She took a breath to gather her composure before she spoke. “And I have dreaded it. But I must also be thankful for it, because it means ye are almost well.” She didn’t feel thankful at all. A distant rumble of thunder reached her ears like a heavenly rebuke for her lies—the words she’d said and the feelings she hid. Now finally faced with his departure, she wanted to burst into tears, to let them pour down like the rain those dark storm clouds, stretching to the horizon, would produce, angry and defiant. Instead, for his sake, she pulled her hands free, clasped them together and schooled her voice to mildness, as if the prospect of his departure meant less to her than his improving health—as any good nursemaid would. “So his letter means ye must regain yer strength as soon as possible. Ye must begin to walk more, and when ye feel up to it, to ride. Perhaps train—lightly—with some of the men, to build up your strength. But ye must be mindful. If ye open yer wound, we’ll have to start over.”
“Aye, I will do all those things.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze on the ground. “And I do have news—news I canna put into a letter—that I must tell my father before many more weeks go by.”
Mary’s heart sank and she stiffened her spine against her despair. There was no question Cameron would leave. She’d always known his time at Rose would be limited.
Just as she knew she must stay.
She stood, smoothed her skirts, and faced him. “I will do what I can to help ye get ready.”
He surprised her again, standing and raising a hand toher cheek. When feeling well, he’d always been quick to flirt, but he’d never touched her so intimately before, though she’d touched him intimately—very intimately—when the fever took him and he could not assist with his care. She hoped he had been unaware of those times.
Mary leaned her head into his hand. She would not cry. Crying was for silly maidens her youngest sister Catherine’s age. She was older and wiser—or she should be.
“Leaving ye will no’ be easy, Mary Elizabeth Rose.”
His gaze bored into her, a dark amber pool he tempted her to drown within. She took a breath and straightened away from his hand. “Then ye must return—when ye can. If ye wish to, that is. Later on…” The words left her mouth in pieces, like shards of glass. They revealed too much about how she’d come to feel about this big, proud, difficult man.
Cameron had hated being sick.And all from a wee scratch by an Irish dagger. Hardly worth a mention. Until it became a fire in his blood—and not the kind of fire gazing at Mary Rose lit. He studied her, certain she was hiding her feelings as best she could. But he was a trained observer—his life had depended on his skill, and over their weeks together, he’d learned to read the nuances behind her expressions. Though his departure had been the specter on the horizon all along, the thought of him leaving distressed her. Before he went, he needed one important truth from her. “Why did ye care for me, Mary, my love?”
Her eyes widened at his question, and she pulled on her lower lip with her teeth, then dropped her gaze. “What do ye mean?”
Watching her mouth, he fought to keep from lowering his head and kissing her. Not yet.
Perhaps never.
He had to know if he meant anything to her. “Why ye and no’ just the healer, or a serving lass like Janie?”
He didn’t remember all of the last weeks, but he did recall the important things. Mary’s hands cool on his forehead, the damp cloth cold as she washed the sweat from his body, leaving him shuddering with chills but grateful for the respite from the fires burning along his bones until he feared they would char and splinter from the heat. Her voice as she read to him, as she talked to him when she believed he couldn’t hear.
He thought the Healer had taken care of his body’s more basic needs. He hoped she had. But he couldn’t deny Mary had been intimate with him in ways no maiden should. He’d like to recall more, but he’d lost much in fevered dreams.
Still, he knew more about Mary than she realized. She was beautiful, aye, but she was also strong and wise and compassionate—and trapped.
Such was their past. If he could, he’d repay her for her care with hours of passion and pleasure. Yet, he might as well dream to touch the moon. She was not the sort of lass to toss up her skirts, no matter how a man charmed her. Maybe with more time, Mary would come to think of him not as her ill Sutherland, but as a man she might enjoy being with—intimately.
Not today. Not tomorrow, either.
He was out of time. He’d avoided his duty far too long while he lay injured and ill. His father ordered him home—as soon as he could safely travel. For once, he was glad to be unable to comply.
Mary still pondered her boots, and Cameron wondered if talking about her care for him embarrassed her.
“I promised Catherine I would take care of ye,” she finally said. She lifted her gaze to his. “How could I face my baby sister if I let ye die?”
His pulse stilled, then resumed more quickly. “Die? Was I in such danger?”
She let her head drop back, her eyes closed. Then she sighed. “Aye, ye were. I can speak about it now, but ye near scared the life out of me more than once. Despite the poultices the healer put in yer wound, and all the willow bark tea we made ye drink, and the cold water we bathed ye in, I feared ye would slip away from me…from us. Ye nearly did.”
Slip away fromme. Cameron heard the word Mary corrected, though she still refused to admit her feelings. He offered his hand, fighting to keep the stitch in his side from showing on his face. If he moved the wrong way, the scar pulled something fierce. “Let’s walk a wee.”
Mary gave him a worried smile and took his hand. “That still pains ye. Dinna deny it. I can see the way ye favor it.”
He couldn’t get away with anything around this woman. As easily as he read her, she read him. Yet they left so much unsaid, Mary the dutiful daughter of a controlling widowed father, and he, just as duty-bound.He nodded as they moved at a sedate pace across the garden, her hand on his arm. “Only a little.”
“’Tis why ye grimace every time ye have to use the muscles on that side.”
“We’ve already established ’tis no’ entirely healed.”
She nodded, her expression pensive. “I ken ye must leave soon, but ye mustna ride until the healer says ye may.”
