Fergus cursed under his breath in Gaelic, then looked up at Jeane.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice rough. “Can ye get down by yerself?”
“I... aye, I think so.”
She swung her leg over the saddle and slid down, stumbling slightly when her feet hit the ground. Fergus caught her elbow to steady her, and the touch sent sparks up her arm.
“Ye did well today, little mouse,” he said quietly, his dark eyes searching her face.
“Thank ye for teachin’ me,” Jeane said, wishing desperately that the stable boy hadn’t interrupted, wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t.
Fergus held her gaze for a long moment, and then he stepped back, putting distance between them.
“I’ll... I’ll see ye at dinner,” he said, and then he was gone, striding away toward the castle with quick, purposeful steps.
Jeane stood there in the paddock, her heart racing, her lips tingling even though he hadn’t kissed her.
The stable boy took Mairead’s reins, giving Jeane a curious look.
“Shall I unsaddle her for ye, miss?”
“Aye, please,” Jeane said absently, still staring after Fergus.
What was happening between them? And why did the thought of it terrify and thrill her in equal measure?
That night at dinner, Fergus barely looked at her.
He sat at the head of the table, responding to questions from his men in short, clipped sentences, his expression shuttered and distant.
It was like the morning’s riding lesson had never happened, like they hadn’t almost kissed in the paddock.
Jeane felt the sting of rejection, even though she knew she had no right to. He was a laird, and she was just his healer. A woman hiding from her father, with nothing to offer him.
Why would he want her anyway? With her plain looks and her lack of experience, her tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time?
She picked at her food, appetite gone, and when she caught Lottie looking at her with concern, she forced a smile.
“I’m just tired,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll retire early.”
She excused herself and fled to her chambers, wondering why the thought of Fergus not wanting her hurt so much.
A few days passed, and Jeane began to forget her life at McKay Castle. It was as if she had always been here at the McCloud Castle, always been a healer here.
She had to admit that she loved her job. She looked after Ian and a few others in the castle—an old man named Conrad, with weeping wounds on his legs from disuse, and a pregnant woman named Cecily, with the worst swollen feet.
It was hard work, but she enjoyed every moment of it. She liked talking to people and being around others. She loved being of service, and here it felt as if she had a purpose. Back at the McKay castle, she had felt she was just rattling around.
Jeane gave her daily report to Fergus most days, though on some days she got caught up in her work and forgot. Lately, she had just been avoiding him. He did not seek her out on the days she did not show. He barely spoke to her when she did give him the report, just grunting in response.
She supposed she had done something to upset him on her forest walk, though she could not be sure what. Or maybe he just thought she was too young and inexperienced. It was not like she had known what she was doing when he kissed her, when he touched her.
Maybe he had found her wanting.
The idea made tears burn at the backs of Jeane’s eyes, but she ignored it. She pushed it down, heading to Ian’s quarters where Aiden’s mother was waiting for her weekly report.
Ian was a harder case than Lottie, so Jeane had thought weekly reports would make his mother see a bit more progress.
And progress he had made. The sickly boy was managing to sit up on the edge of the bed when she arrived, being fed soup by his mother.
