The Heart Queen (23 page)

Neil leaned over and offered a hand. Colin took it and struggled up on his wobbly legs, balancing on Neil’s hand.

Janet did not move, but he looked up and saw her eyes. Moisture filled them and a haunting sadness marked her face.

Did she feel as if he had stolen something from her?

“He must trust you,” she said stiffly.

She did not say anything else, but unsaid words shone in her eyes and he thought no silence could be as cruel.
He was not worthy of trust
.

He never would be in her eyes. It was a devastating blow, yet was that not what he wanted?

“You best take him,” he said. “I should not like him to fall.”

She approached her son just as he moved his hand. Colin let it go, and his mother took him, holding him tightly until the lad squealed in protest.

“ ‘Tis the first time he has stood,” she said, avoiding his glance and apparently trying to hide her own emotion, that moment of hurt that had radiated from her eyes.

That flash reminded him of how much he’d hurt her years ago. He had not thought then that his actions would be so damaging. Mayhap because he thought so little of himself, he had not thought her loss great. He had honestly believed that she would find a man far better than himself. The fact that she had not and that, instead, his actions had left her with such a deep wariness made him hurt beyond healing. He suspected it would be a festering wound for a very long time.

“Lucy will be bringing up some broth,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said and looked at Colin. “He is a fine lad.”

“Aye,” she said. “He does not usually take to ... men like that.”

That told him a great deal since the only men in the household had been her husband, her brother-in-law and MacKnight. And mayhap a few more retainers. He was really beginning to hate the dead man. And he did not know how to respond. There had been no children around Braemoor; he had always thought himself awkward when he came upon someone else’s bairns. His size often terrorized children, and he had no easy manner. He remembered his clumsiness just days before with her lasses.

And yet, young Colin Campbell had favored him a smile. It seemed to him a great accomplishment.

Just then a young maid—Lucy, he remembered—entered the room. She dipped slightly in a curtsey and gave him a broad smile. “Ye look fine, my lord.”

“Thank you, lass,” he said.

“We all thought ye dead for sure, but my lady, she said ye would get well. And ye have.” She set her burden down on the table.

“Clara said the lasses have been asking to see ye,” she continued, sending a furtive glance at him.

A painful emotion crawled inside and wrapped around his heart, just as it had moments earlier when Colin had taken his hand so trustingly.

Janet hesitated. “He’s still very ill,” she said, looking at him. She was giving him an excuse. If he wanted it.

His decision
. He knew he should say he was too tired. He should not insinuate himself into this family. Yet the temptation was too great. Three wee lasses had asked to see
him
. “If the countess agrees,” he said cautiously. Then he rubbed his cheeks. “And if I would not scare them.”

“I can shave you,” Janet offered unexpectedly, then looked as surprised as he felt. “I sometimes shaved my husband,” she added defensively as Clara looked astonished. “You are too ill to do it yourself. You need no more bloodletting.”

He nodded, unsure what to say.

“But first drink the broth,” she said. “You must regain your strength. Lucy will help you. I will take Colin to Clara and his sisters. They can come down later if you feel well enough.”

Lucy brought over the bowl and sat next to him as Janet left the room. “Do ye need any help, my lord?”

“Thank you, Lucy, but no.” He took the bowl with its spoon, and balanced it on his lap, then tried to lift a spoonful to his mouth. His hand shook and most of it spilled. Still, some made it to his mouth. The next effort was a little more successful. It was hot and flavorful and he took another sip, and another, until it was all gone.

Then he handed it to Lucy and, exhausted, he sank back onto the bed. Dammit, but he had to get well. Already, he knew he did not want to leave. He did not want to give up Janet’s smile, fleeting as it was, or Colin’s small hand reaching for him, nor those words, “The lasses have been asking to see ye.” For a moment, he could close his eyes and imagine himself part of a family.

But reality had a way of quenching hope. He was an unwanted guest here; Colin was too young to know better; and the lasses—well, the lasses were seeing something in him that was not there. Janet knew that. Her wariness told him that.

Then he remembered something Janet had said earlier. “Lucy, the countess said she fell from a horse. Can you tell me anything about it?”

Her eyes clouded. “Only tha‘ she was not badly hurt.” She hesitated, and Neil realized she was debating as to whether she should continue. After a moment, she did in a strained whisper. “My lady asked Kevin tae take the cinch into the blacksmith. He said the smithy thinks someone may ha’ cut it.”

“Cut it?”

“Aye,” she said after a moment’s pause. He knew then that she had not been sure whether she should have said anything. Fear shadowed her face. Only loyalty to her mistress, he thought, had prompted the warning.

Did Janet know yet? Had the boy told her? And if so, why had she not said anything to him?

It had happened around the same time he was attacked.

A coincidence?

He did not believe in coincidence. Someone had set the man who called himself Will on him. Someone apparently had wanted to injure Janet. The same someone? Seemed likely.

And there were the rumors that Janet’s late husband had been murdered. Because the speculation had centered around Janet, he had dismissed it. Now he wondered if the speculation had a grain of truth. Just a different culprit.

He did know that he could not leave her here alone. He also knew he could not extend his stay away from Braemoor. Too many people depended on him. His goal was too important.

But Lochaene was equally as important to Janet and to her son.

How much was Lochaene worth? A life? two lives?

“My lord?” Lucy’s voice broke his thoughts.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said gently.

“Ye will not tell anyone I told ye?”

“Nay. You are a good friend to the countess.” ?

Her cheeks reddened. “She is a good mistress.”

She would be. He had seen her concern for the tenants as well as young Kevin. Concern was too rare a commodity these days.

Obviously afraid she had said more than she should, Lucy backed out of the room.

Once she was gone, he lay back in the bed, frustrated at his own weakness. His mind kept going over the conversation. He needed to see Will again, had to find out what the outlaw knew about the “woman” who had suggested he might be a good victim. It had to be the countess dowager or Reginald’s wife. But then Reginald could have passed the word through someone else.

He could not accuse a Campbell, a family favored by Cumberland, without proof. They would turn it back on Janet.

And Will? Neil would bet his last coin that Will was not the man’s real name. Searching his hazy memory, he knew the man had been well educated, probably a lord, most certainly a Jacobite.

A light knock came on the door, and Janet entered with a fresh bowl of water and a razor. It was then he remembered that she had volunteered to shave him. Both pleasure and apprehension flitted through his mind.

She sat next to him and propped him up with several pillows. She regarded him somberly for a moment. “I think I like you as a brigand,” she said with a slight smile.

“I do not think your lad does,” he said.

“Well then, we have to do something about that. My daughters also want to see you, so we must make you appear civilized.” She rinsed his face with warm water, then applied some soap. Her hands were gentle, but they ignited anything but gentle sensations. His gaze met hers and emotions shimmered between them. He felt his body stiffen, felt something glow inside him. Then her hands stopped, and he saw the same awareness in her face. Her tongue licked her lips in a gesture so innocent yet so sensuous that his breath seemed to stop.

She handled the razor with quiet competence, and in minutes she was through, moving away from him. He felt his cheeks, smooth now, and he felt far better. But that, he knew, was attributed far more to her touch than to cleanliness.

She tipped her head mischievously, regarding him. “You willna scare the lasses to death now,” she said. “Are you well enough for them to see you?”

Pleased beyond reason that they, indeed, wanted to see him, he nodded. He would ask her about her fall later. But he
would
ask her. He wanted to know exactly what had happened.

She left the room and, in minutes, the three small lasses entered the room. Annabella carried wilted stalks of heather, Grace a bowl obviously filled with water, and the middle lass held the puppy and kitten, who were not happy to be at such close proximity to each other.

“We thought you would like some flowers,” Grace said seriously as she carefully set down the bowl on the table.

“We want you to get well so you will take us on a picnic again,” said Rachel, clutching the pets.

Annabella handed her squashed flowers to him. “I sorry you feel bad.”

“I feel much better now,” he said, regarding the flowers with a slight smile. Annabella climbed up. He flinched slightly as she jolted his leg. Yet her smile lit something inside that more than compensated for the discomfort.

“Thank you for the flowers,” he said.

“We picked them just for you.”

“They are beautiful,” he said, deciding in this case that a lie was far better than the truth. But then they
were
beautiful, even in their squashed, wilted state. They were beautiful because they were so happily given.

“We are glad you came back,” Grace said. “So is mama.”

He doubted that, but said nothing. He really did not know what to say or how to answer. But then the puppy barked and tried to get up on the bed. “He likes you, too,” Annabella said. “Do you have a puppy?”

He shook his head. “Nay.”

“A kitten?” she said hopefully.

“I am afraid not,” he replied.

“I think Samson has a brother,” Grace said from her safe place at the end of the bed. “I think you could have him.”

Three faces looked down at him with such eager hope that he could find no way to say no. He could only hope the brother had already found another home. He did not want a dog.

Or did he?

Janet kept telling herself nothing had changed as she took off her gown and put on a nightshift. She had looked in on Braemoor just before retiring. He was asleep, his breathing now easy. He was weak and exhausted, but he would live.

Janet had been mesmerized by the tender, yearning look on Braemoor’s face when she had returned from ordering the broth and saw him with her son. She had stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the interplay between Braemoor and her son, and she thought her heart would break.

Colin’s father had never looked at him like that. Oh, he had been pleased to have an heir, but Colin had been no more than a possession to him. He had never picked up his son, or expressed an interest once he’d ascertained that Colin was a perfectly formed bairn.

She never would have expected Neil to show an instant tenderness. But mayhap she should have. There had been something years ago that had beguiled her. She had thought she had imagined it, or that something had quenched those magic moments they had once shared. That young man would have laughed with her son, but Braemoor... ?

He had changed so much. But now she saw what she had seen then. She just did not know why he had left her with nothing but a cruel note eight years earlier. The fact that he had never married was strange. Most men in his position sought a wife if for no other reason than to produce an heir. So many things about him puzzled her.

And nothing so much as her reactions to him when she touched him or when his gaze rested upon her.

Could she still love him? Had she never really stopped?

It was obvious, though, that he did not return the feeling. He had kissed her, but it had been no more than a momentary lust. She had told herself that. And she never wanted to make herself vulnerable again. She had done it twice before, once with him, then with the hopes she’d had when she married Alasdair.

She’d continued to watch the man and bairn together, even as it hurt, even as she wondered what might have been had she married him.

Most likely, no difference. Her head told her that. She had learned that she needed only herself.

Reminding herself of that, she quenched the oil lamp and burrowed under her covers.

Neil walked around the room. The fever had faded. But he was still very weak.

Yet he could not indulge himself. He could not stay here.

Neither could Janet. But he had not told her that yet. He did not think she would take the suggestion well.

She had been here earlier. Her eyes had been bright when she saw him sitting up. “We are going to deeply disappoint the physician,” she said. “I am sure he expects you to be dead by now.”

“A good reason to live,” he said dryly. Then he changed the subject. “I must get letters off to Braemoor. I will require a quill and ink and paper.”

“Is that a request or an order?”

He realized then how curt he must have sounded. How long had he done that? Had he been that autocratic at Braemoor? Is that why he had never seemed to break the barrier between himself and the people at Braemoor? He had always seen the objective and been impatient with the steps it took to achieve it.

“A request,” he said. “And I’ll need Tim to take them.”

“As long as it is a request,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“I am not very good at being a guest,” he admitted.

She regarded him solemnly. She still had said nothing about her riding accident. He wondered whether she had any intention of doing so. “You are improving,” she finally said.