Her fingers went onto the thick of the wound, pressing down. It sent an instant shard of pain through her body and she winced.
“Ye are of birthing age and that makes ye young.” He watched her over his shoulder and saw her grimace. “Have a spot of whisky—it’ll calm the ache of it.”
She nodded and stood, her head slightly woozy at gaining her feet. She closed her eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning before she walked over to the sideboard.
Determination carried her across the room and then her fingers grabbed onto the edge of the sideboard to stabilize herself. Five decanters sat before her, the liquid in them undistinguishable to her eye. She picked up the nearest of the five decanters and splashed some amber liquid into a tumbler. A quick taste to her lips. Brandy.
“Is brandy good?” She had to speak up for the expanse of the room.
“No. English nonsense. Scotch whisky made by distillers on our land. The best. It’ll cut through any pain. Directly on the left. Pour me one as well.”
She grabbed the smooth glass decanter and poured a dram into a fresh glass. A quick sniff. Whisky. Whisky that singed her nostrils.
Every move of her right arm sent jabs of pain into her belly, so she poured two more full splashes of the whisky into her glass, then a healthy dose into a tumbler for the earl. Tucking her glass between her left forearm and belly, and holding the earl’s in her left hand, she walked over to his chair, awkwardly holding his glass out to him.
“Thank ye, lass.” He took it, and then she slowly lifted her right hand to move her tumbler into her left fingers.
Mission accomplished without spilling a drop.
She moved to the chair opposite Evan’s grandfather and sat down, tucking both of her feet toward the fire.
The earl lifted his glass to her. “I have been anxious to steal ye away from Evan. He’s been around since ye’ve returned, hovering about me like a bumblebee on honey—always afraid to leave me alone. But you’ve gone and disappeared above stairs.”
Juliet took a long sip of her whisky, the heat of it burning a path down along her tongue and throat. Good. That trail of fire would make drinking the rest of it easier, as she was never one for strong alcohol. She preferred a healthy splash of sweet cutting the fire of spirits, yet she knew she needed the numbing of it to steady her nerves and dull the throbbing in her arm.
She drank another swallow. “It is unfortunate that I have been holed up in Ness’s room, but it is a devastating thing she is going through.”
“Aye, it is.” He took a sip of his whisky, his curious grey eyes that matched Evan’s watching her above the rim of the tumbler. “It is good that she has ye. I ken it’s lonely here for a woman.”
“Why is that? That there are so few women at the castle, save for the maids and cook?”
The bones of his shoulders lifted. “Fate has not been kind to our lot. There hasn’t been a girl born of the line—out to our third cousins—in three generations. Only by marriage do women grace these halls.”
“Yes, Ness has said she is lonely here.”
“I imagine she is. I regret it, not having more women around in some sense—it would have helped the twins as they grew as well. But I never had the heart to replace my dear Lettie—she was an Englishwoman like ye.”
“Your wife? When did she pass?”
“When Evan’s father was five.” His eyes closed for a long moment, though not to sleep, as she could see his eyes twitching under his eyelids. He sighed. “I could count the years, but that appears to be a lot of work for my feeble mind.” His eyes opened to her. “But I remember our boy was five. Old enough to miss her terribly. She fell ill with pneumonia, her breath wasting away to nothing. I don’t know that our son ever recovered from her passing, as he was always in her skirts.”
“And Evan said that his mother, your daughter-in-law died in childbirth?”
“Aye. Hannah. She was a kind one. Just above the door.” His finger lifted to point to the far wall by the door where a smattering of portraits hung. All women and posed in the dress of various periods of time past. Evan’s mother had been pretty—blond hair, a pixie smile and a delicate frame. “Ever since her death, this place has lacked the warmth of a woman. Even with Ness here, she is a quiet one. Likes the shadows. Likes taking her meals in her room. I rarely see her.”
“How long have she and Gilroy been married?”
“Four years. Years and she’s never taken to the place.” He shook his head, taking a sip of his whisky. “I regret not giving the twins that—a woman in the house, the softness they could bring, save for the nursemaid they had until they were four. The lads should have had more women about. But you, ye could change that for this heap of stones.”
“Me?”
“Aye. Ye could bring warmth into this place. Bring elegance and modernity to it. Evan needs that. Needs something more than the cold stone about him. It’s never been about the cost of bringing modernity to Whetland, it’s been about the will of doing it.”
Juliet looked around at the worn and outdated surroundings. The faded cushions of the furniture. The cold walls that were only broken up by aging portraits of past countesses. The lack of rugs underfoot. And the library was one of the most fashionable spaces in the castle, according to Evan.
She set her gaze back onto the earl. “That is no small task you set before me.”
He smiled and the quirk of his lips made him look impish. “Ye look up to it, lass.”
She leaned forward in her chair. “How ill are you? You have a remarkable amount of spirit for how ill Evan said you are.”
The smile faded away from his face and he slumped into the back cushion of his wingback chair. “The physician says soon. I say that will do me fine. I have little else to do on this earth.”
She nodded, not quite sure his sudden lack of energy was true or subterfuge. “Evan will miss you terribly. He may not say the words directly to you, but he talks of you as a great man.”
His bottom lip jutted upward with a sad smile. “I have my faults.”
“We all do.”
His grey eyes perked and he studied her for a long moment. “What are yours?”
“Mine?” She chuckled and took a sip of her drink. “I don’t know that I should be confessing such well-held secrets within days of knowing you.”
“But ye will?”
Her head tilted to the side, the chuckle still on her lips. “I’m stubborn. I do not care for things out of my control. I like my days planned to a fault. I found out today I’m not very brave—quite useless when looking at my own blood. And…” She cut off her own words.
His right eyebrow arched. “And?”
Another swallow and she drew a deep breath. “And I do not have a heart for love.”
“Ah, so that is the worry I see in your eyes?” He raised his glass to her. “Only a brave woman would admit that. But ye ken, love does not always come in a blinding flash of light. Sometimes it comes about without ye ever knowing it snuck up upon ye.”
She lifted her glass in response with a half-smile. “To the romantic in you.”
“And surely some wee ones running about your legs would show ye otherwise—how ye may have the very thing ye think ye dinnae?”
Her smile widened, frozen on her face.
This was where the lies needed to start.
There would be no marriage. No wee ones running about. But she liked the old man. Best to bite her tongue.
“Perhaps.” She inclined her head to him and took a long sip of her whisky.
“Ah, lass, ye don’t think these old eyes can see, but they do. I saw it that first night Evan introduced ye to me. Ye care for him whether ye admit to it or not. A great deal.”
She choked on the whisky in her throat and her teeth clamped down hard, fighting the innate urge to cough and clear every drop from where it was stuck. The liquid burned in her throat, but she swallowed against it, praying the contrived smile on her lips wasn’t too strained.
She cared for Evan?
She was a better actress than she’d given herself credit for.
Or had she fallen into the trap of what she’d sworn long ago she’d never do again—lie to herself?
{ Chapter 16 }
Breathless laughter at her lips, Juliet watched Evan’s large brown steed crest the edge of the craggy ground that flattened atop the hill.
Evan had been right, this was the place to view the whole of the Whetland lands. She could see for miles in every direction.
And she’d been right—she knew she’d win the race up to this vantage point. After riding this mare, Bumble, several times during the last few days, she had complete faith in its nimble footing on the rocky landscape. Evan’s horse was solid, able to carry his weight. Hers was fast.
Her horse pawed at a rocky outcropping, not at all winded from the chase up the low mountain and anxious for more speed.
Juliet leaned forward, stroking the side of Bumble’s sleek white neck. Evan had told her the horse had been named for the bee that had stung her and sent her on her first tear through the countryside.
She looked up as Evan’s mount approached her, a mischievous smile on her face. “I was beginning to wonder how far behind you were.”
His eyes lifted to the sky and he shook his head. “I didn’t stand a chance. You and that horse are the wind. Did you know she was that fast? I didn’t and I’ve known her since she was a foal.”
“I suspected. She delivered.” Juliet sat upright in the saddle. “I think she likes me riding her just as much as I like riding her.”
“She hasn’t taken to many, so it is a joy to see her unleashed.” He stopped his horse and his grey eyes settled intently on her, his words clearly meaning so much more.
“She probably just needed someone lighter, not one of your burly cousins, riding her.”
“There is something wrong with burly?”
She chuckled. “In your case, no. Nothing wrong with it at all. I, on the other hand, enjoy burly.”
With a grin on his face, he inclined his head to her and then swept his hand out around them. “And this concludes your tour for the day. We’ve now gone through the castle. Through most of the interior grounds. And from this spot you can see Whetland outer lands in all directions.” His gaze landed on her. “What say you?”
She looked at the land unfurling out before her. Beauty like she’d never known. Beauty that took her breath away. The sun fought with strains of grey clouds to light the land, and it just added mystery to the low mountains, the loch she could see sparkling in the distance, and the undulating foliage over the peaks and valleys—the mass of it concocting that unusual green that only happened in lands with an abundance of rain. Whetland Castle stood to her left atop its hill, a weathered, stubborn, dignified beacon for all of the land.
Her eyes met his. “I say you are a lucky heir.”
The smile instantly disappeared from his face as he shrugged. He pointed to her arm. “Your arm, has the ride aggravated it?”
“No, not enough to stop. I honestly cannot recall the last time that I’ve had so much fun.” Her head tilted to him. “It does help tremendously that I won the race.”
“I will have to arrange a race between you and my cousin, Gordon. He fancies himself the undisputed champion of horse racing in the area.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, as it has been years since I’ve ridden this much in one week.”
“It looks to come back to you naturally. You must not have only loved the horses in your younger years, you must have ridden a lot.”
“Yes. All the time. Every day it wasn’t raining and even on days it was. My sister is the more accomplished rider, though. She was always fearless on the jumps, but not me. I never liked that one point in a jump, at the apex, that second when I’m weightless and out of control and I don’t know how I’ll land—solidly or with a broken neck.”
“From what I’ve seen, Gordon had better be nervous in his boots. My coin is on you.”
She laughed. “Well, I hope he’s currently gone from Whetland and that will save you the coin you’re sure to lose.” She adjusted her hands on the reins. “How many cousins are at Whetland—I’ve seen so many faces come and go. Duncan, Angus, and Carson, but there have been more and I haven’t met them all. How many cousins do you have?”
His left hand pulled back, his fist resting high on his upper thigh. “Forty-odd close cousins are still in the area that pop in and out of Whetland as they see fit. All are welcome and we can keep them busy with work.” He looked out to the west, his eyes squinting. “Another thirty or so more that have spread across the world. Some south to England, like Jasper, some out to the sea, some to the Americas.”
“If they’re gone from here, they must miss this land in their bones.”
“Aye. I ken I would. It is a wonder that Gil has such disdain for the land. He rarely rides past the western forest.” He shook his head. “But I love it up here.”
His gaze swung in wide arc and then he looked to her. “And you, ye look like you belong here—out in the wild.”
“In the wild?” A smile played at her lips. “Do I?”
He caught her gaze, holding it for a long breath. “Aye, you do, lass.”
She exhaled, shaking her head and she looked away from him, her gaze settling on the tip of the lake she could see off to her left. The blue-grey of the water shifted colors as a cloud passed overhead. “Truth told, I don’t know where I belong. But I think it may no longer be London. This trip has me thinking I don’t know where I belong.”
“You’ll figure it out. I’m certain of it.”
The certainty in his voice made her look at him. His gaze was locked onto something faraway to the east, something that made the softest upward curve form on his lips.
Her head angled to the side, Juliet stared at him. His grey eyes had softened, the adoration he had for the rocks and the trees and the fields and the sheep evident on his face. Now would be as good a time as any to ask him about what had been bothering her the past few days. “Evan, do you think it possible that Gilroy sent that boy to fetch me?”
His look whipped to her, a hard glint instantly in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
She cautiously approached her words. “I am just wondering, if it was possible that Gilroy sent that boy to retrieve me and deliver me to that door of the great hall. The whole of it was so odd, and I am still trying to piece together what happened and how an arrow nearly missed my chest.”
“It’s not possible, Juliet.”
“But—”
“No.” With the snapped word, his head shook and he yanked on the reins of his horse, sending it back down the hill. “My brother had nothing to do with you walking through that door. I ken it.”
His horse took a few steps before he glanced back at her. “We need to get back to the castle. I have work I need to attend to.”
Juliet nodded and clucked her tongue, sending her horse into motion.
Apparently, she hadn’t been cautious enough in her words.
~~~
Juliet knocked on Ness’s door and paused. No response.
That was usual, so she opened the door, peeking in on Ness. To her surprise, Ness was sitting up on the edge of the bed in a fresh wrapper and night rail, her legs dangling off the side of the bed, her feet bare. Gertie wasn’t in the room.
Her hair wet, Ness dragged a fat tortoiseshell comb through her deep brown locks. Juliet hadn’t realized her hair was so thick and long as it had always been weaved into a braid as she had huddled herself in the bed.
“You took a bath.” Juliet couldn’t keep the joy of those words out of her voice. She liked Ness and considered her a new friend, even if they’d only known each other for mere days. Once Juliet had cajoled Ness into talking, she’d learned Ness had the kindest heart—a heart that had bee
n brutalized during the past years in her marriage to Gilroy.
The comb pausing in mid-stroke, Ness looked to Juliet and smiled. Her gold-brown eyes were clear and focused. “I did.”
“Do you feel like a new woman?”
Ness gave her a small smile. “I feel like I can move about again. Like I don’t need to disappear into the depths of the bed. That is a start, I imagine.”
Juliet stopped halfway across the room. “Did you eat? I am happy to run down to the kitchens and grab you a plate. Cook made the most delicious roasted grouse this eve. And the parsnips were coated by a thick, sweet syrup and I’ve never seen a body that wasn’t energized by sugar.”
Ness’s eyes twinged, as if a sudden spasm of pain had rolled through her body. “I did. Gilroy brought it up.”
Juliet’s eyebrows drew together and she took a cautious step forward. “He did?”
“He did,” she whispered, her voice haunted.
In that moment, Juliet noticed the shake in Ness’s hand holding the comb. She looked away from Juliet, sending the comb down the length of her hair.
Juliet moved in front of Ness, pulling with her the chair that had sat by the side of the bed. She sat, her left hand reaching out and rubbing Ness’s knee. “Tell me.”
Ness’s eyes closed, her head shaking.
“You can tell me. It will go no farther than these lips.”
Ness stilled, then drew in a shaky breath. “He’s going to kill me.”
“What? No. Who’s going to kill you? Gilroy?”
Her eyes opened, full with unshed tears. “Please don’t tell him I said that. Please. I never should have said such a thing. I should—”
“Stop, Ness.” Juliet squeezed her knee. “I would never say a word to him on what you’ve told me. Never. I have heard the fear in your voice every time he is mentioned and I would never betray your confidence.”
Wicked Exile (An Exile Novel Book 2) Page 11
