Chapter Twelve

“Keep my hands off her,” Graeme grumbled under his breath as he guided the horse up the mountain terrain.

“What’s that, Graeme?” asked the priest.

Graeme let out a sigh. Putting Maisie on the horse with Eppie was supposed to make it so thoughts of the lass were not galloping through his head, but it wasn’t working. It was as if her soft body was still pressed against his, and it was damned awkward to be feeling that tug of desire with Father Ollie sitting in front of him. Graeme moved back a space and grumbled again, “She’s overly certain of her appeal!”

“What’s that ye are saying?” Father Ollie asked again.

“I said, the lass is overly certain of her appeal thinking I kinnae keep my hands off her.” Of course, right after she’d said it, he’d marched over to her and picked her up, but that had been to put her in her place.

“Well, ye did touch her right after she said that,” Father Ollie said, mirroring Graeme’s thoughts.

“Ye dunnae need to remind me, Father,” Graeme snapped.

“She’s a bonny lass,” the priest mused.

Graeme ground his teeth. He didn’t need the priest to remind him that Maisie was bonny. She was more than bonny. She was temptation incarnate with her beguiling gaze, beautiful face, and body that had been made to worship. Her skin was the smoothest thing he’d ever felt, and she had a bounty of curves that he’d enjoyed every dip and rise of when they’d been lying pressed together.

“’Tis nae a sin to want yer wife, Graeme.”

“It feels a sin, Father. She’s the sister of my enemy, and I dunnae intend to keep her as my wife.”

“Well, for now she’s yer wife, and she is nae yer enemy. She has nae done anything that should lead ye to think she may be in the future, either.”

“Well, she certainly will. She’s loyal to her brother, and that means she’d nae ever be loyal to me. So, we could nae ever have a future.”

“Ye are judging the lass for things that have nae occurred. Mayhap ye should hold yer judgment until there is a reason to give it and simply get to ken her.”

He fell silent as they rode, thinking about what the priest had said. The problem was that, so far, what he’d learned about her, he liked. Well, aside from her blind loyalty to her brother. He detested that. Otherwise, she’d shown bravery, selflessness, and a desire to try to build a bridge between them—at least temporarily—which took courage. She’d gotten all fiery when he’d told her he didn’t want her as his handfasted wife, and he supposed he could understand her reaction. No doubt he’d injured her feelings, but he’d been angry at himself for the lust pulsing through him for the lass.

Wanting to silence his thoughts, he sent the horse into a full gallop. He rode them hard over the rocky terrain, through thick brush, and into the woods where they didn’t emerge until daylight was almost gone. He was more than ready to stop, but he was determined that Maisie call a halt before he did. He led them up another steep mountain path and then crossed a stream at full gallop, which sent frigid water spraying up his legs.

“Halt, ye brute!” came Maisie’s bellow from behind him.

A satisfied, assuredly sinful smirk tugged up the corners of his mouth as he pulled his destrier to a halt and turned to gloat. The smile slid off his face as he took in the scene behind him. Maisie had already dismounted, and she was helping Eppie off the horse. Eppie’s face was as white as snow, and she swayed where she stood.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, rushing to her.

“’Tis nae anything,” Eppie assured him, raising a visibly trembling hand to pat him on the chest.

“That’s a lie,” Maisie interjected then turned the full force of her glare upon him. “Ye are what’s the matter with this poor woman.” She poked him in the chest. “Ye drove us like a hound out of hell over rough terrain, in the cold and through freezing water! Ye did nae have a care in the world that Eppie is older than us, did ye?” He opened his mouth to defend himself, though he struggled to think of what to say in the face of Maisie’s accurate accusations. Before he could say anything, she spoke again. “All ye care about is breaking me! Ye—” she poked him in the chest again “—are so focused on yer revenge that ye will sacrifice anything to get it.”

That wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to tell her that he’d been angry with her because of the reaction she’d ignited in him. He’d acted shamefully by not considering Eppie’s age and health, and Maisie was right about that.

“Quit yer fussing!” Eppie snapped, but the effort caused her to struggle for breath and double over so that Graeme had to hold on to her to keep her standing. Concern for her raged through him, and when his gaze met Maisie’s, he saw concern there as well.

“If ye’ll get my extra plaid out of my satchel and put it on the ground,” he instructed Maisie, “I’ll help Eppie to it.”

Maisie rushed to do as he bade, while Father Ollie came to the left side of Eppie and took her elbow to help Graeme guide her to the blanket. “Do ye wish last rites?” Father Ollie asked Eppie.

“She’s nae dying, ye deaf old fool,” Graeme growled, willing it to be so.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Eppie grumbled. “My head and bones ache, and I’m hot but shaking.”

As they helped lower her to the plaid Maisie had spread out, Maisie kneeled beside Eppie and said, “It sounds like ye have caught a fever.” She pressed her palm to Eppie’s head, then nodded. “Aye, ye’re burning up, and there’s little guessing why.” She turned to scowl at Graeme. “She’s been sleeping on hard ground in the cold with little food, and then right after we fall into the river ye have us all up and leaving on a hard, fast ride.”

“Ye have made yer point,” he spat out between gritted teeth, guilt flowing through him.

“Good,” she said, nodding as a satisfied look came to her face. “Dunnae be so stubbornly foolish again. Now, Father Ollie, I need ye to fetch me some water and some cloth to use to dip in the water to cool Eppie’s body.”

“I’m fine,” Eppie protested, but her voice was weak and low, and she had closed her eyes.

“What can I do to help?” Graeme asked, kneeling by Maisie as Father Ollie shuffled away to get the water and cloth.

“Can ye recognize henbane?” He shook his head, to which she clucked her tongue. “What about walwort, comfrey, or betony?”

“I kinnae recognize any of those things,” he said.

She stood abruptly, wincing as she did.

“Are ye injured from the river?”

“Nay, I’m fine. Keep yer concern on Eppie. I’ll go locate the herbs, while ye stay here. If Father Ollie returns afore me, dip the cloth in the water and sponge her head, neck, arms, and legs.”

“Go with the lass,” Eppie said, barely above a whisper. “She needs yer protection.”

He was torn. He didn’t want to send Maisie into the woods alone, but he certainly didn’t want to leave Eppie in this condition. “Can ye tell me what the herbs look like?”

“That will take too long,” Maisie said, turning away and starting toward the woods.

“Wait!” he said, gaining his feet as he retrieved his dagger from the sheath on his hip. He strode to her and held out the weapon. “Take this.”

She grasped it and gave him a smirk. “Are ye nae scairt I’ll plunge this into yer back?”

“Oh, I’ll be taking it from ye when ye return,” he replied.

“Ye are an insufferable beast,” she growled and turned in a swirl of skirts to disappear into the woods.

Chuckling, he went back to Eppie, kneeled by her, and took her hand in his. Eppie cracked open her eyes, and he could see the whites of them were now bloodshot, and she opened her mouth to speak, licking her lips, which looked dry. “Ye like her,” she said, her voice scratchy and catching.

He went to the horse, retrieved the wine skin, opened it, and kneeling once more, slid his hand under Eppie’s head and pressed it to her lips. “Drink.”

Eppie, who never did as she was told, did so now, which was further reason for concern. After she’d taken two sips, she said, “Did ye hear me?”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“And what do ye want me to say? She has some characteristics that are likeable, but she’s blindly loyal to her brother and stubbornly refuses to allow the possibility that he is guilty of what we say.”

“I like her, too,” Eppie said. “Surprised me.”

He nodded, because he knew the feeling.

“’Tis up to ye to open her eyes.”

“I dunnae need to open her eyes,” he said. “We will part ways eventually.”

“Ye dunnae need to. Ye have laughed several times around her, and ye dunnae ever laugh. She brings light to all the darkness in ye.”

“Eppie—”

“Dunnae ‘Eppie’ me. I’m dying, and ’tis my dying wish that ye give her a chance to accept the truth and choose correctly.”

“Ye are nae dying, woman,” he growled.

“Ye’re a seer now, are ye? Ye see my future? Give me yer vow to give her a chance.”

“Why do ye suddenly champion a Campbell?”

“Because she is more than just a Campbell, Graeme,” Eppie said. “She’s her own person. If yer da had nae ever been proven innocent of treason, ye would have been judged by others as treasonous. And are ye treasonous?”

“Nay, but—”

Eppie squeezed her eyes shut with a hiss. He leaned close and squeezed her hand. “I give ye my vow to give her a chance.”

Eppie nodded and patted his hand without opening her eyes. “Ye’re turning into a good man. I did well as yer second mama, if I do say so myself.”

He leaned down and pressed kiss to her forehead, his chest aching. “Ye are nae going to die, Eppie, but, aye, ye did well, if I do say so myself.”

Eppie gave a soft chuckle before saying, “Braggart.”

At a whisper of movement behind him, he turned with his hand on his sword to see Maisie coming toward them with her arms full of plants. He released Eppie’s hand and went to aid Maisie. “I see ye found what ye were looking for.”

“Aye. Now I’ll grind some herbs and mix them in the wine for a potion for the fever. Ye need to hunt some food so her stomach is nae empty.” He nodded, as Maisie’s gaze strayed to where Eppie lay with her eyes still closed. “Has she spoken?”

He thought of the promise Eppie had elicited from him. “Aye, and she’s wily as ever.”

“That’s a good sign,” she said. “If ye’ll fetch the wine, I can mix the potion while ye hunt.”

He motioned toward Eppie. “The wine skin is on the plaid.”

Maisie nodded and brushed past him toward Eppie. He watched her as she walked, fascinated by the gentle sway of her hips and the way her long hair brushed back and forth against her lower back, right above the curve of her bottom. She carried herself with natural grace and confidence, and he found it utterly beguiling. She leaned over, bottom to him, and placed the herbs beside Eppie on the plaid. Then she hiked up her skirts, flashing slender, inviting ankles that sent a shaft of desire through him.

She kneeled, but then suddenly turned to face him, eyebrows arched. “Are ye still standing here because ye desire yer dagger?”

“Nay, ye can keep it,” he said, thinking of his promise to give her a chance. “For now,” he added, also thinking it foolish to give a dagger to the sister of his enemy, but a promise was a promise.

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, but whatever she felt about his gesture, she kept to herself. He passed Father Ollie on the trail as he headed into the woods to hunt. The man had a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and in his arms, he’d piled sopping strips of cloth. As Graeme looked at the strips, Father Ollie said, “I could nae find anything to put water in.”

Graeme nodded. “I’m nae surprised. After I’ve tended to dinner, I’ll take the strips back to the river to wet them again.”

Father Ollie looked notably relieved at that suggestion. “I’ll tell Maisie so she’ll nae be too vexed.”

“She has a short temper, does she?” Graeme asked, curious to learn more about her.

“Nay, but she’s the sort who always puts others afore herself, and when she sees me huffing and puffing—”

“She’d make the trek down to the water herself,” Graeme supplied.

“Aye, and she seems to be moving a little slowly herself.”

Graeme frowned. “Ye think she was injured in the water?”

The priest shrugged. “I think even if she was, she’d nae say, because she’d nae want ye to think her weak.”

“I suppose I have put her in a situation to nae want to appear weak.”

“I suppose ye have,” Father Ollie agreed, raising his eyebrows. “And she’s nae, ye ken.”

“Nae weak?”

“Aye. When her da hanged himself, she was the one who found him. She did nae rush from the scene but tried to prop him up and get the rope from his neck herself.” Graeme tried to picture that slip of a lass hoisting a grown man enough to somehow get the rope around his neck off. “That must have been terrible for her.”

“Aye,” the priest agreed.

He had not spent much time thinking how her father’s actions had affected her, but he could see now they had.

“I’ll see ye back at the camp,” Graeme said, and as the priest trudged away, Graeme moved deeper into the woods to find a rabbit. It didn’t take long before one was hopping across the trail, and raising his bow, he drew the arrow back, released it, and felled the rabbit. He grinned to himself. He was a fairly good shot for having only recently learned to use the bow and arrow. Collecting the rabbit, he whistled to himself as he made his way back to camp. When he returned, Maisie was cradling Eppie’s head in her lap as she tipped the wine skin to her lips.

He was struck by the gentleness with which she held Eppie, and he stood for a moment watching her. When Eppie was finished drinking, Maisie set down the wine skin and began to wipe Eppie’s face and neck with the sopping cloth that Father Ollie had brought, but as she stretched across Eppie, he thought he heard her hiss in pain.

He studied her as he approached. Father Ollie had said he thought she was moving slower, too. “Are ye injured?” he asked bluntly.

She looked up from her ministrations and blinked at him in surprise. “Nay. Just a bit stiff, ’tis all. Why?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are ye concerned about me?”

“I’m concerned ye’ll delay us,” he retorted, not wanting to reveal that he did have some care for her well-being. He’d given his promise to give her a chance, but that didn’t mean she needed to know he was giving her a chance. If she couldn’t be trusted, he didn’t want her to think he’d let his guard down.

She snorted at that. “Ye fash about the food and let me fash about Eppie. Together, we will get her better quickly.”

He nodded and set his attention to skinning the rabbit. When he looked up, Father Ollie was sitting by a loudly snoring Eppie and Maisie was nowhere to be found. “Where’s the lass?” Graeme demanded, shocked he’d been so absorbed with his task that he hadn’t noticed she’d departed.

“She made a trip to the water.”

“Did ye nae tell her—”

“I told her,” Father Ollie interrupted, “but she’s fearful Eppie’s fever will spike.”

As if Eppie heard what the priest had said, she let out a loud groan. Graeme set the rabbit on a rock and went to Eppie, kneeling and taking her hand.

“She’s on fire!” he exclaimed.

“Aye,” came Maisie’s voice as she exited the woods, holding the rags. “The potion has nae yet started to help, so we must keep her as cool as possible to battle the fever.” Maisie made her way to him and kneeled beside him, worry knitting her brow.

He watched as she ran the wet cloth over Eppie’s skin, and as she did, Eppie began to moan. “Graeme,” she said, moving her head back and forth. “Take my hand. I’m dying now.”

“Ye are nae dying,” Maisie said, as Graeme took Eppie’s hand. “I’ll nae let ye, and neither will Graeme.” She looked encouragingly to him, and he realized she was trying to ease Eppie’s fears.

“We did nae finally escape for ye to die, so just hold on.”

Eppie nodded, and her hand went slack in his suddenly, shooting fear though his veins. “I think she’s dead,” he said, immobile with worry.

Maisie moved to Eppie’s other side and leaned down close to her face. After a moment, she rose. “Nay, she lives, but she’s fallen into a fever sleep. I’m going to wet the cloth again.”

“Nay, I’ll go,” Graeme said and started to move, but Maisie’s hand came to his forearm.

“Stay. If she wakes up, she’ll be much more at ease with ye here.”

He nodded, but he didn’t like her going into the woods alone. “Father Ollie can go.”

Maisie smiled and tilted her head to the right. When he looked, he saw Father Ollie sitting by the fire Graeme had made, and the man was fast asleep. “He’s old as dirt, and he looked like he was going to fall over after his last trip to fetch water. I’ll go.”

“Take a care,” he said, to which she nodded.

He sat with Eppie while Maisie was gone, watching her sleep and thinking of all they had been through together. She was the only mother he remembered. He could not lose her. She had cared for him when he was sick, had given him hope when he’d had none left, and had been his family when he’d been ripped from all he had known. He had been acutely aware for years that she could have fled when his da had given her the assignment to take him to safety, but she hadn’t. She had risked her life to save him, and that was but one of the reasons he would never have considered leaving her.

By the time Maisie returned, he felt the press of fear for Eppie running through his veins, behind his eyes, and hammering heart. As Maisie kneeled, he caught her eye and said, “Ye do whatever ye can to save her.”

And then it started. Through the night, Maisie made trip after trip to the water to keep the cloths cool to banish the fever from Eppie’s body. Graeme held her hand and talked to her because his voice seemed to soothe her. It went on like this until the first rays of light broke through the darkness, and Eppie finally fell into a quiet, less fitful sleep. Her breathing evened out, and when he placed a palm across her forehead, he smiled. “She’s cool to the touch!”

He moved his hand so Maisie could place hers on Eppie’s forehead, and once she had, the lass gave a grin that made his chest ache.

“We did it,” she whispered, throwing her arms over her head in a victory pose. When she did, she let out a groan and quickly lowered her arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, getting up to go to her because he knew before she ever answered that she would say it was nothing.

“’Tis nae anything,” she replied as he kneeled beside her.

“If ’tis nae anything, then why is yer hand at yer side?” he asked, staring at where the palm of her right hand was pressed against her waist.

“’Tis just a tweak,” she said, waving a dismissive hand at him.

He thought of the hissing she’d done before and how Father Ollie had said she was moving slowly, and he shook his head. “I think nae. Let me see yer side.”

“Certainly nae!” she exclaimed, shoving her heels into the ground as if to move away from him, but he caught her by the forearm and stilled her.

“Either I can pull up yer skirts or ye can,” he said.

Her lips parted, and she gawked at him for a long moment, then she said, “I will do it.” She stood turned her back to him, lifted her hair and moved it over her shoulder. “Unlace me please.”

He stood and walked behind her. As he brought his hands to the delicate laces, unwelcome, ill-timed desire stirred. He tried to concentrate on the fact that she was likely injured, but with each section of lace he loosened and each bit of creamy skin of her back was exposed, he felt strung taut as a bow by the time her gown gaped open to reveal her flawless skin and the fine, nearly sheer undergarment she had on beneath the sturdier material of her gown. Every inch of him wanted to lift up his hands and trace his fingertips over her skin, but instead, he balled his hands into fists.

“I’m done,” he said, hearing the low rumble of yearning in his voice.

She turned to face him, eyes wide, and slowly, she lowered the bodice of her gown off one shoulder and then the other. Her gown puddled at her waist, and she stood there beneath the moonlight like a goddess. In that moment, he couldn’t think of a single reason why he couldn’t trust her. She was perfection. The fine material of her underclothing did blessedly little to disguise her breasts, which swelled high and full under her garment. He pulled his gaze to her slender shoulders, then to the long, delicate column of her neck, and finally to her perfectly sculpted face where she met his gaze.

“Did ye get yer fill?” she said, her words revealing her irritation with him.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, meaning it. “I did nae intend to stare, but, by the gods, ye are the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

Her eyes widened even further, and then a shy smile turned up the corners of her lips. “Well, given ye lived at the abbey most yer life with only men and Eppie, I imagine ye’ll soon change yer opinion when ye see other lasses, but I do thank ye for the compliment.”

He laughed at that. “I’ve seen plenty of lasses at my time at my home,” he said, realizing after the words left his mouth that it sounded boastful. “I dunnae mean to boast.”

“Hmm,” she replied, grinning. “It certainly sounds that way.”

“Aye, well—” He shoved a hand through his hair. He never felt rattled, but he did in this moment. She had a strange effect on him. “What I mean to say is, the lasses are there and well—” Hell, he was sounding more and more like a barbaric arse.

“Available? Eager?” she supplied, her words teasing.

“Aye. Both those things.”

“Well then,” she said, “I certainly feel complimented that I fare well next to the eager lasses.”

“Ye fare more than well,” he replied, “and nae just against the eager lasses of my home. I was at Court for days afore ye arrived, if ye recall.”

She arched her eyebrows. “The lasses were eager there as well, I take it?”

They were, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud and make himself sound more arrogant than he already had. “I did nae say that.”

“Och! Ye did nae have to. I can see ye with my own two eyes.”

“And what do ye see?” he asked, intrigued. She had, after all, mentioned his scars before.

“Well, ye do have a rather solid build,” she muttered.

“Do I?” He purposely raised his arms above his head, laced his fingers, and cradled the back of his head in his hands. When she started to laugh, so did he.

“Does that move get many lasses for ye?”

“Aye,” he admitted. “It has.”

She studied him. “Ye’ve given up the move?”

“For now. I told ye, I will honor the handfast vow until the handfast is over. What else have ye noticed about me?”

“Are ye searching for compliments?” she asked, her voice teasing.

“Absolutely,” he replied, lost to the lighthearted moment. It was new for him. He’d been returned to his home for three months, and he’d flirted with lasses and they with him, but the flirting had the sole purpose of the two of them ending up in bed, and all parties involved had equally desired that outcome. It was uncomplicated. With Maisie, everything was complicated, and the two of them rolling in bed would only make matters worse.

“Ye have brooding eyes that remind me of an impending storm,” she said.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Aye. Yer eyes show ye’re a thinker, and better to be a thinker than a dull wit.”

“I concur with that.”

She grinned. “Look at us getting along.”

“Aye, look at us.”

It felt dangerous. Like stepping a foot on a path covered with ice. He intended to destroy her brother, and he had no doubt she’d do her utmost to stop him, so they were, for all purposes, enemies. Not natural born but created by circumstances neither of them had fashioned but were both forced to live with. As he stared at her, hand still pressed to her side, he realized they’d run off course, and he half wondered if she had purposely led him astray because she didn’t want him to see her injuries.

“Let me see yer side,” he said.

Her lips pressed together with displeasure, but she slowly pulled at the undergarment covering her chest. It slid upward inch by inch to reveal her stomach. He had no idea a stomach could be so tantalizing. Hers was flat and creamy, and dipped enticingly at her waist, but when the garment got to her ribs, he froze. A festering, red gash ran across them.

“By the gods, why did ye nae say anything?”

She looked down, all the color drained from her face, and she promptly fainted.