Page 18 of The Highlander’s Enchanted Healer (Spellbound Hearts #2)

I sat frozen on the floor of the healing room, fingertips pressed to my tingling lips, and watched Laird Campbell flee as if he were escaping spirits come to drag him to the cold and shadowy realm of Helheim to spend eternity in misery.

The door swished shut behind him, but the leather and fire of his scent was embedded in my skin where he’d touched me, and the warmth and strength of his lips lingered on mine.

I let out an involuntary groan when a pulsing sensation sprang to life at my core and spread rapidly between my thighs as I recalled his kiss.

My breasts became instantly heavy, my nipples hardening and belly growing tight, thinking upon each tug of my lips from his, the way his tongue slid across the crease of my mouth to make me feel I was unraveling inside, and my hand upon his thigh, where his muscles jumped and twitched under my fingers.

A shocking realization hit me as I drew in cold air in a sharp breath.

What I was feeling was desire. I’d never experienced it before, but I’d certainly heard the kitchen lasses crowing and giggling about it.

I desired my enemy. My gaze flicked to Tomas with the irrational fear that he’d seen me kissing Laird Campbell.

But the lad’s chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep.

I let out a ragged breath and squeezed my eyes shut as my heart pounded for Laird Campbell.

He was my enemy, and yet, I was struggling now to put him neatly in that category as I had so effortlessly done before.

I’d imagined him a monster, but his actions showed otherwise.

Would a man without a conscience rise from his seat upon the dais to aid an aged serving wench with a heavy trencher?

Ramsey certainly would never have done that.

I was not even certain Ramsey would have motioned for another wench to help the struggling one had that same scene played out in the great hall at the Gordon stronghold.

And not only did Laird Campbell offer the old woman assistance but he served his clanspeople himself, showing humbleness in doing so.

Did men who attacked other clans without remorse have humbleness? I did not think so.

I could possibly dismiss the one incident as a rare exception, but in the very short time I’d been here, there had been several other instances that showed Campbell to be a good man.

He had left his own supper to see me to my bedchamber, and not only that but he had not simply deposited me unceremoniously on my bed.

He’d taken off my shoes and covered me with a blanket, showing thoughtfulness and a tenderness of spirt.

And then there was Tomas. My gaze drew momentarily back to the sleeping lad.

The laird had stood by my side the entire time, doing as I—his servant of sorts—bade him to do and did not once protest about it.

I nibbled on my lip as a memory came to me of a time when one of our warriors was brought back to the castle near death after a battle with the Campbells.

A day later, at supper in the great hall, Ramsey had asked Breeda if the warrior had lived.

The castle healer had responded that the man had died just that afternoon, and Ramsey had nodded, saying the man’s life had been given to a good cause.

It had struck me as cold and uncaring, but I had dismissed it as my stepbrother hiding his emotions, given he was sitting at the dais surrounded by family and clanspeople.

Now, compared with Laird Campbell, I wondered if Ramsey simply hadn’t cared.

Laird Campbell had shown concern, frustration, grief, tenderness—and all in front of me, a woman he barely knew.

He had not only shown all of this but he had stayed by my side, putting off his hundreds of other duties as laird to ensure the lad lived.

How could I believe him a monster now? The confusion made me feel ill, twisting my stomach in knots.

I had come here so certain, and I had sent that missive to Ramsey that told him of how the Campbells would position themselves to attack him soon.

My missive would certainly result in Campbells dying.

Had I sent it in error? I did not have the answer.

Feeling helpless, I pushed myself off the ground, limbs shaking with fatigue, and I went to Tomas.

I looked down at his face, so young and vulnerable.

A Gordon warrior had shot this lad. It sickened me.

For a Gordon warrior to do such a heinous thing, they had to feel they would not be punished for the action.

But how could that be? How could my da’s men, who had been so honorable under the rule of my da, feel it right to shoot a helpless lad, enemy or not?

My da’s warriors had always acted as Da had dictated, with honor even in war.

It was not honorable to shoot children who did not pose a threat.

I could not recall a single instance of a Gordon child being injured by a Campbell, and I could not dismiss this glaring atrocity as I had dismissed Alba Campbell’s ravishment.

Ramsey had vowed the men who had attacked her had disobeyed his orders, but was that true?

The knots in my stomach rose, tightening my chest and my throat.

I placed a hand on Tomas, grateful to be greeted only by the silence of a lad in a deep, dreamless sleep.

His terror when I touched him before had swirled through me like a violent storm, nearly robbing me of my ability to stand.

Thank the gods, I’d not actually felt his pain.

I don’t think I would have been able to do the work needed to save him, to maintain my ruse as a healer, had the pain of his wound been my pain.

I’d read Fenella’s thoughts on what to do for Tomas, and I’d not been struck by the tingling in my mouth and the need to blurt my own secrets.

But just because it had not happened this time, I knew well that did not mean it would not occur again, when I least expected it, when it might put me in the most dire predicament.

This game I was playing was deadly, and currently my duplicity sat upon my conscience like a heavy boulder.

Laird Campbell’s accusations about Ramsey and my stepmama came to me as I stood there.

He’d said she was a whore who had schemed to place herself in my da’s household.

True, I had never liked Francine, but was she truly such a schemer?

And if so, what lengths would she go to—would Ramsey go to—to ensure her son was named laird of the Campbell clan?

Would they have killed for it? My stomach heaved at the thought, and I fell to the floor and vomited.

Shaking all over and instantly clammy, I kneeled with my hands pressed into the rushes as tears filled my eyes.

Who had killed my family? Was it Ramsey or Laird Campbell’s da?

Had doubt been expertly planted in my mind, or had I refused to see the awful truth?

I took in several sharp breaths, my nostrils flaring, and the sour stench of my stomach contents making me feel worse.

I rose on shaking legs, cleaned the mess, then went to the water basin and splashed cold water on my face, welcoming the sting of it against my hot skin.

I was uncertain if I was falling prey to a snake-tongued persuader, as Ramsey had warned me not to do, or if I was finally uncovering the horrible, awful truth.

I could not deny the respect I felt for Laird Campbell, but I also wasn’t prepared to accept that the stepbrother I had trusted, who had cared for me and protected me for years, had lied to me for gain, for power.

I would watch Laird Campbell and learn more of him, even as I gathered more information for Ramsey, and hopefully, the truth would reveal itself fully soon.