It was a room built for order. Maps were hung neatly along the stone walls, the shelves lined with ledgers and correspondence, and a broad writing table worn smooth by years of practical use dominated. Here problems were usually simple. They revolved around numbers, land disputes, supply lists and letters from neighboring clans that required careful answers but rarely emotional ones. In this room Duncan Grant usually thought clearly.
Today he did not.
He was sitting behind the desk with a letter open before him, though he had read the same sentence at least four times without absorbing a word of it. It was something about grain shipments… or cattle. Possibly both.
He exhaled slowly and leaned back in the chair. This was ridiculous. He had faced battles with greater concentration than he was currently managing over a piece of parchment. And he knew precisely why.
His jaw tightened faintly as the memory rose again, uninvited and far too vivid, of the loch that morning and the moment Elaina had run and jumped into the water. He had expected hesitation. Perhaps an indignant retreat to the castle. At most, a cautious wading into the shallows.
Instead, she had launched herself into the loch with the reckless abandon of a storm breaking against shore. Duncan rubbed a hand across his mouth, half amused despite himself.
Stubborn woman.
The image shifted in his mind. It moved from the leap to what had come after, the moment she surfaced from the water onto dry land. Her dark-blonde hair had come loose from its braid, water streaming down the length of it. Her gown had clung to her entirely without mercy.
Duncan’s fingers curled slightly against the arm of his chair.
It had been…distracting.
More, actually. The word did not even begin to cover it. It had been dangerously captivating.. Soldiers did not live delicate lives, and travel alone produced more than a few undignifiedsituations. He had seen women in wet gowns before. But none of those memories had ever followed him into his study hours later. None of them had lodged themselves so firmly in his mind.
He should not have watched. He knew that. A gentleman would have politely looked away. But Duncan Grant had not been feeling particularly gentlemanly at that moment.
The wet fabric had clung to her back just as mercilessly as it had the front, outlining the graceful strength of her shoulders, the narrow curve of her waist, and the swaying movement of her hips.
The image had followed him out of the loch. It had followed him through breakfast. And now, apparently, it intended to stay with him for the remainder of the day.
Duncan dropped the letter onto the writing table. The truth was growing rather inconvenient. He was drawn to her, far more than he had expected. It was not merely her appearance, though that alone would have been enough to trouble a weaker man.
It was the whole of her. It was her stubborn pride, her quick wit. It was the way she refused to bend under pressure he had seen break far stronger people and the way she had looked at him in the water, as though she disliked him entirely, but deep down, they both knew the truth.
Duncan leaned back again, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He had dealt with attraction before. It was rarelycomplicated. But this… thisfeltcomplicated, because Elaina was not simply a woman who had caught his interest.
She was a mystery; a guest who was not entirely a guest; a healer who carried secrets close enough that even his instincts could not quite uncover them.
And now, she was also the woman whose wet gown and flushed cheeks had followed him into his study and refused to leave.
Duncan lasted perhaps another ten minutes in his study before accepting the obvious. No work would be accomplished that day. With a quiet exhale, he pushed back his chair. He then left the study and moved through the castle with the easy confidence of a man entirely at home in its halls. Soldiers nodded as he passed. Servants stepped aside respectfully. None of them questioned his direction.
The chamber that now served as the healer’s quarters lay near the southern wing, where the light was strongest and the air moved easily through the windows. It was an ideal place for herbs and remedies. Duncan slowed as he approached the doorway. The door itself stood slightly open.
He stepped closer and paused. Elaina was standing at the long wooden table near the window, with her back half turned. Sunlight fluttered across the room, catching in the dark-blonde strands of her hair as she worked. She had rolled her sleeves to her elbows, and the simple motion revealed slender, capable forearms dusted lightly with flecks of green. In her hands she held a mortar and pestle. Slow, steady movements were grindingthe herbs within it: crush, twist, lift, repeat. The sound of stone against stone filled the quiet room in a calm, rhythmic cadence.
She had not noticed him yet and Duncan found himself strangely unwilling to interrupt. For all her sharp words and fiery temper, there was something unexpectedly peaceful about watching her like this. She was focused and completely absorbed in her task.
A small collection of dried plants lay spread across the table beside her. They were bundles tied neatly with twine and leaves separated into careful piles. Several small jars stood nearby, each labeled in a precise hand. She moved among them with ease, selecting a pinch of one herb and a measure of another.
Duncan leaned one shoulder lightly against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched. There was dedication in the way she worked. Every motion was deliberate. Every ingredient was chosen with certainty.
He realized, with a flicker of reluctant admiration, that this was likely the truest version of Elaina he had seen so far.
The pestle paused briefly as she examined the mixture. Then she resumed grinding, a little more slowly now. Duncan watched the steady movement of her hand, the soft scrape of stone against stone filling the quiet chamber again. For a moment, he wondered if she truly had not noticed him.
“How may I help ye, me laird?”
She did not turn around.
Her tone was calm, almost innocent, and that, Duncan suspected immediately, was entirely deliberate. His mouth twitched.
