  In that split second, he knew his sister had arranged for another nursemaid candidate to come meet with his approval. He’d already rejected four previously, and the one nurse he’d agreed to hire had left after just one week. Julian knew it was his temper that had driven the older woman to leave, but he had little use for someone who treated him like a child.

  “You’ve arranged for another nursemaid to come interview for a job.

  “Aye,” Muireall said softly. “You will be nice to this lady, won’t you, Julian? Lorne has said you have been exceedingly rude to the other candidates.”

  Although he appreciated the efforts of Muireall and his childhood friend, who now served as his estate manager, he knew it was an exercise in futility. There was only one woman he would even consider for the post, and the thought of her coming here out of pity filled him with anger. He had no need of her pity or her help. The thought that she would come at all almost made him snort with incredulity. Muireall squeezed his arm again in a silent plea.

  “Aye,” he bit out with a sharp bob of his head. “I’ll be cordial.”

  “Thank you,” his sister said quietly. There was an odd note in her voice that any other time he might have thought was excitement, but he dismissed it as her relief he’d agreed to be polite. With a grimace, he patted the small hand on his sleeve.

  “Go see to our guest,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “You promise to be nice?”

  “I promise,” he said with a slight smile.

  Interviewing another candidate was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew Muireall was deeply worried about him. Worse, he knew she was right, but he’d hoped his vision would have returned by now. In the first few weeks after the accident, his vision had gone from nothing but the stark darkness of a moonless night to the beginnings of shapes against a fuzzy white background.

  The doctor had expressed optimism at the change, but at his last visit the man had indicated it was possible Julian’s vision would never return. It was one of the reasons he was unwilling to reject this latest candidate outright. As much as he resented the idea of relying on someone, it was time he thought of Muireall.

  Losing their father had devastated her. Adding to her grief was the burden she’d taken on caring for him. She never complained, but it was too much to ask of her. She was a young girl who should be enjoying the attentions of suitors at a dance or visiting Edinburgh or London for a spring wardrobe. He was not a rich man, but he was more than capable of ensuring Muireall had a proper wardrobe.

  As he heard his sister leave the room, Julian reached behind him to touch the chair that had gotten in his way. He wanted to throw it across the room. Instead, he leaned his cane against the back of the chair before he slowly skirted it and headed toward the wide expanse of windows that in his blindness resembled cloudy patches of white. He paused for a moment as he stumbled slightly next to the settee. His fingers skimmed the soft velvet upholstery until he found what he was looking for.

  The pillow in his grasp, he visualized where best to place it. Moving into the open space between the settee and the large expanse of windows, he dropped the stuffed roll of fabric onto the floor. His foot noted where the pillow was then he counted off the steps to the window. Satisfied with the test he’d engineered, he faced the wide expanse of white that was his only view of the scenery beyond. In his mind, he saw the rolling moors stretched out in front of him.

  There was a chill in the air today. It penetrated the glass to brush over his legs and hands despite the warmth of the room. No doubt the sun was hidden by clouds. It reflected his sullen mood. He heard the sound of someone entering the salon, but he didn’t move. Judgment day was at hand.

  “Crianlarich—”

  “Leave us, Lorne.” He didn’t allow his friend to finish his introduction. When he sensed his estate manager was about to object, Julian stiffened his back with displeasure. “Now.”

  “As you wish,” Lorne said quietly.

  The sound of his friend retreating from the main salon left silence in his wake. It hung thick and heavy in the air. With his back to the woman his sister had brought in for an interview, he heard the soft rustle of silk as if she’d shifted her weight where she was standing. It made him think she might be nervous or intimidated by him. The thought gave him satisfaction. At least he still possessed the ability to unsettle people despite his affliction.

  “Sit.” The harshness of his command cracked through the air.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  Patience. He froze, suddenly unable to move. Why had she come? Muireall. His sister’s pleas had made his wife feel obliged to return to him. Julian clamped down on his jaw until it ached as he slowly turned to face his wife.

  “What do you want, Patience?”

  He heard a small sound escape her, and he frowned. Was his work kilt or jacket askew? With great restraint, he prevented himself from tugging at his jacket. He stared at the dark, softly-curved shape against the light gray background in front of him. When he considered the wraith in the shadows of Melton House, it pleased him to know her curves had returned. He immediately scoffed at himself for caring. Julian saw what must have been her arm move as if she had pressed her hand to her throat.

  “I…I thought…”

  “That I might need your pity?” he lashed out with a bitterness he’d kept locked up inside him over the last three months.

  “No,” she exclaimed softly. “I came to tell you I was wrong, Julian.”

  “Wrong?” he sneered. “What pray tell were you wrong about, madam?”

  “I should have believed you and not…Una.” Simple and clear, her words rang out across the space between them. For almost a year he’d long to hear her say those words, and yet now, they seemed hollow.

  “I have no need for your apologies, Patience,” he said in clipped tones.

  “But you do have need of my help.” The quiet determination in her voice sent a surge of anger coursing through his veins.

  “You’re mistaken. I can see well enough to move around quite easily,” he lied in a cold voice as he strode forward intent on sending her on her way.

  “Stop,” she exclaimed. Startled, Julian stopped in his tracks while keeping his features hard and inflexible as he glared in her direction.

  “What?” he snarled.

  “There’s a pillow directly in your path,” she said quietly. “If you continue forward you’ll trip and wind up sprawled on the floor like a newborn foal.”

  Julian scowled as he reali
zed he’d forgotten about his test for the candidate he’d been expecting. Patience was the first one who’d passed it. None of the other candidates had ever thought to give him oral commands. They’d all rushed to his aid as if he was a child incapable of doing anything on his own. But then Patience was his wife.

  She knew him well enough to know he would never tolerate being treated like that. Julian strode straight to where he’d left the pillow and kicked it to one side then closed the distance between them. The soft lilac scent she wore was a familiar one, and he breathed in the sweetness of her. God help him, she smelled wonderful. It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed not to pull her into his arms. Patience wasn’t to be trusted. She was here simply because she felt pity for him. She’d said she believed in his innocence, yet it was all too easy for her to say what she thought he might want to hear.

  Desperately, he tried to see her face, but it was nothing more than a round shadow in front of him. Despite his determination not to touch her, the urge to stroke her cheek was strong. He stretched out his hand to her. Even though it had only been three months since the accident, his other senses were already compensating for his lack of sight, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath. He could almost feel the tremor that shook her body before she recoiled from him.

  Raw fury barreled through him. She’d said she’d been wrong not to believe him, and yet she still found him repulsive. The last time he’d been near her she’d called him a liar, but she was the liar. She was here out of duty and pity, nothing more. It was the one thing he didn’t need from her. He wanted nothing from her at all. A mocking laugh echoed in the back of his head. He straightened.

  “Leave, Patience. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “I’m not leaving, Julian. You’re my husband. I belong here—with you.”

  “Go or stay, it matters no’ to me,” he said in an icy voice.

  “Then I choose to stay.”

  “As you wish.” Julian shrugged then stepped around her intent on picking up his cane from where he’d left it at the chair. She didn’t move as he found the stick and headed toward the door.

  “Julian.”

  The melodious sound of her voice caressed his ear just as her lips had done in the past. He wanted to strangle her for the way she could make his body respond to her so easily. Ignoring her, he continued making his way toward the door of the library.

  “Damn you, Julian MacTavish, don’t you dare walk away from me. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to come here?” Her words made him come to an abrupt halt and he whirled around to face her.

  “If you came seeking redemption, you’ll not find it here, Patience.”

  “I came to Crianlarich Castle because I wanted to, not because I had to.”

  “Then your trip was a waste of time,” he said with open hostility.

  “You forget how stubborn I am, Julian.” The determination in her voice made him lock his jaw in anger.

  “I’ve forgotten neither your stubbornness nor your request for a divorce,” he sneered. “I suggest you return to London and have your attorney draw up the papers. I’ll sign them as soon as they’re delivered.”

  Patience’s gasp held what might have been a note of pain, but he ignored it. The idea that he might have hurt her with his agreement to give her what she wanted wasn’t worth a second thought. Without another word, he walked out of the library and lurched his way to the staircase. He was almost at the top of the stairs when Muireall called out to him from below.

  “Julian, where are you going?”

  “To my room,” he snarled. “Thanks to your damned interference, ‘tis the only place I can go where I will no’ be nagged by a wife who’s suddenly developed a conscience where I’m concerned.”

  Julian didn’t wait for his sister’s response. He simply turned and made his way down the hallway to his room. What the hell had his sister been thinking to ask Patience to come here? His cane beat a harsh rhythm as he walked along the corridor. When the tip of his cane connected with his bedroom door, he fumbled slightly as his hand sought to find a firm grip on the doorknob.

  With a violent push, he thrust the door open, and it crashed backward into the wall with a loud crack. The swish of air it made as it bounced back in his direction made Julian raise his hand to stop the door from hitting him. He stepped deeper into the room and took immense pleasure in slamming the door shut behind him.

  “Damn her,” he said with a bitterness that had been slowly eating away at him for months until he no longer cared whether he lived or died.

  He’d been dying in bits and pieces since the day his marriage had fallen apart. The fire a few days later had only made matters far worse. For two weeks, he’d not left Patience’s side. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness, but he’d refused to leave her. At times she’d seemed to hear his voice, and her hand always tightened around his just before she sank back into her drug-induced sleep.

  But it had been those moments when Dr. Branson had changed her bandages that her hand had gripped his so tightly. It had made him believe she needed him. He’d been wrong. It had simply been the response of a woman in pain. When he’d heard her call him a liar through her agony, he’d realized he might never hear her heartbeat against his chest again.

  Julian staggered his way toward the chair in front of the fire and sank down into it. Patience’s refusal to leave Crianlarich meant he’d find few places where he could avoid hearing her voice or breathing in her delicious scent or worse stumbling into her exquisite curves. That would be the worst possible thing, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her.

  Julian snorted at the thought. He would have no problem keeping his distance from her. All he had to do was remember how she’d recoiled from him earlier. That memory alone would keep him from touching her. Once more a mocking laugh echoed in the back of his head. He ignored the way the voice reminded him that he was a liar.

  With a grunt, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. He could feel the beginnings of one of the headaches that occurred regularly since the accident. Even his fully healed leg ached. That was something that would never go away the doctor had said despite the way the bone had knitted together so well. The ache was something he could deal with rather than the pain from a constant limp. He was fortunate where his father had not been.

  The memory of his father came with a mixture of regret and resentment. The Scotsman had been a hard man to love. Things had only been made worse by his adamant rejection of Patience as Julian’s bride. He’d never understood why his father had opposed his marriage so stridently, but it mattered little now. His marriage had fallen apart just as Fergus MacTavish had always maintained it would. His temple had begun to throb more insistently, and Julian forced himself to relax in an effort to reduce the strength of the headache. His last thoughts before he dozed off were of Patience’s laughter and her sparkling eyes.

  § § §

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when the persistent knock on his door pierced his consciousness.

  “Come,” he commanded in a sharp tone.

  The sound of the door opening was proceeded by the clinking of china. Was it dinner time already? No sooner had the question popped into his head than the clock on the mantel began to chime. The chime ended on the eighth ring, and he realized he’d missed dinner.

  “Muireall, is that you?”

  The only reply was the sound of his dinner tray scraping softly across the table Muireall had arranged to be placed at the window. The smell of succulent roast beef made his mouth water. A moment later, the door to his bedroom closed, and he frowned. Muireall generally remained behind in case there was something he wanted. With a grunt of irritation, he rose from his chair to move to the table. Seated in front of his plate, he picked up his fork to stab at a piece of the beef. Where he’d expected bite-sized morsels was a large hunk of meat.

  “Damnation,” he muttered. Mrs. Drummond had failed to cut
up his meat for him. His fork hit the table hard knowing his meat would be cold by the time he rang for someone to come cut up the meal.

  “You’re quite capable of cutting it up yourself.” The sound of Patience’s quiet, yet firm, voice echoed behind him and he jerked with surprise before he stiffened. Why the devil hadn’t he realized she was in the room? Because his head was still wooly from his headache.

  “Is there no room sacred in my own home that you won’t enter, madam?” he snapped.

  “If you had come down for dinner, it wouldn’t have been necessary for me to intrude on this hiding place of yours.” Patience’s voice was a mixture of amusement and irritation.

  “I want my meat to be cut as it usually is,” he said sharply. “Take it downstairs and have Mrs. Drummond cut it up.”

  “You may cut it up yourself.” Her retort was short and crisp.

  “What did you say?” he growled deep and low as anger swelled up inside him.

  “If you’re so desperate to be independent, why haven’t you learned to do more things for yourself?” Patience said with exasperation. “Cutting your meat up is one of those things. Otherwise you’re little more than a babe in the woods.”

  “I am no’ a babe in the woods,” he bit out fiercely, while inside he knew she was right.

  “Then prove it by learning how to cut your meat up. I’ve ordered Mrs. Drummond to fix your plate a certain way from now on,” Patience said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Your meat will always be at five o’clock on your plate. Vegetables will be at eight, ten, and two. Soups and stews will always be at six o’clock when it’s served. Desserts will also be at six o’clock when served after the meal. If you are having a tray dessert will be to the left of the plate at the hour of eight while your bread plate will be just above it at ten. Your wine and water goblets are where they always have been at one and two, and your coffee or tea will be to the right of your plate at three o’clock.”

  The explanation was so logical he wondered that he’d not thought of it himself. The fact that Patience had done so but not him irritated the hell out of him. The quiet sound of silk brushing against the carpet echoed in his ear indicating she was headed toward him. Julian heard her sit down opposite him.