Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
B ernard hit the parapet of the turret, which struck him just under his shoulder blades, sending a jet of agony across his shoulders, upper arms, and all the way down his back. Something hard had also hit him just under the ribs, although the pain was nothing like that which he was experiencing on his back.
He screwed up his face, then he knelt down, groaning in anguish, and when he opened his eyes he saw Janice kneeling beside him, her face mirroring his distress. She was rubbing one of her hands with the other, and he realized that she had hurt herself too.
"I am so sorry." Her voice was trembling as she laid her hands on his and squeezed them. "I am as bad as my brothers. Are you all right?"
Men were not supposed to weep, but as Bernard shook his head, he found that tears of pain were coursing down his cheeks. He was acutely embarrassed, but he could do nothing about it.
"I will fetch the healer," Janice said desperately, beginning to stand up. However, Bernard caught her arm, shaking his head.
"Wait. I will be fine in a moment," he assured her. "I have suffered worse, and I don't think anything is broken. I have broken my arm before—and that is painful!"
He breathed deeply, in and out, for a while. Janice looked into his face, her expression one of deep concern. She would never forgive herself if anything bad happened to him. She sensed that not only was he extremely good to look at, but there was an air of wholesomeness about him, a sign of a good heart.
By this time some of the guards were gathering around and looking worried.
"A' right, big man?" Billy Mearns asked anxiously. "Can we dae anythin'?"
"No, Billy, I will be fine in a minute," Bernard replied, smiling painfully. "Thank you. It is just a bump."
"I am so sorry," Janice said again. She was almost weeping herself. "It was so clumsy of me."
"Don't distress yourself, mistress," Bernard murmured, still wincing painfully. "It was an accident. But what caused you such distress?" Then he looked at her keenly. "Were you running away from something? You look very upset."
Janice's grey eyes once more darkened with anger. However, she realized that there were half a dozen men around them, all of whom were listening eagerly to what she was saying. Instead of answering his question, she enlisted their help to haul Bernard to his feet.
"I will speak of that later," she muttered, so quietly that only he could hear.
He nodded and allowed himself to be pulled upright.
Now, as she stood back and watched him swaying slightly, Janice put a hand on his upper arm to steady him and blinked in astonishment as she felt the unyielding hardness of his muscle. The only substance she could compare it to was saddle leather, which was so tough it could stop arrows. She knew she was being fanciful; of course his arms could not stop arrows, but it was the only comparison she could think of at that moment.
She had to consciously stop herself from gazing at him as two of the guards escorted him to his room. However, when they arrived there, he refused to go to bed.
"I have hurt my shoulder and my ribs," he said grimly. "Nothing is broken, and I am not an invalid."
Despite his denials, Janice was still worried. "Shall I have some willow bark tea sent up?" she asked.
She was concerned about what she thought was his show of bravado, afraid that he might be trying to conceal his pain so that she would not think he was weak.
"Thank you," he replied. His stomach chose that moment to express its indignation by giving a mighty grumble. "And if you don't mind, I would like some food."
He looked embarrassed, and Janice chuckled.
"Of course," she replied, as he sat down stiffly in a padded chair beside the fire, refusing her help. She rang for the food and medicine, then poured them some wine from the carafe on the table beside him.
Janice realized that being alone in his chamber with him was against all the rules of polite society. At best it would be considered ill-advised—at the worst, scandalous—but she had never been one to pay much attention to the dictates of a few people who considered it their right to tell others what to do. She simply did not care, and as she looked into his greenish-brown eyes, she realized that, despite the class differences between them, she had more in common with him than with anyone else she knew. They could work well together if both of them were running the estate. The thought stunned her.
While they were waiting for the food to arrive, Bernard leaned forward to keep his back away from the chair and looked at her earnestly.
"What happened, mistress?" he asked. "If you wish to tell me, that is. You did not look happy when you went into the hall, and when you came out you looked extremely angry."
Janice sighed. "I was—I am —angry. Furious, in fact."
She clenched her hands into fists as she relived what had happened. The rage surged back, and she bent forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, then she began to speak. Her voice was throbbing with anger.
Janice hated being the center of attention, but unfortunately, it was necessary that evening since her brothers were hosting the event. However, when she slipped back into the hall, she found all the guests already seated, mostly in the places that had been allocated to them, although a few were out of place. No one was fighting or arguing about it, though.
She looked around with quite a bit of satisfaction since this was an event that she herself had organized, and she prided herself that she had done a fairly good job of it. She did not care if anyone praised her or not, as long as they enjoyed the feast. The sight of so many beautiful evening gowns and clan tartans gladdened her heart, as did the happy sound of conversation and laughter. She was full of relief that everything was going so well.
However, when Janice went to take her place at the head table, she found that it was already occupied by a buxom young redhead who was obviously one of Alasdair's guests by the way he was drooling over her. When Janice looked at her brother, frowning, he smiled at her smugly.
"Ah, Janice, there you are!" he greeted her, rising to his feet and extending an arm to the lovely young maiden, who stood up and curtsied to Janice. "My sister, Janice Stewart, please meet Lady Davina Galbraith. Her father is a good friend of our father. They have known each other for years."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Stewart," Davina said, with a smile that looked genuine and unforced. "I believe you are the one responsible for this lovely gathering. It is the best ceilidh I have attended in an age. Thank you for inviting me and my family."
"Thank you, milady," Janice replied. "I am so glad you are enjoying yourself. Please tuck into your food. We can become better acquainted later on."
Lady Davina gave her a polite nod and a smile, then sat down again.
Now, as she looked over at Alasdair, Janice realized how neatly he had trapped her. The young woman was sitting in her chair, leaving her nowhere to go. Janice could hardly turf Davina off the seat and tell her it had been earmarked for her. She looked around the room to see where Davina's empty chair was, but either an extra guest had been invited without her knowledge or the chair had been taken away.
Janice endured a moment of panic when she realized she had nowhere at all to sit, and she glared at both her brothers, who were sitting next to each other. They both grinned at her. It was all a big joke to them, and Janice felt like screaming at them as a boiling rage erupted inside her. This was not the first time something like this had happened, but never at an important occasion such as this one. She promised herself it would be the last because her vengeance would be swift and dire.
Janice turned and began to circulate amongst the tables, making small talk with each of the guests before she worked her way around to the big double doors that a manservant opened for her. She took a few steps before the anger rushed back, even stronger and fiercer this time. Then, regardless of her gorgeous lavender evening gown, she broke into a run, intending to lean over the turrets for some fresh air.
She put her head down and clenched her fists, but she had gone no more than a few steps before she collided with something warm and very solid. Her tightly fisted hands hit it first, and a spear of pain shot up her arm as one of her wrists was bent back. She swayed but kept her balance, but the man with whom she had collided was not so fortunate. Janice looked up into a pair of greenish-brown eyes, her pain momentarily forgotten.
"And that is what happened," she finished at last.
The pain from the hand she had hurt was only just beginning to make itself felt in earnest, and she helped herself to some of Bernard's willow bark tea as the food came, and Bernard began to tuck in with gusto. Janice loved watching men with healthy appetites since they took such great pleasure from their food. She watched sausages, eggs, bread, and assorted root vegetables disappear, along with two glasses of wine.
"Only two?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
He nodded. "I love wine, but I have had a lot of ale at the White Bull already. I think I should draw the line now. How is your hand?"
She chuckled, and Bernard watched her eyes twinkle. "As well as can be expected after a collision with your ribcage!" she replied. "Are you sure it is not made of iron?"
"If it were, it would be rusty by now," he said drily. "I am so sorry." He reached for her hand. "Let me see what I can do for it."
"Are you a healer?" Janice asked, surprised.
He laughed. "No, not by any means, but I have tended many a sprain in my time. Mine is quite an active profession where accidents happen daily. I have had to stitch cuts and splint broken bones many times. Let me see."
When his hand touched hers, Janice felt a delightful shock go through her. His fingers were enormous and rough to the touch but very gentle. He pulled at her joints, made her clench and unclench her fist, and massaged her palm with his thumbs, and gradually she felt the stress and worry of the day seep out of her.
Bernard marveled at the size of her hand in his as he worked on it. It was a tiny, dainty thing, and he wondered how she ever managed to do any work with those small hands. Yet he knew she did because her palm was calloused, and her fingernails were shorter than any other woman's he had ever seen. These were not the hands of a pampered lady.
"What do you do all day?" he asked curiously. "You have the hands of a manual laborer."
He examined them closely and ran a thumb over the palm of her right hand, making her tingle with awareness. He was so close she could smell him—earth, sweat, leather, and man.
"I am, in a way," Janice replied, giving herself a mental shake. "I do whatever needs to be done to keep things running smoothly."
She was lying with her head on the back of the couch, her eyes closed, lips parted.
Bernard knew he could have stolen a kiss before she could stop him, but he was afraid of the result of such an action. He would not have been surprised if she had struck him. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, resisting the urge to kiss it.
Janice opened her eyes as the pressure of his hand left hers. She felt quite bereft without his touch.
"Thank you," she murmured. "That feels much better."
He smiled at her, a tender smile that made her throb with desire. They were sitting so close to each other, and all the time there was a pulsing, unseen current of desire between them. All he had to do was reach out his hand…
Janice shook her head to dispel the daydream. Nothing was going to happen. She would not allow it to, no matter how much she wanted it.
Bernard watched Janice for a moment, wondering what she was thinking. He doubted he would be sitting in her presence now if she knew the contents of his thoughts. Her very nearness was causing him to stiffen. He had to distract both of them.
"Forgive me for saying so, mistress," he said thoughtfully, "but you and your brothers are not close, are you? In fact, you seem to dislike each other." He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Janice let out a cynical laugh. "Ours is a very complicated relationship," she replied. "I love them because they are my brothers, and I would not like to see any harm come to them, but if they were not my brothers, I would hate them."