Cameron nodded. “And worse. If he’d done more to harm ye, if ye hadna asked me to let him leave, I could have killed him. Ye ken that, aye? I was ready to beat him to death. I willna allow anyone to hurt ye.”
“Ye canna always protect me…”
“I can and I will. And someday, after ye heal,” he said, lightly caressing her cheek, “I’ll remind ye how a proper kiss is done.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Mary told him and smiled, then winced again at the pull on her sore mouth.
“I may have to kill him anyway,” Cameron muttered atMary’s wince, then stared in the direction Dougal had gone.
Mary enteredthe buttery to check the number of empty ale casks stored there, determined to have nothing on her mind but putting the alewife to work replenishing their supply as soon as the grain harvest was in. Her father’s illness, Dougal’s assault—she wanted to forget all of it by concentrating on something she knew how to do. She could count casks, and in this state of mind, she didn’t even care about the dust she’d stir up.
Instead of the alewife, she found Seona and her Grant guardsman as close together as two people could be while still clothed, whispering to each other while they drank from cups they placed next to an open cask of ale.
“What are ye doing?” she demanded, tired of this cat-and-mouse game they were playing with her, and most important of all, with her father.
“’Tis none of yer business,” Seona answered, stepping away from her companion.
“Aye, it is,” Mary assured her, reaching for something to say rather than throttle the lass. “Ye are spoiling that cask of ale. And ye are married to my father, no’ this man.”
“Worse luck,” Seona took a gulp and spat it out. “Grant ale is better. And if no’ for yer invalid father falling in with my mother’s schemes, we’d be married right now.” She smiled at her companion.
The bile in Mary’s stomach shifted upward and she swallowed hard to keep from spewing on Seona’s slippers. “Ye make me ill,” she announced. “Both of ye. If I could, I’d send him back to Grant…”
“But ye canna. I am Lady Rose, no’ ye. And if ye say anything to yer father, I will tell him all about us. And assure him the babe is no’ his. What do ye think such news will do to his fragile health?”
“Ye think he would be the only one harmed?” Mary tensed, furious that Seona would threaten her father in any way. “Do ye think he would refrain from throwing yer lover into the dungeon? That is, if he didn’t kill him outright.”
“He’s no’ capable.”
“But he has men who are,” Mary reminded her and was gratified to see Seona blanch. She would give much to slap Seona—or worse—this very moment.
Her guardsman noticed the change in Mary’s posture and stepped forward. “Ye’d best go now,” he said.
His voice sounded deceptively mild, belying the violence Mary knew he was capable of doing if she pushed Seona much farther. He could kill her before her screams could bring help. Yet he hadn’t threatened her. She took a breath and stepped back, then halted when he held up a hand.
“There is naught ye can do by telling yer father except make things worse for all of us,” he said, looking at Seona. “I do love her. I have kenned she was mine since we were bairns together. How is it fair that I must now watch over her with another man? And someday, watch another man raise my bairn?”
His bairn? Mary’s heart broke to hear Seona’s betrayal confirmed, but also at the grief in this man’s voice. “Yecouldha stayed at Grant,” she told him, though she knew how unkind it sounded.
“Nay, I couldna.” His fists clenched, then opened. “I’ve kept Seona safe my whole life. She is my whole life. And now she carries my bairn. Why would I ever stop?”
Seona turned into his shoulder.
“Perhaps because she belongs to someone else?” Mary hated to be so cruel, but it was the truth.
The guardsman glared at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze.
“The bairn truly is no’ my father’s?” Mary choked out, tears of rage or sorrow, she wasn’t certain which, finally pricking at her eyes.
Seona glanced at her, then looked away.
Mary spun around and marched from the buttery, broken-hearted and furious, yet wondering if Seona was angry or relieved that her paramour had revealed so much. And wondering what she would do about it.
Mary didn’t know what to do with their confession. Seona had been right when she said the news could further damage her father’s fragile health. Yet how could Mary keep this from him? He deserved to know.
After the evening meal,Mary made her excuses and fled to her chamber, exhausted and sick at heart. She’d put a brave face on during the meal, trying to reassure everyone that Clan Rose was still in good hands.
The healer was at a loss for what to do for the laird. She claimed to have seen something similar before, and knew ofno cure save trying to get the person afflicted to move. Or he’d die. That thought brought fresh tears to Mary’s eyes. She collapsed onto her bed, wishing her sisters were here to hold her as she’d held them while they cried so many times over the years since theirmaman’s death. Instead, she’d have to send aghillieto Brodie in the morning to let them know what had happened. She wished she knew whether to tell them to come and bid their father goodbye while he yet lived, or to tell them not to worry, he’d be fine soon enough.
