She swiped her fingers over her cheek and nodded, quickening her step to catch up, and then pass him.
“I was thinking about how I wouldna be able to kill ye.”
Logan looked after her as she stormed into the trees. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at her declaration and her raw honesty or tie her up and deliver her to the nearest village.
If he lived that long.
He didn’t laugh, but he smiled.
It was equally as dangerous.
Chapter Eight
Elspeth picked ather roasted quail with carrots, mushrooms, and onions. Mr. Cameron certainly knew how to cook and season his dishes. Pity, she was not the least bit hungry.
He was leaving. She would be alone for who knew how long? Did Mr. Cameron believe he was doing her any favors by giving her freedom to do nothing all day? Day after day after… She was not going to do it. She would get out of here. All she had to do was climb out of the glen. How difficult could it be?
But blast it, he was correct. Where would she go after that? Would she go to Tor Castle? Logan Cameron and his cousins would recognize her, and they would kick her out.
“Miss Woodburn?”
She didn’t realize she was staring at him until he spoke.
“Would ye have me apologize fer leavin’ and thwartin’ yer attempt to kill me?”
“If ye knew how badly I have wanted to do it, ye would beg my forgiveness.”
He laughed a little and she watched him, hating him, but…not wanting him to leave. Of course, she did not want him to leave because then she could not finish poisoning him, but there was more to it than that. More than not wanting to be alone, for she would be alone when he died.
He was not entirely unpleasant. But could she so easily put aside how he ruined her life because he was not completelyreprehensible? So what if out of all the masters she had, the one she hated the most was the least hateful?
“Why are ye here alone while the rest of yer kin are at yer father’s castle?”
His smile did not change or fade when he brought more food to his mouth. “I like it better here.”
“Why?”
“’Tis quiet, and I can practice withoot a dozen pairs of eyes on me.”
Should she remind him that she watched him yesterday while he rode in circles on his horse, trying to swing his left arm?
“Did none of them offer to help ye practice instead of standing off gawking at ye?”
He shook his head, his smile intact, and just a bit warmer. “How would ye help me practice if ye were to offer yer service to me?”
“I would have ye practice moving yer arm, not just in a defensive way, but fer everything, the way ye would move it naturally. I think part of yer problem is that ye fergot how to move it. Ye need to help yer muscles remember, and ye do that by moving your arm for all things. But—” she added after a moment—“I wouldna help ye practice. Ye are my enemy.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
Then he lifted his left arm and set his hand on his spoon. His fingers did not move right away, but he pushed harder until they finally curled around the handle of the spoon.
Elspeth watched, silently, traitorously hoping for his victory.
She liked that he was taking her advice and moving his arm as much as he could and as often as he could. But it also meant that the closer he came to regaining the use of his left arm, the closer he was to fighting and killing—likely more Covenanters. She should have nothing to do with helping him. Hadn’t she learned better the first time?
She looked away from his struggle an instant before he dipped his spoon into his stew and then lifted it to his mouth.
She looked up just in time to see him lowering his left arm to the table and grinning like a fool while he chewed. She’d missed it. He used his left arm.
