The maidservant nodded nervously and Cate interjected, “Lisbet was very careful not to let the bandages get wet and followed all of your instructions.”
Helen nodded. “Good. Then let’s see you back into bed. There is someone who wishes to see you.”
Cate stiffened.
As she was holding her by the arm, Helen sensed her reaction. “I refer to your father.”
The tension immediately dissipated. Cate could see the other woman’s unspoken plea but would not heed it. Helen didn’t understand her refusal to see Gregor, and Cate was too proud to enlighten her, but Helen respected her wishes, and that was all that mattered.
Cate knew Helen was married to Magnus MacKay—one of the Phantoms, she suspected, from the glimpse she’d had of him when he’d come to fetch Helen for something—but it was Gregor who’d brought her here. Helen never said anything, but Cate sensed there was something between them. She could see it in the other woman’s eyes every time Cate refused to see him. Helen cared about him.
Knowing Gregor, Cate could guess what had been between them. The prickle of jealousy only reminded her of what she’d seen and the lifetime of jealousy she would have faced had she married him. Still, she was grateful to Helen. Whatever the circumstances, she owed her her life.
Cate allowed the two women to help her back into bed and tried not to wince as they propped the pillows up behind her tender back.
The arrow had struck the bone of her left shoulder blade. As any movement of her arm caused extreme pain, Helen had suggested she use a sling. It helped immeasurably, but the jostling of getting comfortable reminded her that no matter how anxious she was to leave the sickroom, it would be some time before the wound was fully healed.
She’d been lucky she wasn’t taller, Helen had told her. A few inches lower and the arrow would have found her lung or heart.
Cate refrained from correcting her. Gregor’s arrowhadfound her heart, albeit a couple of weeks before the second had struck. The first had been far more painful.
As it was, Helen assured her that she would be good as new in a few weeks—if she didn’t overtire herself and allow the fever to return.
“Shall I send him in?” Helen asked. “He was pacing rather impatiently in the antechamber when I came in.”
Cate laughed. “Aye, it’s probably best not to keep a king waiting.”
While Helen went to fetch him, Cate arranged the heavy fur bed-covering around her. Though there was a fire in the brazier, the stone walls were lined with fine tapestries, and glazed glass filled the two windows, it was January in the Highlands and the tower chamber in the castle was drafty.
A moment later, the door burst open and the King of Scotland strode through. His gaze scrutinized her almost as intensely as Helen’s before the smile reached his eyes. She thought there might have even been a sheen of dampness when he looked at her. “Ah, Caty, you look so like your mother it brings back so many memories. What a beauty you’ve become.”
Cate blushed. Though she knew he exaggerated, she could not help but be flattered by the comparison. Her mother had been beautiful, and even the slightest resemblance to her was enough.
He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Fifteen years of warfare had aged Robert Bruce. There were lines around his face and a hardness to his visage that hadn’t been there before. The loss of three brothers, countless friends, and the imprisonment of his wife, sister, and daughter no doubt explained much of it. But when he smiled and his eyes twinkled, he didn’t look all that different from the handsome young knight who’d filled their small cottage with such light and laughter. She’d been right about him after all.
“You are feeling better.” He tipped her chin, turning her face to the light streaming through the window. “I think I see some color in your cheeks.”
“I feel vastly better after the bath. As soon as I’m permitted to walk outside, there will be much more color in my cheeks.”
Her father smiled but held up his hand, fending off her not-so-hidden plea. “Don’t look at me. That’s between you and Helen. She’s mad enough at me as it is. Apparently, you became too distressed the last time we spoke.”
Cate’s heart stopped. “Sir William is well?”
His mouth pursed with distaste. “Aye, thanks to you. Without your intervention, the traitor would have been put to the gibbet. Instead, he will be sent to the Isles so I won’t find myself facing him over another castle wall. Consider it repayment for saving my life.”
Relieved to hear that the old knight’s life had been spared, Cate eased back on the pillows. She didn’t ask about the others. She already knew what had happened to them. The English had been released and sent back to England. Except for the Fitzwarrens. The son had been slain during the short battle, and the father had been killed by her hand. Cate would not regret it, but neither did she feel the satisfaction she’d thought she would. Gregor’s words of warning had come back to her. She’d killed someone, and though it had needed to be done, she knew that doing so had somehow left a mark.
Her father shook his head. “Who would have thought a wee thing like you could learn to move like that.” He grinned. “You always were more like me than your mother.” His expression turned chastising. “Not that I’m not appreciative, but you shouldn’t have done what you did. You could have been killed.”
As this was something they weren’t likely to ever agree upon, Cate switched the subject. They spoke of far more inconsequential matters for a few more minutes, before he finally came to the reason for his visit.
From the way his mouth pulled into an angry frown, she could guess the subject.
“Have you reconsidered your decision?”
As Cate held his gaze, the chill that was centered in her heart permeated through her bones. “No—nor will I. Gregor MacGregor is the last man I wish to marry.”
“But you were betrothed. He said you loved him.”
