“Fine! Maybe I’m a little tipsy but I’m perfectly capable of walking, thank you very much.”
To prove her point, she pushed away from the chair back and began walking towards the door. The floor lurched alarmingly and her head swam. Oh, hell!
She put out a hand to steady herself on one of the tables, but missed, and went sprawling. But before she face-planted into the unforgiving flagstones, strong arms went around her and lifted her back to her feet.
She found herself looking up at Cailean. His big hands were gripping her hips and as he set her back on her feet, he did not let her go. To steady herself, she placed her palms against his chest, feeling thecontours of his pecs beneath his linen shirt.
Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “Not a word,” she said. “MacFinnan spellweavers donotget drunk. And they certainly don’t need help to stand from handsome lairds.”
“Handsome, eh?” Cailean said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Peeling one of her hands from his chest, Rose poked him with a finger. It was like poking granite. “Don’t let it go to yer head, buster.”
“I wouldnae dream of it.”
The flames in the fireplace cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the contours of his cheekbones and the gleam of his eyes. She found her gaze tracing down his face and coming to rest on his lips. They were full and smooth, parted slightly.
What would it be like to kiss those lips? Would they feel as silky as they looked?
“Rose.” Cailean breathed her name softly and the sound of it sent a shiver right through her. Something sparked in his eyes as he looked down at her and for a second—just a second—she wanted to kiss him more than anything in the world.
He dipped his head slightly and she thought he was going to do just that. But in the next instant, he lifted his chin and took a deep breath, as though getting a grip on himself.
It broke the spell. Rose stepped back, putting space between them. “I… um… good night, Cailean.”
He watched her for a moment, his face half in shadow. “Good night, Rose.”
Before she could do something stupid, she turned and staggered from the room. She managed to make her way up to her chamber where she fell into bed fully clothed and sank into grateful oblivion.
Chapter Nine
It was midmorningby the time Rose woke the next day. She blinked gummy eyes open, yawned wide enough to crack her jaw, and then stretched her arms over her head. Then she went still, waiting for the hangover to hit her. What had possessed her to drink whisky last night?
But to her surprise, there was no headache and her stomach felt fine. Not entirely trusting this, she sat up gingerly, swinging her feet around and placing them flat on the cold stone floor. Nope. Not a hangover in sight. In fact, she’d slept so well that she felt great, far better than she had any right to.
The sea air must be agreeing with me, she thought.Or this place.
Or Cailean, a traitorous little voice whispered in the back of her head.
She shut that voice down immediately. She really did not want to go there.
A twinge of guilt went through her. She hadn’t meant to sleep late as this meant she’d lost valuable time that could have been spent looking for the cure for the sickness. But there was nothing she could do about that now.
Someone, probably Mable, had been in while she slept and left a clean set of clothes, a basin of water, a stick of lavender soap, and a cloth on the stand by the window. Rose rubbed her face, pulled herselfto her feet, and padded over to it. The water was freezing cold. She would like nothing more than a hot, steaming bath, but for now, she contented herself with a cold wash. Once this was done she even managed to get dressed without help, for which she felt ridiculously pleased with herself.
Maybe I’m getting used to this time, she thought.Maybe one day Iwon’tquite stick out like a sore thumb.
She threw open the shutters onto another bright, breezy day. The sun was high in the sky. Oops. The MacFinnan spellweaver sleeping late? Not a good look. She blamed Cailean for that. If he hadn’t plied her with whisky, she would have been up hours ago. No doubthehadn’t slept in, despite staying up late and drinking enough to sink a barge.
She pulled the bone comb Mable had provided through her hair, squared her shoulders, and strode out of her room. Today was a big day. Today was the day she would begin figuring out how to combat the curse.
She called in at the kitchen and begged some cold pie off the cook for breakfast and wolfed it down while on her way to the infirmary. Once there, she found that Drew’s condition had remained unchanged, and also that three more people had been admitted overnight. An examination of each revealed they had the same sickness that Drew had, all burning with fever, all unresponsive to her questions.
A twinge of dread went through her. Whatever this sickness was, it seemed to be getting worse. All she could do was put them into the same comatose state as Drew.
Leaving the infirmary under Maggie’s and Beatrice’s supervision, she made her way to her study, lost in thought. As she pushed through the door, she jumped in surprise when she discovered somebody was already in there waiting for her.
Cailean was leaning over the desk, his palms placed flat on itssurface as he examined the map spread across the top.
