The Highlander's Woman (The Reckless Rockwoods #3) (16 page)

But it had been those moments when Dr. Branson had changed her bandages that her hand had gripped his so tightly. It had made him believe she needed him. He’d been wrong. It had simply been the response of a woman in pain. When he’d heard her call him a liar through her agony, he’d realized he might never hear her heartbeat against his chest again.

Julian staggered his way toward the chair in front of the fire and sank down into it. Patience’s refusal to leave Crianlarich meant he’d find few places where he could avoid hearing her voice or breathing in her delicious scent or worse stumbling into her exquisite curves. That would be the worst possible thing, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands off her.

Julian snorted at the thought. He would have no problem keeping his distance from her. All he had to do was remember how she’d recoiled from him earlier. That memory alone would keep him from touching her. Once more a mocking laugh echoed in the back of his head. He ignored the way the voice reminded him that he was a liar.

With a grunt, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. He could feel the beginnings of one of the headaches that occurred regularly since the accident. Even his fully healed leg ached. That was something that would never go away the doctor had said despite the way the bone had knitted together so well. The ache was something he could deal with rather than the pain from a constant limp. He was fortunate where his father had not been.

The memory of his father came with a mixture of regret and resentment. The Scotsman had been a hard man to love. Things had only been made worse by his adamant rejection of Patience as Julian’s bride. He’d never understood why his father had opposed his marriage so stridently, but it mattered little now. His marriage had fallen apart just as Fergus MacTavish had always maintained it would. His temple had begun to throb more insistently, and Julian forced himself to relax in an effort to reduce the strength of the headache. His last thoughts before he dozed off were of Patience’s laughter and her sparkling eyes.

§ § §

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when the persistent knock on his door pierced his consciousness.

“Come,” he commanded in a sharp tone.

The sound of the door opening was proceeded by the clinking of china. Was it dinner time already? No sooner had the question popped into his head than the clock on the mantel began to chime. The chime ended on the eighth ring, and he realized he’d missed dinner.

“Muireall, is that you?”

The only reply was the sound of his dinner tray scraping softly across the table Muireall had arranged to be placed at the window. The smell of succulent roast beef made his mouth water. A moment later, the door to his bedroom closed, and he frowned. Muireall generally remained behind in case there was something he wanted. With a grunt of irritation, he rose from his chair to move to the table. Seated in front of his plate, he picked up his fork to stab at a piece of the beef. Where he’d expected bite-sized morsels was a large hunk of meat.

“Damnation,” he muttered. Mrs. Drummond had failed to cut up his meat for him. His fork hit the table hard knowing his meat would be cold by the time he rang for someone to come cut up the meal.

“You’re quite capable of cutting it up yourself.” The sound of Patience’s quiet, yet firm, voice echoed behind him and he jerked with surprise before he stiffened. Why the devil hadn’t he realized she was in the room? Because his head was still wooly from his headache.

“Is there no room sacred in my own home that you won’t enter, madam?” he snapped.

“If you had come down for dinner, it wouldn’t have been necessary for me to intrude on this hiding place of yours.” Patience’s voice was a mixture of amusement and irritation.

“I want my meat to be cut as it usually is,” he said sharply. “Take it downstairs and have Mrs. Drummond cut it up.”

“You may cut it up yourself.” Her retort was short and crisp.

“What did you say?” he growled deep and low as anger swelled up inside him.

“If you’re so desperate to be independent, why haven’t you learned to do more things for yourself?” Patience said with exasperation. “Cutting your meat up is one of those things. Otherwise you’re little more than a babe in the woods.”

“I am
no’
a babe in the woods,” he bit out fiercely, while inside he knew she was right.

“Then prove it by learning how to cut your meat up. I’ve ordered Mrs. Drummond to fix your plate a certain way from now on,” Patience said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Your meat will always be at five o’clock on your plate. Vegetables will be at eight, ten, and two. Soups and stews will always be at six o’clock when it’s served. Desserts will also be at six o’clock when served after the meal. If you are having a tray dessert will be to the left of the plate at the hour of eight while your bread plate will be just above it at ten. Your wine and water goblets are where they always have been at one and two, and your coffee or tea will be to the right of your plate at three o’clock.”

The explanation was so logical he wondered that he’d not thought of it himself. The fact that Patience had done so but not him irritated the hell out of him. The quiet sound of silk brushing against the carpet echoed in his ear indicating she was headed toward him. Julian heard her sit down opposite him.

“Well?”

Her voice was quiet, but there was enough mockery and challenge in the one word that it made him wrap his hand around his fork in a grip almost tight enough to bend the metal. He didn’t answer. He simply picked up his knife and attacked the meat. The utensils scraped viciously against the china plate as he stabbed at the roast beef. He’d cut several pieces up before she sighed.

“If you cut up the entire piece of meat it will make it more difficult for you to know how much is left to cut,” she said quietly.

There was nothing in her voice that resembled pity. For a brief second, Julian allowed himself to hope she’d come to Crianlarich for a reason other than duty before crushing the notion. He didn’t respond to her comment, he simply stopped cutting the meat. Julian took a bite of the beef then gently probed the areas on the plate where she’d said his vegetables would be. The skirlie Mrs. Lester had prepared was to the left of the roast, and he took a bite of the mash potatoes mixed with onions and oats.

As always, Mrs. Lester’s cooking was exceptional. She’d won numerous pie baking contests at the local fair, and he knew there were many who’d tried to lure her away from him. But he paid her well to ensure she didn’t leave him. He took a bite of the cauliflower, cheese, and whiskey casserole the woman had made.

The three flavors mixed and mingled pleasantly on his tongue. Patience remained silent as he ate, and he remembered the meals they’d often enjoyed at home. There hadn’t been silence between them then. The air had been filled with her laughter.

“I’m sorry about your father, Julian.” Her voice was soft with sincerity, and he bobbed his head in a sharp acknowledgement of her condolence.

“The fact that you say so is more than he deserves,” Julian said with bitterness.

Patience was far more generous with her commiserations than she should be. It was his father who’d set into motion the destruction of her happiness and his. And what would she say when she learned Aiden was here at the castle? His gut knotted at the thought. Patience would think the worst of him for certain.

Anger and resentment erupted inside Julian as he attacked his unseen slab of beef. The old Crianlarich had created a mess, and Julian had been forced to clean it up. In the process he’d lost Patience. In the back of his head, a small voice whispered that there was the possibility he could be wrong. Muireall had said Patience still loved him. If that was true—he crushed the hope without hesitation.

“Muireall says you don’t go outside anymore.”

“My sister does no’ know when to hold her tongue,” he said harshly before regretting his sharp tone. Muireall only had his best interest at heart.

“She loves you,” Patience said softly with the hairs breadth of a pause that made him think she’d been about to say something else. “And you’re evading the topic.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” he said sardonically. “I’m blind.”

“And prone to self-pity as well.” The dry note of amusement in her voice made Julian clench his teeth.

“I do no’ feel sorry for myself,” he growled as he focused his gaze on the dark round shape that was her head.

“No? I’d venture to say you play the martyr quite well,” she murmured unsympathetically. “You forget I remember how disagreeable you can be when you’re confined in your movements.”

Julian ignored the lack of compassion in her voice. It was obvious she was referring to the time he’d had a sprained ankle. He wasn’t about to say it out loud, but she was right. He was a surly bastard when he couldn’t move about under his own steam. Silence filled the room as he continued to eat his dinner. Julian reached out to the dessert plate then stopped.

“Do I need a spoon for dessert?” he asked with annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured ruefully. “I should have mentioned that I had Mrs. Lester send up some gooseberry jam shortbread cookies. I didn’t know they were your favorites until she mentioned it.”

He grunted and bobbed his head at the thoughtful gesture. Unwilling to expand on the expression of gratitude, he cautiously ran his fingers along the rim of the dessert plate to pick up one of the cookies. The sweet taste of the cookie mixed with the tart gooseberry jam in the center for a delicious treat.

It was almost as savory a taste as he remembered Patience’s mouth could be. Julian frowned at the direction of his thoughts. The sooner she left Crianlarich Castle, the more quickly he’d forget her. He knew it was an asinine thought even before the jeering voice in the back of his head could chide him for it. Forgetting Patience was impossible. When he’d finished eating, he wiped his mouth with his napkin then dropped it carelessly over the remains of his meal. He leaned back in his chair and tipped his head to one side as if it would help him actually see her face instead of the dark shadow he saw.

“Why are you here, Patience?” he asked in an emotionless voice. He heard her draw in a quick breath of surprise. He immediately remembered times when he’d touched her, and she’d gasped just as sweetly. Julian shoved the memories out of his thoughts to wait stoically for her response.

P
atience sucked in her breath quickly at Julian’s question. How was she supposed to answer him? She closed her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. Blindness had not destroyed his commanding presence. If anything, he was even more devastating to her senses. Her heart ached to tell him the truth at this very moment, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her. There was even the possibility that Muireall was wrong.

Her lack of trust in him so many months ago could have easily destroyed his love for her. The thought caused a small bout of nausea to roll through her. No, she couldn’t believe that. She simply needed to regain his trust, and his entire demeanor today said it would take time to do that.

“I asked you a question,” he bit out. “Or are you trying to determine what lie to tell me next?”

“I’ve not lied to you,” she said quietly. “I came because you need me. I came because I want to be here.”

“I told you earlier—I do no’ need you.”

“Don’t you,” she huffed at his obstinate response. “When was the last time you were outside? When did you last go for a ride, something I know you enjoy immensely?”

“A ride?” Julian laughed loudly, but there was bitterness in the sound. Her heart ached for him, but compassion and pity weren’t going to help him. “I think you’ve gone a bit daft, madam.”

“Why? Because I think you can do things that you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t?” she snapped. “I was right about you playing the martyr. You’re not even willing to at least try to do things you enjoy.”

“Because I can’t.”

The flat response took her breath away for a second. He truly believed he was incapable of living a full life despite his affliction. The Rockwood family thrived on challenges, and she knew Julian would not be able to turn one down either. She bit down on her lip for a brief second before she stood up.

“You surprise me, Julian,” she said with deliberate disdain in her voice. “I never took you for a coward.”

Patience started toward the door, and in a flash of movement, Julian was on his feet, one hand braced against the table as his hand reached for her. On the first thrust of his hand outward, his fingers barely brushed across the top of her shoulder. Before she could step out of reach, his hand wrapped around her arm, and he pulled her toward him.

Fury had darkened his features, and if she didn’t know him well, she would have thought him capable of beating her. He leaned in close to her, and Patience drew in a sharp breath of surprise before her entire body hummed with a familiar vibration.

The blank, sightless look in his beautiful coffee-colored eyes as he stared at her without seeing her made Patience flinch. It made her wish with every fiber of her being that she had the ability to give his sight back to him. His mouth thin with outrage, she realized she might have pushed him too far.

“Do no’
ever
call me a coward again, Patience. I’ll no’ take that from anyone, especially a woman who hid from the world for six months,” he snarled. His words cut at her emotions like a finely honed sword. But she would willingly accept the brutality of them if it meant she could give him back some semblance of his independence. She swallowed the knot threatening to close her throat.

“Then I take it I shall not be riding alone tomorrow morning?” she asked in a careless tone.

“Aye,” he growled. “Ye will
no’
be alone.”

His grip on her arm relaxed as if he intended to let her go before he tightened his grip again. With a sharp tug, he pulled her into his chest. The sudden proximity of him made her heart do a somersault. Fingers splayed against his chest, he smelled of warm spice and bergamot. It had been too long since she’d been this close to him, and she trembled with a sudden need that scorched its way through her veins.