“I do. And if we must, we’ll do as ye two did to get around him.”
That elicited more laughter. They talked until the meal was served, then they bedded down in a chamber Annie had the servants prepare for them. The next morning, the sky was clear of cloud, as if the storm had never happened. Malcolm took his leave to return to Sutherland. With a Brodie escort, Cameron headed toward Rose on horseback, full of stories and good wishes from Mary’s sisters and their husbands. And even more determined, after getting their enthusiastic approval, to make Mary his bride.
Mary sneezedas she stepped out of the buttery into the bailey. The kegs tended to trap dust on their surfaces, so she spent as little time in there as she could, or brought a lad with her to fetch what she needed. The lad had already carried the cask she selected to the kitchen and Mary turned her thoughts to her next task. She hadn’t gone far when she crossed paths with Dougal.
“Is something amiss, Mary? Can I help ye?”
His question made her realize her skin must still beblotchy and her eyes red. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just stirred up a lot of dust. It makes me sneeze.”
“In that case, rather than return to the keep, perhaps some fresh air would do ye good. Will ye walk with me?”
She wanted to tell him no, but she’d agreed to let him court her and she’d spent very little time with him since he’d arrived. So she nodded. He led her into the garden, all the while chatting about nothing in particular. Mary found him easy to ignore and wondered what she had ever seen in him. Opportunity, perhaps, to get out from under her father’s thumb. Now, Dougal did nothing but remind her he wasn’t Cameron. He wasn’t as big or as strong or as forceful or as tempting or…she pursed her lips. She had to stop torturing herself, recalling a man she might never see again. She’d already been through that kind of pain once—with Dougal.
His voice, and the rising intonation of a question, finally pulled her attention back to him. “I’m sorry, what did you ask me?”
“Nothing of importance, it seems. Only which is yer favorite rose. Or if ye favor another flower.” He took her hand. “I’d give ye a cartload of whatever ye like if I could.”
“That would be sweet of ye, but isna necessary.” She stopped and faced him. “I am fond of ye, Dougal, but…”
“But no’ as fond as ye were before I abandoned ye. Ye are still angry and hurt. I understand. And I hope to make my past mistake up to ye.”
“Yer pastmistake?” Did he see how he’d betrayed her as a mere mistake? Mary pulled her hand out of his and crossed her arms. She tried not to dislike Dougal, and she felt sorry for his loss, but his comment didn’t help his suit.
He cleared his throat. “I didna mean…” He held up ahand.
Mary told herself he’d had a difficult time since she’d seen him last. But so had she. And despite her father’s marriage, she still wasn’t free to look for a man to wed. “’Tis ironic,” she told him, “that before, I wanted to go to ye, but my father wouldn’t let me and ye got tired of waiting. Now I need to stay. I am still responsible for Rose. And ye must wait—if ye can.” More so now than when she’d known Dougal all those years ago.
He dropped his head, but kept his gaze on her. “I have learned my lesson, Mary. I will wait for ye this time.”
He sounded sincere, but something in his eyes made her wonder. “Ye promised me if I asked ye to leave, ye would go without argument.” Suddenly, she was heartily tired of his company. Was there anything he could ever do or say—or be—to endear himself to her as much as Cameron?
“Ach, Mary, dinna ask me that. Give me more time with ye.”
He reached for her, but she stepped away. His expression was so anxious, so remorseful, she took pity on him. “Very well, I willna. But ye must excuse me now. I must check on my father.”
“When will I be able to speak with him?”
Mary shrugged. “When he is strong enough for visitors, only then.”
Dougal ran a hand through his hair. “When will that be?”
“I dinna ken.” But she did suspect his ability to be patient was less than he claimed.
“If I were a suspicious man, I would think ye are keeping me from him.”
“Nay, Dougal.” She sighed and shook her head. “He truly is ill. I dinna want anything to upset him.”
“Speaking to me would upset him?”
“He feels guilty for ruining our betrothal. So aye, it would. And an offer for me at this time, when he is not at his best, could harm the progress he has made toward regaining his health. He canna foresee the day I leave Rose as anything but a problem for him. He must grow stronger before such a decision has to be made.”
“Will his wife never accept her role and free ye from it?”
Mary sighed. “There are days when I despair of it ever happening.”
With her fatherremaining out of sight of the rest of the clan for the past week, Mary knew all was most definitelynotwell. Seona and her guardsman spent more and more time together as the days went by, more brazen—or less careful—about being seen. Rumors were starting to rumble among the clan, making Mary feel even worse for her father than his infirmity had. Assuming Seona was truly with child, would she present him with his hoped-for Rose heir, or the guardsman’s bairn? Mary dared not speak her suspicions aloud, not even to the healer.
Too restless to sit with the other ladies and do needlework where she’d first gone to hide from Dougal and his fawning attention, she dressed for riding and crossed the bailey, intent on saddling a horse and getting some distance from her thoughts and fears. Then she heard a familiar voice hail the gate guard.
