“You have everything. What else could you possibly want?”
He had always been a man possessed of a sense of his own purpose and the wisdom it took to achieve a goal. He had returned to Scotland to save his brother, a noble-enough task, and now he didn’t know quite what to do.
Yet while he had never believed in the ring’s magical properties, hehadfound himself of late pondering the elusive questions of what he truly wanted most in this life. A question he had never contemplated and one he could not answer. He only knew that until recently, he had never cared about his future.
Indeed, if he believed in such whimsy as magic and wishing rings, he might put such power to his use and figure out a way, hownotto want her.
Ruark left Rose standing on the narrow path that would take her up the hill and through the fruit orchard to the back of the surgery. Holding her basket filled with the wonderful offerings she had gathered from the woods and fields, she watched him mount Loki and ride away.
With the presence of two groundskeepers and a few others who had looked up from their tasks at Ruark’s approach, his farewell to her had been brief and fraught with formality. He hadn’t kissed her. After the sight of him had grown small and faint in the distance, Rose stared around her at a world that was as unfamiliar to her as the part of her trying to escape the walls of her heart. She found she wanted very badly to be accepted at Stonehaven. Whether she resented that desire or nay, she had become Stonehaven’s mistress.
Despite herself, she felt relieved that her husband would be gone for the next few weeks.
Once inside the surgery, she set the basket on the counter at the back of the room, unpinned the apron from her skirt and raised it to cover her bodice. She wrapped a red headscarf around her hair and went to work preparing and drying what she had found near the falls.
That a boy would suffer because of people’s dislikeof her did not seem fair. She would honor her promise to Ruark to stay away from Jamie, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t help him.
She worked the rest of the afternoon shaving bark onto a drying shelf, then mixed it with licorice to mask the bitter taste. The mallow root balls she tied with a string and hung in a special area in the orangery McBain used for such things. This was not an overnight process and could take days. She checked the progress of some of the leaves and roots McBain had already gathered before he’d left for Jedburgh. Some looked ready for preparation and she removed them from the drying line. When she finished, she slapped the dirt off her hands and returned to the surgery without realizing how long she had been working. She had a dreaded appointment at three o’clock with the dressmaker.
Rose shivered at the mere thought of sitting down to select her wardrobe. She knew nothing of fashion.
The thought of having to choose between a silk, linen, muslin, velvet, floral or striped morning or walking dress paralyzed her, almost as much as sitting down with someone at a formal dinner, where all silverware and glassware looked the same to her.
Mary found her an hour later, near the hearth in the back of the surgery as she finished drying the last of the willow bark. “Have ye no ken the time?” the woman demanded, her round face flushed from the heat in the room.
Rose scraped the bark into a tin. “I know. But this is important. You should not have come all this way. I am almost finished.”
“Should no’ have come? Are ye daft girl? The dressmaker will be here shortly. Ye cannae’ be seen lookin’ like a sheep herder’s wife.”
Aye, I can, Rose thought stubbornly, perfectly comfortablein her present attire. Jamie’s health was far more important in her mind than her wardrobe.
She presented Mary with the tin. “ ’Tis willow bark and licorice. You make it as a tea. This will help with Jamie’s fever. If I must drink a cup to prove I hold no ill will toward that boy—”
“You’ve no need to prove yerself to me.”
Rose was astonished. Never had she thought to find an ally in this woman. “His lordship forbade me to see him, Mary.”
“I know, lass. ’Tis for the best.”
“Why?”
“Have you considered what might come to pass should something happen to the lad under yer care? Nay, I will care for Jamie until McBain’s return.” Mary squeezed her hands. “Now, I have my cart outside ...”
Rose withdrew her hands, picked up a rag and returned to clean the countertop. “I will come as soon as I am finished cleaning in here.”
Mary didn’t argue, but sniffed. “Verra well, lass.”
“Remember, a decoction, not an infusion,” she said as Mary reached the door. “Boil the ingredients in a pan, then strain. Not simmer in a cup.”
The woman crinkled her face and placed one plump hand on her hip. “I’d no’ be worth my weight as a housekeeper if I did no’ know the difference between a decoction and an infusion. Now hie yerself off to the house as soon as ye can and clean up for the dressmaker, lass.”
A half hour later by Rose’s estimate, she had finished cleaning McBain’s surgery. She removed her apron and dropped it in a basket, snuffed the candle and had just put away the flint box when the door banged open. Duncan seemed to blow in on a sudden gust of wind. The narrowdoorway made his large size more formidable. His long hair fell uncombed below his shoulders.
He stopped short when he saw her. “McBain is no’ here?”
Alarmed by his tone, she peered past him, expecting to see men carrying in a mortally wounded patient. “He is in Hawick. Ruark left today to see that he gets safely back. Are you injured?”
He looked at the cupboard behind her filled with all manner of insidious surgical instruments. “Nay, lass.” He shut the door behind him, and she thought he was walking toward her until she realized his destination was the cupboard. “I’ve been with Rufus these past days. The wounds on his foot are festering.”
