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She nodded woodenly and left with the maid.
Ambrose followed Bruce to a small room lined with leather-bound tomes. His host seated himself in a high-back chair behind a desk, but he wasn’t invited to sit.
Resentful at being treated like a naughty boy, Ambrose decided to take the offensive. “Yer son canna marry Eala.”
Bruce snorted. “I’ve told him that a thousand times, but…”
“She doesna love him.”
“And what would ye ken about that? Ye’re a surgeon, nay a priest.”
Ambrose pressed fisted hands into the desk and leaned forward. “Aye, and I’m a good surgeon. Evan would be dead if ’twasna for me…and Eala. The lass did more to keep him alive than ye can ever imagine.”
“But ye just said…”
“She didna do it for love. She did it because she has a giving heart. She battled to save his life even though she doesna wish to marry him.”
“Again, how do ye come to ken…”
Exasperated, Ambrose looked up at the ornate ceiling. Was the man so obtuse he couldn’t see what was obvious? “Because she’s going to marry me.”
Bruce drummed his fingers on the desk as his frown eased. “Ye mean to say ye wish to wed Eala Calhoun? Do ye ken naught of her family?”
This unexpected reaction fueled Ambrose’s anger. “I dinna care a whit about her parentage. We love each other and that’s all there is to it.”
Bruce snorted again. “Ye sound like my son.”
The time had come for a few more home truths. “With respect, sir, I am nay some callow lad looking to spite my father.”
Bruce leaned back in his chair and chuckled—another unexpected reaction. “Ye ken my son well. He’s always been impetuous and resentful of authority. He joined the Jacobite army just to spite me.”
“Eala suspected as much.”
Bruce stood. “’Tis the reason he insisted on being betrothed to the Calhoun lass. The moment he realized I didna approve of his interest, he couldna be deterred. He doesna love her.”
“Whereas, I do.”
Bruce extended a hand. “As far as I’m concerned, the betrothal is cancelled. Evan has some growing up to do. He’ll have a difficult enough time coming to terms with the loss of his arm.”
Ambrose accepted the peace offering and shook Bruce’s hand. “I’ll make sure ye ken how to take care of his wound before I leave.”
“Where’s home for ye?”
“Ayrshire. I was supposed to go home for yuletide, but Dr. Raincourt…”
His throat constricted. In all the confusion, he’d forgotten about Giles. “I’ve a favor to ask,” he said.
“Name it,” Bruce replied.
Roman God
As Eala expected, the chamber allotted to her was no bigger than a cupboard. Various heavy pieces of old furniture, clearly unused for years, had been stored there, making movement nigh on impossible. She managed to make her way to the narrow cot, wrinkling her nose at the musty odor as she crawled under the counterpane. The bed had been stripped of linens and she was too tired to remove her clothing in any case.
Certain Ambrose had been assigned a better chamber, she toyed with the idea of seeking him out. The notion was quickly abandoned. She would probably run into one of Evan’s parents if she ventured abroad.
Daylight streamed in through the undraped window, making sleep unlikely despite her state of near collapse. She wasn’t sure how long she’d lain studying the cracks in the plastered ceiling when someone tapped at the door.
She raised her head, her flagging spirits reviving when Ambrose entered, a finger pressed to his lips and a naughty grin on his face.
