“You tell me.”
“I told you. I’ve no idea.”
“You should rest. You look faint.”
“I feel fine.”
“You are not fine,” a voice said from the end of the room. Alan had reappeared with a steaming tankard in his hand. Jock noticed he had a crucifix on a chain around his neck. “You will drink this and sleep. Tomorrow, I will examine you properly by the light of day.”
He walked over and passed her the tankard. “I hope I have done what you asked, my laird.”
“For now,” Jock said, noting the man’s tone of voice. He turned back to Daisy. “If you are well enough, I would enjoy your company at a feast being held in two days time.”
Daisy frowned, taking a sip from the tankard before answering. Her eyes began to sag at once and she yawned out of nowhere. “I must decline,” she said at last, slumping down onto the bed, eyes closed.
“It works fast,” Alan said, as Jock shifted her into place, pulling the blankets up over her. “She sleeps already.”
Jock sat beside the bed, bewildered. He hadn’t thought what might happen if she said no to attending the couples feast. He’d been certain she would agree.
He made his mind up to ask her again in the morning, when she’d had a chance to rest.
She looked angelic in repose, the light of the candle casting a warm glow upon her skin as she slept on oblivious to him watching.
“I do not understand her injuries,” Alan said. “Bruises upon her leg, grazes on her thigh and a cut to her scalp. It is as if she were hit by a carriage and yet you say you found her inside the keep. None of this makes sense. You must let me speak to the priest.”
“Speak to him if you will but be warned that this woman is under my protection.”
Alan walked toward the door, turning back to say, “There is a higher laird than you who will judge us all eventually,” before heading out into the night.
Jock wasn’t scared of the empty threat. She was no witch. He knew that. There was something about her though and once again thoughts of demonic possession came back to him.
She tossed and turned a little in her sleep and he found himself leaning over, pressing a cool hand to her forehead. “Hush,” he whispered as she settled once more. “You are safe here.”
He sat back in the chair a couple of minutes later. Folding his arms, he closed his eyes, not sleeping but resting. His mind filled with two contradictory thoughts.
One was concern for the strange woman’s wellbeing. The other was about what Lachlan had told him. All the evidence was pointing toward Robin having stolen the money from the clan treasury.
He stood up. He could not remain beside her while his mind whirled. He went out to the courtyard and dunked his head in the trough, letting the freezing cold water shock him out of his mixed up thoughts.
When he emerged gasping from the water he was able to think clearly once again. He had a plan that seemed to have resolved itself in his mind without any conscious effort on his part. Cold water always helped.
He would speak to his parents in the morning, find out why his father had signed the rights to the clan money over to Robin.
Once he was sure that Robin had coerced his father, he would take Daisy to the feast and would get the proof he needed.
A feast meant alcohol and alcohol meant loose tongues. Then he would find out where the funds were hidden, get them back, lend some coin to the king.
Simple.
A side benefit of his plan was spending more time with Daisy. No doubt as her mind came back to her she would remember what happened, how she came to be injured in the keep by his bedchamber.
He found himself thinking about how she’d looked with her top up around her head, the smooth skin of her body, the way it had made him feel seeing that strange strappy fabric wrapped around her chest.
He dunked his head in the trough again. When he emerged he headed back into the infirmary, just in time to receive the shock of his life.
She was gone.
Chapter Seven
