“Oh, no! Oh God, forgive me—I—I—You frightened me.”
After a moment he straightened, his face red. “It’s all right,” he gasped when she continued her profuse apologies. He adjusted himself with a grimace, then fixed her with a stern look. “There’s naught to be afraid of, lass. We’re to be wed. It’s expected that we do this. I ken you have no mother. Has anyone told you what happens on our wedding night?”
Rose managed—just barely—not to roll her eyes. Had anyone told her? Actually, no, come to think of it, no one hadtoldher. Donald MacLean, fat Fagan’s oldest son, had shown her in great detail. But she could not tell Jamie that. She planned to fake her virginity. She remembered losing it well enough and felt she could fake it with accuracy. She would procure a small bladder of blood and break it on the bed. He would never know.
As Jamie stared at her expectantly, Rose shook her head, deciding ignorance was the best defense against his advances tonight.
He gave her a gentle, superior smile and turned her toward her door. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you.” His hand skimmed down her back to her bottom.
She turned quickly. “No—let me ask my sisters first, I pray you. I’m afraid…. This is strange, hearing it from you. I want to be better prepared.” She gazed up at him pleadingly. “Please?”
He sighed, disappointed, then said, “Very well, thoughit’s naught to fear. Oh, it hurts the first time. After, it’s not so terrible.”
“Had a lot of virgins, have you?”
He started to nod, then frowned. “Why do you ask?”
She smiled sweetly. “No reason.” He left her finally, and she locked herself in her chambers. How could she marry him? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. Logically, she knew that most marriages were not based on friendship or love or even lust, but logic had nothing to do with it. She still wanted it. Friendship, at least. Lust was nice. She had those with William…Dumhnull…Her heart stumbled just to think of him. And love?…
It was useless to dwell on it! He’d made it clear he didn’t want her that way. Shemuststop thinking about him. Irritated with herself, she retreated to the herb room to lose herself in the comfort of work, but for once it was no use. Though she spent an hour crushing dried herbs and studying her texts, she finally gave up. Frustrated and empty, she wandered to the doorway and gazed listlessly around her chambers.
She remembered how William had hidden in her room last night, and her heart leapt, her gaze shifting to the shadows near the window. Empty, of course. If only he were there tonight, hiding, waiting for her. She would not send him away.
Chapter 14
Rose spent another day healing in the village. The new healing technique William had taught her proved to be extremely helpful. She’d not understood the possibilities then, but now she realized that being able to feel the ailment as well as see it told her more than color alone. She’d held out hope last night that William would come to her on the pretext of returning her box, but he had not. In the morning she’d found it on the floor outside her chambers, and when she’d gone down to the quay, Jamie had been waiting for her, apparently determined to be the only man she spent time with today.
It wasn’t long, however, before he began to complain that he was hungry and that his feet hurt. Though she gently suggested a number of times that he return to Lochlaire, he refused to go without her, fixing her with a wounded and accusatory stare, as if his discomfort was entirely her fault.
“I just have one more patient,” Rose assured him as she hurried along the dirt path.
Jamie trudged glumly behind her, not touching her or even offering to help her carry her things. Earlier he’d grabbed her and tried to kiss her—only to thrust heraway in disgust. Her clothes were stained with blood and other fluids. He’d kept his distance the remainder of the day.
“Can you not see them tomorrow?” Jamie asked, a slight whine to his voice. “We’ve missed dinner.”
Rose gritted her teeth, tamping down the urge to snap at him. She was tired and achy, too. She’d reset a dislocated joint earlier, and it had been a great exertion. Her shoulders and arms ached from the strain.
“Here.” From her bag, Rose dug a roll wrapped in cloth and offered it to him. He took it hesitantly but didn’t eat it, eyeing it as if it, too, was covered with blood and sweat.
Inside the next cottage, Rose was delighted to find that the patient had an abscess. Delighted because in the past, it had often been difficult to determine whether a lump was a tumorous growth or a festering. But now, she couldfeelit. Removing a tumor could be tricky, and it didn’t always fix the problem. An abscess was a simple matter of draining, flushing, stitching, and applying a poultice. Since it was in a rather sensitive area—the patient’s groin—she was forced to ask her betrothed for aid.
Jamie held the man’s leg for her, and when she finally allowed him to release it, he rushed outside and vomited. After instructing her patient how to care for his healing abscess, lest it fester again, she joined Jamie outside. He huddled on a bench beside the cottage door, his head in his hands.
She sat beside him. “Are you all right?” She pushed back the blond hair falling over his brow and pressed her palm to his clammy forehead.
He shrank from her touch, an unmistakable expression of disgust on his face, and scooted further down the bench, away from her. “You will stop this…healingwhen we are wed.”
Rose dropped her hand, wondering if she should be offended by his reaction to her touch, but all she truly felt was relief. Just the day before, he’d been anxious to bed her. It appeared that would no longer be a concern. But then again, she meant to marry him, didn’t she? She did not want her husband to be repulsed by her.
“Why should I stop?” she said. “I’m a healer. It’s what I do.”
“When we marry you’ll be a wife. The MacPherson’s lady.” When she didn’t respond, he straightened, giving her a pointed look.
She opened her palm in a placating gesture. “Someone must heal the people on your lands—”
“We already have a healer.”
“I’m better.”
