Chapter 14

14

" I want ye to keep yer eyes out. I hope we will learn something with all these guests here."

Alasdair sat in his study, staring into the flames of the blazing fire. The spring evenings were still cool, and he enjoyed these after-dinner talks with Hayden as they sipped whiskey and discussed Clan business. Tonight, Alasdair was telling Hayden about his plan.

"I want soldiers in every corner of every room. And ye're to tell them to keep their eyes on Ben. If any of the guests spend too much time with him or upset the child, I want to ken."

"Aye," Hayden nodded. "Daenae fret. We'll keep watch over him."

"Good," Alasdair nodded. He sipped his whiskey and felt the warm liquid float down his throat. He was still buzzing from the picnic today and then that kiss with Charlotte in the hallway. Though they talked about the party and Alasdair's plan to find Ben's kidnapper, he was struggling to keep his mind in this room. His thoughts kept floating to Charlotte and the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Did ye hear me?" Hayden asked. When Alasdair looked over in surprise, his friend chuckled at him.

"Apologies," Alasdair said, bringing his mind back to this room. "I was thinking about something."

"I'll bet I ken exactly who ye were thinking about," Hayden said, and Alasdair didn't miss the suggestive tone and the smirk on Hayden's face.

"What are ye talking about?" he asked. He tried to continue their conversation about the party, but Hayden stopped him, that same goofy grin on his face.

"I saw the way ye looked at her at dinner tonight."

"Who?" Alasdair asked, but he knew it was a silly question. There was only one woman at the table that Alasdair would be glancing at.

"Yer governess," Hayden laughed, but Alasdair scowled at him.

"She isnae mine," he grumbled.

"Really? Then why do ye look at her like ye want to devour her?"

Alasdair rolled his eyes, putting on a fa?ade of nonchalance, but underneath he wondered if he and Charlotte had been so obvious. Did Orlaith notice the way his eye kept catching hers across the table? Could even Ben see it?

"She is a nun," Alasdair said, trying to end the conversation.

" Former nun," Hayden clarified. "Which means she is ready for someone to teach her the ways of the world."

"Enough," Alasdair said. "I willnae have ye speak of her like that."

Hayden only laughed as he crossed to the desk to fill his glass.

"So ye do care," he said coolly. Haydn watched Alasdair closely, practically begging him to react. It left Alasdair squirming under his gaze, and he stood up, unable to stay put anymore. He willed himself to calm down as he crossed to the window.

"She is leaving," he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice. "In a short while, she will return to the orphanage."

He saw a flash of movement outside and noticed two cloaked figures were running toward the castle.

"What's that?" he asked, and Hayden was suddenly next to him, peering out to the darkening evening.

"Orlaith," Hayden said, catching a flash of the woman's hair and her thin face. "And it looks like she is with the healer."

His limbs went cold at Hayden's words.

"The healer?" They didn't need to speak any further. Hayden and Alasdair simply turned and rushed from the door, desperate to meet the women as they entered the castle.

Alasdair's mind immediately went to Ben. Was something wrong? Why hadn't Orlaith called him? After the almost-loss of Ben this morning, he couldn't imagine she would hide something from him. Could it be someone else? He didn't want to admit that his heart instantly ached to know that Charlotte was all right.

"Where's Ben?" Alasdair called from the top of the staircase. Orlaith looked up at him, surprised to find him there, casting a long shadow down the staircase.

"Alasdair," she said. She put her hand up, as if to calm him. "It's alright."

He barreled down the stairs, finding no comfort in Orlaith's words. The healer was kneeling, her cloak on the ground alongside her supplies. Alasdair saw Ben standing a few steps away, his hand at his mouth as he bit his nails, his face awash in worry. He could almost make out the little boy's voice as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Alasdair rushed forward to find Charlotte on the ground. Her skirts were lifted onto her thighs, freezing Alasdair in place. The look of Charlotte on the ground, her skirts lifted, made him stifle a groan of appreciation. But then he noticed her torn stockings and the blood on Charlotte's knees. They were scraped deeply, long gashes that were red with irritation.

"It's all right," Charlotte said, her eyes locked on Ben. "It wasn't your fault."

"Sorry," he mumbled again.

"What happened?" Alasdair asked, his voice echoing through the entryway. Charlotte noticed him then, and she shifted herself, trying to cover as much as she could while the healer cleaned the cuts on her knees.

"We were simply playing," Charlotte told him. He could tell she spoke as much for Ben's benefit as his own. "It was my own fault. I tripped over my feet and fell. But it's nothing. Really, Orlaith didn't need to bring the healer."

"Of course, I did, dear," Orlaith said, kneeling beside Charlotte to comfort her. "We can never be too careful with these things."

"Is she alright?" he asked. His stomach churned with unease as he looked at Charlotte's injury. He worried that something deeper might be wrong. What if she had broken a bone in the fall?

"She'll be fine," the healer nodded as she rolled Charlotte's stockings down to her ankles. She then began cleaning the wounds. She put gentle pressure on the cuts as she wiped away the blood. He saw Charlotte wince as the fabric touched her open wounds.

"I'm sorry." Ben was still fretting in the corner, clearly feeling responsible. It pulled Alasdair from his daze, and he crossed to his son, glad to have something he could help with.

"Why don't we get you into bed?" he asked. He took Ben's hand, hoping to comfort him. "We'll give Charlotte a chance to rest."

As Alasdair walked, Ben's feet stayed firmly on the floor.

"Go ahead, Ben," Charlotte urged. "I promise, I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, and I'll be good as new."

She nodded at him before glancing at Alasdair. Surprised by her gaze, his thoughts flew to their kissing in the hallway and the urgency with which his hips pressed against hers. His eyes dropped down to the soft skin of Charlotte's calves, exposed by the healer.

"Come on, Ben," he said, forcing his eyes away. He pulled his son out of the entryway and up the stairs, determined to distance himself from Charlotte and those enticing legs. But as he climbed the stairs, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The feeling worried him, and he wondered once again if Charlotte was truly all right.

She sat in bed with Orlaith's romance novel open on her lap. Since falling after dinner, she had been brought all sorts of treats from Orlaith, who seemed to think it was her duty to care for the woman. Perhaps she felt responsible since she sent Ben to Charlotte, feeling tired herself.

But Charlotte didn't mind. There were small chocolates from Orlaith and a glass of brandy she had sipped on all night, letting the alcohol float to her head. And then, of course, the book. Charlotte had tried to refuse the thing, but Orlaith wouldn't hear the end of it.

You cannot open such a thing.

She said this over and over as the book stared at her from the table. It was only once the brandy was finished and she felt her body sinking into the mattress that she decided to take a peek.

She started with a single sentence, but soon, sentences turned to pages. She was devouring it, wrapped up in the mystery and the romance that felt oddly similar to her own life. Except the heroine in this story had never been a nun.

A strong knock surprised her, and she sat up to see Alasdair bursting through the room without waiting for a response. Charlotte quickly pushed the book beneath the covers and pulled the sheet of the bed up to cover herself more fully.

"My Laird," she gasped, but he didn't even greet her.

"Are ye sure ye're alright?" he asked. "How are ye feeling?"

She looked back at him, trying to slow her breathing after the surprise intrusion.

"I'm fine," she assured him. She felt the book hot beside her, and she pushed it further, wanting to make sure it was fully hidden.

"What do ye have?" he asked. She was shocked when Alasdair took a step forward, closing the distance. "What's in your hand?"

Charlotte held the sheet across her chest with one hand and used the other to hold tight to Orlaith's book. She knew she couldn't let Alasdair see what she had just been enjoying. It was far too humiliating.

"It's nothing," she said. "Do you need something? Does Ben?"

Charlotte began to rise, thinking of Ben and his frequent nightmares. Did the boy call for her? Was she needed in his room? But Alasdair held up his hands, urging Charlotte to lay back down against the pillows.

"It's alright," he said. "Ben's asleep."

Charlotte nodded as Alasdair walked closer, and suddenly, she felt the dip of the mattress as he perched himself on the side. His intense look made her whole-body flush with adrenaline. She could never sit so close to him without thinking about those lips and the way his fingers had explored beneath her clothes. And now, they were here in Charlotte's bedchambers.

She couldn't breathe, let alone speak. She simply waited, trying to understand the emotions flowing through her and the heat she had never felt before.

"I ken ye were putting on a brave face for Ben," he said, his voice low and soothing. "But ye can tell me. Are ye alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine," she said simply, unable to coax out more words.

"But it must have been a hard fall on that stone. Are ye sore? Should we bring the healer back to check?"

"No," she said, and she began to regain her voice. "I don't need anyone. It was only a scrape."

"In the morning then," he suggested. "We'll bring the healer back to check."

"I'm perfectly fine!" She laughed, but Alasdair was still looking at her intently. She saw no humour in his eyes.

"If you don't believe me, then take a look yourself."

With a frustrated kick, Charlotte pushed the sheet down to her feet. She wore her nightgown, the same practical piece of fabric she had owned for nearly ten years. Without thinking, she pulled the nightgown up and over her knees, holding them up so Alasdair could inspect them.

"See?" she said. "Perfectly fine."

Charlotte grabbed the nightgown to toss it back over her legs, but Alasdair leaned close. He looked genuinely concerned about her as he looked at her injury. A moment later, she felt shivers run up her spine as Alasdair's fingers gently traced the outline of her cut.

His touch seemed clinical, but Charlotte's skin burned from his fingers. Her whole body felt like it was burning from the inside out. She locked her eyes on her knees, waiting for his hands to stop their inspection.

"Alright," he said. His hands moved away, and Charlotte quickly put her nightgown back around her legs. "But ye must tell me if it gets worse."

"I will," she said. She felt far too close to him, and Charlotte shifted her body closer to the pillows she leaned against. The sheet was disrupted, exposing the corner of Orlaith's book, and Charlotte quickly grabbed it to hide behind her back.

"Ye are hiding something," he smiled. There was excitement in his eyes as he looked at her. "Show me."

"You can leave now," Charlotte said, her heart beating faster in her chest. She wasn't sure if it was her embarrassment or Alasdair's proximity that made her so flustered, but she could think of nothing except being alone again.

"I want to see what ye are hiding."

She tucked the book further behind her and then slipped it to her left hand. Perhaps she could throw the book under the bed before Alasdair noticed. But his gaze was locked on her, and she knew he would see it. She squeezed the book in her left hand as her face flooded with shame.

"It's nothing," she tried again. She leaned forward and shoved the book under the covers again, hoping to lose it in the sheets.

He was too quick for her, and suddenly, Alasdair reached out and grabbed the book. His hand caught the book just as she shoved it beside her thigh.

"What's this?" he asked, and Charlotte saw his eyes go wide as he recognized the object. He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise as he took the book to him, confirming his suspicions.

"Orlaith left it here," she tried.

"Why Charlotte, is this how ye've been spending yer time?"