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“Of course,” she replied, as he sat down stiffly in a padded chair beside the fire, refusing her help. She rang for the food and medicine, then poured them some wine from the carafe on the table beside him.
Janice realized that being alone in his chamber with him was against all the rules of polite society. At best it would be considered ill-advised—at the worst, scandalous—but she had never been one to pay much attention to the dictates of a few people who considered it their right to tell others what to do. She simply did not care, and as she looked into his greenish-brown eyes, she realized that, despite the class differences between them, she had more in common with him than with anyone else she knew. They could work well together if both of them were running the estate. The thought stunned her.
While they were waiting for the food to arrive, Bernard leaned forward to keep his back away from the chair and looked at her earnestly.
“What happened, mistress?” he asked. “If you wish to tell me, that is. You did not look happy when you went into the hall, and when you came out you looked extremely angry.”
Janice sighed. “I was—Iam—angry. Furious, in fact.”
She clenched her hands into fists as she relived what had happened. The rage surged back, and she bent forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, then she began to speak. Her voice was throbbing with anger.
* * *
Janice hated being the center of attention, but unfortunately, it was necessary that evening since her brothers were hosting the event. However, when she slipped back into the hall, she found all the guests already seated, mostly in the places that had been allocated to them, although a few were out of place. No one was fighting or arguing about it, though.
She looked around with quite a bit of satisfaction since this was an event that she herself had organized, and she prided herself that she had done a fairly good job of it. She did not care if anyone praised her or not, as long as they enjoyed the feast. The sight of so many beautiful evening gowns and clan tartans gladdened her heart, as did the happy sound of conversation and laughter. She was full of relief that everything was going so well.
However, when Janice went to take her place at the head table, she found that it was already occupied by a buxom young redhead who was obviously one of Alasdair’s guests by the way he was drooling over her. When Janice looked at her brother, frowning, he smiled at her smugly.
“Ah, Janice, there you are!” he greeted her, rising to his feet and extending an arm to the lovely young maiden, who stood up and curtsied to Janice. “My sister, Janice Stewart, please meet Lady Davina Galbraith. Her father is a good friend of our father. They have known each other for years.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Stewart,” Davina said, with a smile that looked genuine and unforced. “I believe you are the one responsible for this lovely gathering. It is the best ceilidh I have attended in an age. Thank you for inviting me and my family.”
“Thank you, milady,” Janice replied. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself. Please tuck into your food. We can become better acquainted later on.”
Lady Davina gave her a polite nod and a smile, then sat down again.
Now, as she looked over at Alasdair, Janice realized how neatly he had trapped her. The young woman was sitting in her chair, leaving her nowhere to go. Janice could hardly turf Davina off the seat and tell her it had been earmarked for her. She looked around the room to see where Davina’s empty chair was, but either an extra guest had been invited without her knowledge or the chair had been taken away.
Janice endured a moment of panic when she realized she had nowhere at all to sit, and she glared at both her brothers, who were sitting next to each other. They both grinned at her. It was all a big joke to them, and Janice felt like screaming at them as a boiling rage erupted inside her. This was not the first time something like this had happened, but never at an important occasion such as this one. She promised herself it would be the last because her vengeance would be swift and dire.
Janice turned and began to circulate amongst the tables, making small talk with each of the guests before she worked her way around to the big double doors that a manservant opened for her. She took a few steps before the anger rushed back, even stronger and fiercer this time. Then, regardless of her gorgeous lavender evening gown, she broke into a run, intending to lean over the turrets for some fresh air.
She put her head down and clenched her fists, but she had gone no more than a few steps before she collided with something warm and very solid. Her tightly fisted hands hit it first, and a spear of pain shot up her arm as one of her wrists was bent back. She swayed but kept her balance, but the man with whom she had collided was not so fortunate. Janice looked up into a pair of greenish-brown eyes, her pain momentarily forgotten.
* * *
“And that is what happened,” she finished at last.
The pain from the hand she had hurt was only just beginning to make itself felt in earnest, and she helped herself to some of Bernard’s willow bark tea as the food came, and Bernard began to tuck in with gusto. Janice loved watching men with healthy appetites since they took such great pleasure from their food. She watched sausages, eggs, bread, and assorted root vegetables disappear, along with two glasses of wine.
“Only two?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
He nodded. “I love wine, but I have had a lot of ale at the White Bull already. I think I should draw the line now. How is your hand?”
She chuckled, and Bernard watched her eyes twinkle. “As well as can be expected after a collision with your ribcage!” she replied. “Are you sure it is not made of iron?”
“If it were, it would be rusty by now,” he said drily. “I am so sorry.” He reached for her hand. “Let me see what I can do for it.”
“Are you a healer?” Janice asked, surprised.
He laughed. “No, not by any means, but I have tended many a sprain in my time. Mine is quite an active profession where accidents happen daily. I have had to stitch cuts and splint broken bones many times. Let me see.”
When his hand touched hers, Janice felt a delightful shock go through her. His fingers were enormous and rough to the touch but very gentle. He pulled at her joints, made her clench and unclench her fist, and massaged her palm with his thumbs, and gradually she felt the stress and worry of the day seep out of her.
Bernard marveled at the size of her hand in his as he worked on it. It was a tiny, dainty thing, and he wondered how she ever managed to do any work with those small hands. Yet he knew she did because her palm was calloused, and her fingernails were shorter than any other woman’s he had ever seen. These were not the hands of a pampered lady.
“What do you do all day?” he asked curiously. “You have the hands of a manual laborer.”
