Page 46

“There’s one question that remains unanswered.” Cat was still at the window, her arms wrapped around herself, her elbows cupped in her palms.

“What question?”

She turned then, and for the first time since he’d told her the truth, her eyes met his. “Where did they hide the treasure?”

“You’re his daughter, Catriona. No one knew him better than you and your sisters did.” He rose and took a step toward her, unable to help himself. “You tell me where he hid the treasure.”

“I wish I could.” Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “Over these past few months, I’ve begun to wonder if I ever knew my father at all.”

Her eyes were shiny, and he couldn’t bear it any longer.

He held out his hand to her. “Mr. Laing told me the ruins of Castle Varrich, the ancient seat of Clan Mackay, are less than a mile’s walk from Tongue. Shall we go and see it?”

She glanced out the window. “It looks as if it’s going to rain.”

“Then we’ll get wet. Come, Cat. We’re not getting anywhere sitting in this room. Let’s go downstairs, have breakfast, and take a walk. The fresh air will do us some good.”

She stared down at his hand for some time, unmoving, but just when he was certain she’d refuse him, she rested her fingertips in his palm, as if it were the easiest thing in the world for him to offer his hand, and for her to take it.

* * *

As it turned out, Castle Varrich wasn’t so much a castle as a tall, narrow tower of crumbling stone with nothing but open sky where the roof had once been, but it must have been an imposing place in its day.

It wasn’t large. It had likely only been three stories, with the bottom floor reserved for livestock, but it was situated at the peak of an impressive hill, near the edge of a promontory, with sweeping views of the Kyle of Tongue in every direction, and the wide sky stretching out in an endless swathe above it.

“It’s lovely up here, isn’t it?” Cat had wandered a short distance from the castle, closer to the downward slope of the hill, and was gazing out at the Kyle of Tongue below them. “Lovely, but cold.”

“That’s because Scotland despises me.” The sun had been struggling through the clouds when they’d left The Golden Coin, but by the time they’d reached the top of the hill where the remains of the castle stood, it had vanished and the wind had picked up, whipping at Cat’s skirts and hair.

“Every time I venture outside, the heavens threaten to release a fury upon my head.”

“They haven’t opened yet.” She shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her, and gave him a small smile. “But I daresay they will soon enough, now you’ve challenged them.”

She was wearing the brown cloak again. Or rather, still . It was a threadbare, bedraggled-looking garment, and he didn’t like to see her forced to make do with it. If he hadn’t known she didn’t have any other, he might have even been ungentlemanly enough to say so.

It was useless in today’s sharp wind, however, and he’d be damned if he’d stand here and watch while she shivered beside him. “Here.” He slid his coat off his shoulders and strode over to her. “Have mine.”

But no sooner did he wrap his coat around her than she tried to slide it off again. “That’s not necessary, my lord. I don’t need—”

“Hush.” He caught her hands in his, lowered them gently to her sides, then arranged the coat over her shoulders, and closed it more snugly around her neck. “Yes, it is necessary.”

She gazed down at his hands for a moment, then tipped her head back and glanced shyly up at him. “It, ah, it’s quite warm, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, and especially so on you, as it’s more of a blanket than a coat.” He gazed down at her, his heart beginning to pound at the softness in her eyes. Had there ever been a woman with more beautiful eyes than hers?

She turned her head toward the collar of the coat and drew in a dainty breath. “It smells like you.”

“Does it, indeed?” He laughed, startled. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “What, ah . . . what do I smell like, Miss MacLeod?”

Her cheeks turned scarlet, but to his surprise, she answered him. “A bit like the woods, but also a little like leather, although that’s only since we embarked on our travels. I daresay it’s from holding the ribbons. When we were at Castle Cairncross, I thought I detected a hint of port, as well—”

She broke off, biting her lip.

“You’ve, ah, given this some thought, I see.” He reached for her and gently plucked her lip out from between her teeth.

“Oh, no. Not at all, my lord. I just . . .” She peeked up at him from underneath her lashes. “Well, perhaps a little. I’m quite sensitive to scents, you know, Lord Ballantyne, because of my plants.”

“Yes, of course. That makes perfect sense, Miss MacLeod.”

She was looking at him. Not past him, and not through him, but at him for the first time in six days, and for the first time in six days, his heart was soaring. Castle Varrich could have fallen to pieces right beside them, and he wouldn’t have noticed it.

Was there hope for them yet? The question was on the edge of his tongue, but he didn’t have a chance to speak it before she took a step backward, away from him, and the moment was lost.

“Thank you for your coat, my lord.”

Anything. Anything for you.

He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t want to frighten her away.

She’d looked at him, and that was enough. For today, that was enough.

“Have you spotted any interesting plants in Tongue, Miss MacLeod? I saw quite a bit of this one on our way up the hill.” He strode over to a plant with dark green, pointed leaves with a rough, deeply veined surface. “This one looks as if it—”

“Oh no, Lord Ballantyne. Don’t touch those!”

But her warning came too late. He bent down, seized one of the plants, and instantly regretted it as a streak of pain shot through his hand. “Ouch! The damn thing bit me!”

“It didn’t bite you, my lord. It stung you. That’s Urtica dioica .”

“Urtica what? In English, if you please, Miss MacLeod.”

“Stinging nettle.” She was biting her lip again, but this time it was to hold back a laugh. “The stems and leaves have hollow hairs on them that break off when you touch them and inject an acid into the skin.”

“Acid?” That wasn’t encouraging. “Do you find this amusing, Miss MacLeod?”

“Oh, no. Of course not, my lord. It’s just that . . .” she trailed off, pressing her lips together, her green eyes dancing.

“Just what?”

“Well, it’s not as if there’s a shortage of stinging nettles in Scotland. Haven’t you ever seen it before? It’s quite distinctive.”

“Are you laughing at me, Miss MacLeod? Because it looks as if your lips are twitching.”

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.”

He frowned at the offensive plant. “I suppose it does look vaguely familiar.”

“I imagine it does. It’s a bit too late now, however.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they? I’m not going to wake up in a bed a week from now with no recollection of what happened to me, am I?”

“No, nothing like that, but it can cause a rash, and it’s rather painful, I’m afraid.” She strode over to him. “Here, let me see.”

He held out his injured hand to her.

“Ah, yes. See here, my lord?” She pointed to his palm, where a spray of raised red bumps was forming. “Not to worry, you’ll be as good as new in a day or two after the itching subsides.”

“Itching? Wait, did you say a day or two?”

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily smothered laugh. “Perhaps a little longer.” She bent her head over his hand and traced a finger over the red bumps on his palm.

Ah. Perhaps there were some advantages to a nettle sting, after all. He stilled, his eyes nearly dropping closed at the sensuous drag of her fingertip over his heated skin.

“Is there an antidote?” His voice was much huskier than it had been a moment before. “Something to ease the sting?”

“Yes. The leaves of Rumex obtusifolius eases the sting.”

“ Rumex —”

“Dock plant, my lord. Jewelweed works as well.” She glanced around them with a frown. “It’s often found growing near stinging nettle, but I don’t see any. I’ll just go back down a little way and see if I can find some, shall I? It’s a touch wetter down there.”

“Yes, all right.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She disappeared around the corner of the pathway, and he turned his attention to trying to extricate the thin nettle hairs still protruding from the side of his hand, which turned out to be a useless endeavor, much like a dog chasing its tail.

Soon enough, however, he became aware that she hadn’t returned.

Surely, it shouldn’t take that long to find jewelweed?

He hurried to the head of the winding pathway. He could see a good distance down the hill from here, but there was no sign of her.

Catriona had disappeared.