He was silent for a moment, but she knew he was still out there. She slowed her breathing and patted her matted hair, and then her chest and readied herself to go.
When she opened the door, she was not surprised to find him there on the other side, waiting for her.
“I…ehm…I wanted to make certain ye were all right,” he defended.
“Did ye believe I was being deceitful when I said I was?”
His concern darkened into a scowl. “Ye are hidin’ in yer room and said ye were ill when I called to ye.”
She realized he was correct and she sounded dimwitted. “I am not hiding,” she defended, stepping past him, away from his worried gaze. “And I told ye I would be fine.”
In a single long step, he caught up to her and bent to look her in the eyes.
“What are ye doing?”
“Checkin’.”
“Checking fer what?”
When he didn’t answer, she suspected he was calling her a liar. And he was correct. She was. She didn’t feel better. She doubted she would ever be fine again! Today, she saw exactly who she was. A traitor to her poor dead family.
How could she hold the tiniest speck of softness toward him when he showed concern for her?
She didn’t care that he had only been stealing a look at her. How could she entertain/harbor such disgraceful thoughts as liking that he was concerned for her? That he had agreed to stay with her so she would not be alone?
She glanced at his empty hands and shook her head in disapproval—the way Lady Abigail D’Atere, her third mistress, used to do to her whenever Elspeth had trouble followinginstructions. Lady Abigail was a nasty wretch, but she never put her hands to Elspeth, the way her other masters had.
“Ye didna do as I said,” she accused caustically.
“We can skip today’s practice,” he said in a low voice that seeped into her flesh and made her blood flow warmer. “I willna leave.”
How did he know what she had been thinking moments ago?
She raised her gaze to his and felt the mad urge to smile. She fought it. “I said I am fine.”
“Aye, ye’re a braw lass.”
She stopped walking and turned to look at him head on. “What are ye trying to do, Mr. Cameron?”
He tilted his head a tad to the side. “Hmm?”
Heaven help her, but he was a handsome man. She thought if she lived another twenty years, she would never see one as pleasing to look at as he.
Aye. Lucifer was said to be beautiful once.
“How do ye know that I am braw, Mr. Cameron? Why say it? What are ye trying to achieve?”
Madly, he smiled. “Achieve?” He shook his head, growing serious again. “I am no’ tryin’ to achieve anythin’. I imagine that once bein’ the only daughter of a prominent baron and then bein’ thrown into servitude and abuse must have been extremely difficult fer ye.”
He understood? But how? More importantly, what did it mean? Was the only person she had ever found with compassion, the man who caused every terrible thing in her life?
“And different,” she added in a whisper, finding it hard to breathe.
“And different,” he echoed. His smile softened until only a hint of it remained. “Of course.”
That’s it. Elspeth decided to ignore him. He was staying. He’d be eating. Once he was gone, she would no longer have to worry about liking him, or worse—forgiving him. Nae, nae, never that.
With her plans firmly in place, she went with him to the glen just beyond the stream and watched him while he practiced lifting his weapon in both hands.
