Me sister cannae start to believe that Nora is part of our lives. She is nae. Nae part of me life, either.
A cold heart closed around his chest, constricted firmly. He shifted, swallowing. He thought of how quickly she’d defended Evander and bit the inside of his cheek till it stung. She certainly had been keen to leap to his defense, without even being asked.
Stop it. Don’t think of her.
Too late. In an instant, he was back in his own room, with Nora standing close in front of him. Too close, always too close. He hadn’t touched her, hadfoughtnot to touch her, but he’d wanted to.
Oh, he’d wanted to. He’d imagined it, reaching out to cup her chin in his hand. Tilting her head up to expose the long, white column of her throat. Running his fingertip down the skin there. Creighton shivered, his imagination running wild, rolling away from him, unheeded.
I could have kissed her.
She would taste like herbs, he was sure of it. She smelled like herbs, lemongrass, mint, and rosemary, a green mix of them all.
“Damn and blast it,” he muttered under his breath.
“Ye said a bad word!” Laurie gasped, gleeful. “Andrew, he said a bad word.”
“He’s the Laird,” Andrew answered firmly, getting unsteadily to his feet.
“Aye, I’m the Laird,” Creighton responded, leveling a stare at his sister. “I amallowedto say bad words.”
Nora stood behind her door, listening to Creighton’s footsteps retreat. She had no idea where he had gone, or why, but this was likely the best opportunity she would have. Once the hallway was silent, she slipped out, hurrying to his door. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she turned the door handle…
Locked. It was locked.
Cursing, she scuttled back into her room, her heart thudding.
Never mind, there was another way she could go. Biting her lip, Nora tiptoed over to the door that connected their room. It was bolted on her side, but if she remembered correctly, Creighton’s side wasnot.
The bolt was stiff and a little rusty, as if it hadn’t been opened for a long time. She wrestled it back and jerked the door open. She found herself in a narrow, short square hallway, thick with dust and well-strung with cobwebs. Beyond the square hallway was another door. Creighton’s door.
Swallowing hard, Nora stepped forward, placing her hand on the cold handle. She twisted it, holding her breath.
It opened a few inches, at least, then there was a quiet thump of resistance. She remembered the books, piled up before the door. Clenching her jaw, she pushed harder. The stack toppled over with a crash. She would need to restack them, but of course would not be able to place them directly in front of the door as they had been. She could only hope that he wouldn’t notice.
The door opened a few more inches, enough to let Nora slip out into the gloomy daylight beyond. Creighton’s room was just as she remembered it from a few minutes ago, notably missingCreighton. Perfect.
Now for the reports.
Nora paused, standing amongst the piles of papers and books, and her heart sank. If Laurie were here, she could have helped, but as it was, Nora would have to work alone. There was no telling how long Creighton would stay away. She began to move between the piles of papers, scanning the words, looking for something that might resemble areport, whatever that was. He hadn’t been able to look it over yet, she guessed, which meant that it would still be where Theo and Andrew had left it.
Nothing caught her eye. Some papers had thin layers of dust, a clear sign they hadn’t been moved recently. Growing more desperate, Nora turned from the desk to the bed. There were papers there as well. As she moved closer, she saw that at least some of them had been placed there recently, sitting halfway up the bed instead of at the bottom.
There were about a dozen or two sheets of this paper, all carefully pinned together. Words likereport,hostages,andcollateral damagecaught her attention. Brightening, she snatched them up, flipping through the papers.
This is it.
The topmost report detailed a raid on a large farm on the outskirts of Clan Cunningham. The soldiers had been sent to take as much freshly harvested grain as possible. Nora frowned, perched on the edge of the bed. The report mentioned taking the grain and a few barrels of apples, then dividing them among the hungriest crofters on the edge of Clan MacColl.
This wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. There was no mention of hostages, only a few brief lines explaining how the farmer and his wife had been restrained, watching with mulish resignation as their home was ransacked, and then released when the soldiers left.
It was not fair, of course. It was stealing. The Cunningham farmers didn’t deserve to have their food stolen and their hard work undone, but then, neither did the MacColl crofters deserve to starve.
Frowning, Nora flipped to the next report. Almost without thinking, she tumbled onto the bed properly, crossing her legs beneath her. There was nowhere else to sit in the room, not without moving a stack of books, at least. The mattress shifted pleasantly under her weight, not too soft but with enough give to promise a comfortable night’s sleep. In fact, she could see a divot in the mattress and an indentation in the pillow, worn by Creighton’s body and head. She could almost imagine how he’d thrown back the blankets when he got up that morning, carelessly, dislodging a few half-forgotten papers as he did so.
For some reason, this sent a shiver of warmth through her.
I shouldnae be here.
