Page 5 of To Wed a Laird (English Brides and Highland Vows #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

Cormac was not the only one suffering from insomnia that night. Rose, too, was lying awake, unable to sleep because of the memory of Elspeth’s face, her expression one of rage, hurt and sheer misery. She knew those feelings, having experienced them herself after her own mother’s death.

Granted, her mother’s death had not been a violent one, but she had no doubt that the pain was just as acute.

Every time she thought of Elspeth’s angry face, rather than sharing her feeling of rage, Rose experienced a tremendous upwelling of sympathy.

Nell had told her the circumstances of Elspeth’s mother’s death, and she had been utterly shocked.

“No wonder the poor thing is so angry,” she said sadly. “How old was she?”

“Six,” Nell replied.

They were both sitting in Nell’s little parlour in front of a bright fire, and Nell was busy with her knitting, which was a craft that Rose was eager to learn.

“Before that she was a bright wee thing, always happy. It is so sad tae see what has happened tae her.”

The more Rose heard about how traumatised Elspeth was by her mother’s death, the more she was determined to be the one who pulled her back from the pit of depression the little girl found herself in.

However, the problem of how to do it was keeping sleep away, and Rose found herself tossing and turning, throwing the blankets away from herself so that cold air seeped in around her.

The fire had almost died, and the room was becoming cold.

Rose sighed in frustration. She clenched her hands into fists and thumped them onto the mattress.

She stood up and watched the embers of the fire for a moment, holding her hands out to what was left of its warmth.

Then, she decided that perhaps a cup of warm milk would help her to sleep.

She put on a warm woollen robe over her nightdress then ventured out into the cold dark corridor, hoping that she would not lose her way.

The passage was colder than she had anticipated, and for a moment, she considered turning back, but she decided to persevere, since the thought of having no sleep was unbearable.

After she had navigated her way around a few corners and down a flight of stairs, she was not entirely sure she was on the right track.

The trouble was that the castle was enormous, and the corridors seemed to be miles long.

Rose knew the kitchen was only a few yards from the Laird’s study, but could she find her way there?

She was beginning to suspect that she was lost, but she tamped down the panic inside her and forced herself to think clearly.

Rose turned in a circle to see if she could get her bearings, but it was impossible.

She doubted if she could even find her way back to her own room.

However, she reasoned that if she could find her way to the entrance, one of the guards would point her in the right direction.

She trudged on, trying to stay calm, but her foot was suddenly struck by something that was lying on the floor. She was wearing only soft slippers, and cried out as a bolt of pain shot through her toes, then she stumbled forward.

As she reached out to save herself from falling, she felt an arm wrapping itself around her waist in a steady, firm hold, and she was pulled against a solid, muscular chest.

At first, Rose thought she had encountered one of the guards on patrol, but she looked up into a pair of vivid blue eyes, and realised that it was the Laird who had caught her roaming around his castle.

“I am so sorry,” she said in a trembling voice. Her foot was agonisingly sore, and she let out a gasp of pain.

“Are you all right?” Cormac asked, concerned. He tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer to him before he even realised what he was doing. “Why are you wandering around in the middle of the night?”

“I-I could not sleep, and I wanted a cup of warm milk,” Rose replied. “I was trying to get to the kitchen, but I tripped over something on the floor.”

Cormac frowned, then bent over and picked up a small spinning top which had obviously been left there by Elspeth. It was made of brightly painted wood, and Cormac winced as he looked at the sharp point at each end.

“One of Elspeth’s toys,” he said grimly. “And this is a very stupid place to leave it. I am sorry for that. Now, can you walk?”

Rose nodded, and Cormac felt almost disappointed, for he felt inclined to help her. However, he kept his arm firmly around her waist and smiled down at her.

“You are going the wrong way,” he told Rose as he changed direction.

He watched a look of embarrassment cross her face and felt a little sorry for her. He thought of what had transpired that afternoon and realised that she probably thought him a very bad father. He tried to put himself in her place and decided that he would likely have come to the same conclusion.

The notion that he might be considered a poor father hurt him because he was one of the most devoted parents he knew, and he would die to protect his daughter from harm.

Rose had not said a word of condemnation to him, but Cormac could see it in her eyes when she looked at him, and in the way she avoided looking at him. He wanted to dispel her bad opinion of him right then and there.

He had no idea why her good opinion mattered so much to him, but it did, and he was anxious to correct her misapprehensions. For a while, they walked along in silence, slowed down by Rose’s sore foot, then, unable to stay quiet any longer, Cormac spoke up.

“Please do not judge me for shouting at my daughter,” he said.

Rose was shocked. “I didn’t say anything,” she replied, with a touch of anger in her voice.

Cormac looked down into her deep brown eyes, and almost forgot what he was going to say for a moment.

“There are other ways to say something apart from words,” he pointed out.

“You looked so furious with me, but I do not deserve your anger. I have done my best to be a good father to Elspeth, but she seems determined to shut me out.” He shook his head and went on.

“I have tried my best for four years since her mother died, but she will not let me in. She will never let me play with her as she used to, and she does not let me read stories to her. Worst of all, she hardly talks to me or lets me know what is in her mind.” He sighed, and if Rose had not been there, he might have banged his head against the wall or done himself some other kind of harm.

But what he said was strange indeed. A girl without her mother should try to become closer to her father, Rose thought, as she and her sisters had tried to do. However, in their case, it had not worked, since their father had only become more and more distant.

Still, she reminded herself, no two people were the same, and everyone dealt with their grief in a different way. She was just about to express her opinion when Cormac said, “Perhaps it’s me. Perhaps I am the problem.”

They moved into the kitchen, and Rose looked around herself in awe. The room was massive, almost the size of the entire stable block in her own home, with lofty ceilings that almost reminded her of a cathedral.

A long table ran down the middle of the huge chamber, and she could see a fireplace at the end of the room, over which an enormous cauldron was suspended.

There were a number of bread ovens and dozens of hooks on the walls for kitchen utensils, as well as shelves full of dishes, cups, and pots.

She saw bunches of herbs hanging up to dry, lending their fragrance to the air, and she let out a gasp of astonishment.

Seeing her look, Cormac turned to her, smiling at her astonishment. “Have you never been in a castle kitchen before?” he asked.

“No,” Rose replied. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“It is the beating heart of the castle,” Cormac told her.

He moved over to set a pan of milk on the embers of the fire, then came back to stand beside her.

“Let me have a look at your foot,” he said. “It might need some attention in the morning.” Then, he brought over a rough wooden chair for her to sit on.

For a moment, Rose thought of objecting, but Cormac was already pulling off her shoe, and when she felt his hands on her flesh a moment later, all thoughts of pushing him away fled from her mind.

His fingers were rough-skinned, but their touch was infinitely gentle, and she closed her eyes and sighed softly as he searched her foot for any sign of an injury.

“Quite a bad bruise,” he announced at last as he picked up her slipper to put it back on. “But no broken bones. You can ask Flora, the healer, to put some arnica on it in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, smiling, even though she already missed the soft touch of his fingers on her skin. She tried to get to her feet, but Cormac stopped her, putting his big hand on her shoulder. “Try not to stand,” he instructed, before he went to fetch the milk.

He poured the milk and sprinkled some cinnamon on it, then handed it to Rose.

Her eyes widened with pleased surprise, and she bent down to her cup to savour its delicious aroma. “Mmm… My favourite spice,” she told him. She got to her feet, helped by Cormac’s hand under her elbow, and they left the kitchen.

As they reached the door, Rose said, “I want to assure you that I will do everything in my power to help Elspeth. She is but a child and I can see how much she is suffering. I lost my own mother, so I understand.”

Cormac looked at her for a long moment, but said nothing, merely nodding in acknowledgement.

Rose thought she saw something in his expression—hope?

Perhaps this man with the iron exterior was softer than he appeared.

She suspected that he was, but he dared not let the wall around him crumble in case anyone saw the sadness that was concealed inside him, curled up like a frightened animal.

In a way, Elspeth was more fortunate because as a child she was free to express those emotions, whereas a man, particularly a man in Cormac’s position, could not. He had to be seen to be invulnerable, made of iron.

Cormac led Rose back to the door of her bedchamber, then, with another brief nod, he left her without another word. Rose watched him till he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, then entered her chamber.

Her foot still hurt a little, but the touch of Cormac’s rough fingers had magically soothed the pain somewhat, and after she drank her milk, Rose was finally able to drift off to sleep.

Unbeknownst to Rose, Cormac was as distracted as she was by the touch of her skin.

It was so soft, her flesh so warm and tender, and her foot was so small and dainty, just as Catherine’s had been.

At once a spear of guilt shot through him as he realised that he had just compared this woman, who was still almost a complete stranger, to the woman he had loved more than life itself.

What kind of man am I? he thought. Having my head turned by a pretty face like that. I am so weak and disloyal!

It was still early, but Rose wanted to speak to the healer before she saw Elspeth, so she made her way to the sick room, passing many maids and manservants on the way.

She was surprised to see that her appearance seemed to be provoking not just curiosity, which she had expected, but downright hostility, judging by some of the looks she received.

However, Rose was neither hurt nor intimidated. She had learned the dubious art of meeting an aggressive stare with one of her own, and could hold her adversary’s gaze for as long as it took for them to look away, which they always did.

Accordingly, she stared back and ignored the muttering which accompanied her passage down the corridors.

Rose had no idea what she had done to merit such malice, but she was determined not to let it dissuade her from her mission.

It might give her a feeling of unease, which was natural, but she could rise above it.

She was not here to be liked, she was here to do a job, and she was determined to do it to the best of her ability. What the staff in the castle thought of her was of no account. Their opinions did not affect her in any way, so she would ignore them.

However, it was not in Rose’s nature to make enemies, so she was determined to keep a level head—she had enough trouble on her hands.

She went into the sick room, where a brisk young woman looked at her bruised foot and prescribed an arnica salve, as Cormac had told her she would.

Rose was impressed with the young woman’s friendly attitude and devotion to duty. It was so unlike the rest of the staff, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she left the room.

Now was the moment she had been dreading. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin and thrust out her chest as though she were a soldier going into battle. She certainly felt like one.