Page 24 of Her Highland Destiny

She waved him toward her and turned to the kitchen. “Get her to the chair by the fire. It's warmer back here than in the drafty great hall.”

Fergus followed his mother to the back of the manor where the massive kitchen was located. As they walked, he took advantage of Cassandra's slow pace to examine the state of the manor. Lucky for Helga, he found it all in good repair, polished and dusted without a cobweb to be seen.

Though he wondered how much his mother allowed Helga to do, though, if anything at all. She had never had much use for the servants and Fergus knew she kept them more to appease him than for her own desire.

A pleasant heat filled the kitchen, even in the frigid temperatures. The entire manor belonged to his mother, yet he knew this room was the only one which seemed to truly belong to her. Herbs swayed from the rafters above, their leaves in various stages of drying, just like when they'd had a small cottage. Several jars of butters and oils were neatly lined on one side of the wall, and his father's necklace - an iron cross from when he'd traveled with the Knights Templar - hung near the shutters, just like when they'd had a small cottage. A sense of peace washed over his mother when she entered the kitchen.

Fergus set Cassandra in the wooden seat before the fire and his mother came forward to sit on a nearby stool. If anyone would make Cassandra's foot right again, it would be his mother.

“Lady Cassandra, may I remove yer shoe?” His mother regarded Cassandra with an imploring look.

Cassandra flushed. “Aye, of course, but please call me Cassandra.”

His mother smiled and gently removed the shoe. Cassandra’s foot had swollen even larger with a deep purple band at the base of her foot. Fergus’ mother carefully examined it, her fingers gingerly moving over the swollen skin. The lines around his mother’s eyes remained creased though she was no longer smiling.

Again, he was struck by how much she’d aged in ten years. He had been gone too long. She had done everything for him in his life, and he had remained gone.

He knew she would not judge him, and yet he could not bring himself to tell her about his son. And how badly he had failed.

“It’s no’ broken, merely a sprain,” his mother offered in her assessment of Cassandra’s ankle, ignorant to the waves of guilt washing over him. “But ye’ll no’ be moving on it for a while. I have some poultices and balms I can use to take down the engorgement and to ease yer pain a wee bit.” She stood and settled a hand on his forearm where it was crossed over his chest. “Ye’re of course welcome to stay here.”

Her hope flared so bright, it was practically blinding. And even beneath it all, she only wanted it if Fergus could spare the time.

In truth, he could not, but Cassandra would travel more quickly when healed than she could injured. And further damage to her ankle, which was likely if they continued to press on, would only slow them even more.

They had no choice but to stay. He found himself torn between frustration at the lost time when they were already behind, and gratitude for the opportunity to spend the time with his mother. Once his son was recovered, he would ensure they moved back to Inverness along with Cassandra, near his mother’s manor.

He stilled. It was the first time he had considered his future with Cassandra. The image had come so readily, with such assuredness, it was as though there were no doubt in his mind it would be.

A cold shudder rent through his heart. And yet it could not be. For he was almost certain when he delivered Cassandra to the king, she would die.

The following week flew by quickly for Cassandra in the comfortable manor with Fergus’ mother, whom she’d been instructed to refer to as Blair. Cassandra had been treated well, with all the love from Blair she had never received from her own mother, and it filled a void in her heart she hadn’t known she possessed.

Blair settled comfortably on a stool with a tray at her side filled with various pots and herbs and poultices for healing. She unwrapped the linen from Cassandra’s ankle and craned her neck over the injured appendage in careful assessment.

“It’s almost completely healed.” Blair put a hand to her chest. “I’ve no’ ever seen a sprain as bad as yers mend with such haste.”

Cassandra peered at her ankle. It was indeed as it had been before the injury, with no swelling or discoloration remaining. Fergus had constantly hovered near her in the past several days, touching his hand to hers when no one was near in the hopes the energy of the stone would encourage her body to repair itself. It was the only time he would touch her.

Even without the stone, Cassandra would no doubt have still healed well for Blair had provided constant care.

“Your diligence to my health has contributed greatly to the success, I am sure,” Cassandra said.

As she always did, Blair waved a dismissive hand in the air as if to clear away the compliment. “Ye’ve been a fine patient to care for. Ye’re a verra kind lass.” Blair lifted a sly gaze to Cassandra. “And I canna say I havena noticed how my son interacts with ye.”

Cassandra’s face grew warm. “Whatever do you mean?”

Blair grinned and her eyes squinted at the corner where a lifetime of smiling had left the skin creased. “I see the gentle touches between ye and my son, the way his gaze seems to fix on ye when ye’re near. I’ve no’ ever seen him like this with a lass.”

The warmth went hotter still. Lately it had seemed he wanted little to do with Cassandra, aside from her being ready as quickly as possible to travel. She’d tried to read his hesitation toward her but could not. At first she had assumed it had to do with his mother, and the fear she would know he had taken Cassandra’s maidenhead. But several times of being alone together had cured such thoughts. Even with no one nearby, Fergus was distant. As though he had wanted to stay far from her.

“What of his wife?” Cassandra asked. Her stomach twisted at the very thought. Allisandre had possessed a part of Fergus Cassandra envied, a part of him she would never have.

Blair pursed her mouth. She lifted the lid from a small clay pot and swept her fingers through the yellow salve within. “He fancied her,” she said slowly. “But there was something about her I dinna trust.”

Her greased fingers moved over Cassandra’s ankle, her touch tender as she massaged the salve over the remnants of the injury.

“Was his wife unkind?” Cassandra had seen, unwillingly, some of the memories in Fergus’ head when they touched. While beautiful, Allisandre had seemed short of patience and possessed a cool air about her.