To Marry A Scottish Laird (18 page)

“Ne’er mind. Lady Finola must ha’e taken her tumble after that,” Laird Sinclair muttered almost to himself. “What the de’il was she doing up at that hour?”

“Lady Finola took a tumble?” Cam asked with amazement.

“Aye. Broke her neck in a fall down the stairs,” his father said on a sigh and shook his head. “ ’Tis a good thing it was her and no’ one o’ the other lasses. Sad as it is to admit it, the MacFarlands’ll no’ miss the lass.” Grimacing, he added, “In fact, I do no’ think anyone will.”

“Aye,” Cam agreed solemnly. The woman had not troubled to endear herself to anyone as far as he could tell. And while he should be sorry to hear of her demise, he wasn’t terribly sorry to have her out of his hair.

“Well, come, ye must be ready to break yer fast after the night ye had,” his father said, urging him toward the door.

Cam nodded, but paused and turned to first gather the candles he’d come for last night.

“I’ll take ’em up,” Jinny offered, stepping forward as he reached the door.

“Go on, give ’em to the lass,” his father suggested. “We need to discuss who should take the message to the MacFarlands. A simple messenger won’t do for news like this.”

Sighing, Cam reluctantly handed the candles to Jinny and followed his father out to the trestle tables. They were about to sit down when he suddenly glanced around and, spotting Jinny heading for the stairs, called her over.

“Ye said Joan is fine, but how fine is she?” he asked when the maid reached him.

Jinny considered the question briefly and then shrugged. “She seems good as new.”

“Well enough to take a ride with me?” Cam asked.

Jinny nodded. “I think so.”

“Thank ye,” Cam murmured, and turned to settle at the table. He hadn’t forgotten what Lady MacKay had said to him last night. He needed to talk to his wife, away from the castle and its people. He would use riding lessons as the excuse to get her away, and then say what needed saying to her.

“
Y
OU ARE AWFULLY QUIET,
J
OAN.
W
HAT IS ON YOUR MIND?”
Annabel asked as she braided her hair.

Joan hesitated, but then blurted, “She had a candle.”

“What?” Annabel bent and twisted around to see her face. “Who did?”

“Finola,” Joan admitted, biting her lip.

Annabel dropped the braids she’d been making and moved around in front of her so that she could see her face as they talked. “Last night?”

Joan nodded.

“You saw her last night?” Annabel asked slowly, as if wanting to be sure they understood each other.

“Aye. I saw her last night,” Joan said wearily and lowered her head. “I woke up alone. The candles were dying, but I had no clothes. I wrapped the bed linen around myself and looked out in the hall. I was hoping to hail a passing servant to ask to fetch the candles, but the hall was in near darkness, ’twas obvious everyone had retired . . . and then I saw someone standing by the stairs.”

“Finola?” Annabel guessed.

“Nay. The person was in shadow, I couldn’t see who it was at first, and then candlelight appeared from further up the hall, moving toward the stairs.”

“It was Finola with the candle?” Annabel prompted when she paused.

Joan sighed and nodded her head.

“Who was the person by the stairs?” Annabel asked.

“Cam,” she whispered and then rushed on. “Finola raised the candle, I saw it was her and that she was wearing my dress. And then she—she kissed Cam,” she got out, her voice cracking as she said it.

“Oh, sweetling,” Annabel murmured, bending to hug her. Rubbing her back soothingly, she asked, “What did he do?”

Joan shook her head and admitted, “I didn’t see. I just closed the door and got back in bed.” She cleared her throat as Annabel straightened to peer at her sympathetically and then added, “I waited for him to return to bed, but he never did and I thought they must be . . .”

Annabel reached out and squeezed her hand.

Joan smiled weakly, appreciating the supportive gesture. “Now I’m not sure what to think. Finola’s dead and Cam is missing, and the candle—” She snapped her mouth closed and glanced quickly to the door when it opened. Jinny slipped in.

“Is something amiss, Jinny?” Joan asked, noting the excited flush to her cheeks.

“Someone locked yer husband in the storeroom last night,” she blurted, almost dancing on her feet.

“What?” Joan and Annabel asked together.

The maid nodded excitedly. “Aye. Laird Sinclair went to get something out of the storeroom just moments ago and noticed it was unlocked, but the bar was down. When he opened it he found yer husband inside, sleeping against the shelves. It turns out he came down in search of candles last night after everyone retired, but someone closed the door behind him and dropped the bar in place. He says he pounded and yelled, but everyone was asleep and no one came to let him out.”

Joan glanced to Annabel to find her peering back.

“Oh, he asked me to bring these up.” Jinny held up the candles she carried. “I should clean out the holders and put the new ones in.”

“Did he have a candleholder with him?” Annabel asked suddenly, her gaze still firmly on Joan.

“Yer husband?” Jinny asked and shook her head. “Nay. He was in the dark when his father opened the storeroom door and there were none about that I saw.”

“Thank you,” Annabel murmured and moved behind Joan to continue with her hair as Jinny quickly cleaned the melted tallow off the candleholders and placed the fresh candles in them.

“You thought Cam might have pushed Finola down the stairs?” Joan asked as soon as Jinny left the room again.

“Nay,” Annabel answered calmly and when Joan turned to peer over her shoulder at her, added, “I knew
you
did though, and thought you should hear the answer to that question.”

Joan turned slowly forward again and then asked, “You really didn’t think he—”

“Nay,” Annabel assured her solemnly. “And I do not think he encouraged or responded to Finola’s kiss. But then I have known Campbell for most of his life. I know what kind of man he is. You have only known him for weeks, and while I think you have a good understanding of what kind of man he is, of course you will doubt yourself if given evidence like seeing another woman kissing him.”

Joan let her breath out slowly and nodded. In truth, she never would have imagined that Cam might have had anything to do with Finola tumbling down the stairs before she’d seen the woman kiss him. She didn’t think she’d really believed he could even afterward, which is why she’d been so shocked when Lady Annabel had asked her question about whether Cam had the candleholder with him when found in the storeroom.

“Joan?”

“Hmm?” She tore herself from her thoughts and glanced over her shoulder in question.

“Cam and I sat together for quite a while waiting for you to wake up, and while he did not say it, I am quite sure he feels deeply for you. And I know you feel deeply for him.”

“I do,” Joan admitted, and then sighed and lowered her head. “But he has hardly spoken a word to me since we arrived at Sinclair. The only time I see him is—”

“When you slip out at night to meet him?” Annabel suggested with amusement.

Joan glanced swiftly around. “You knew?”

“Aye,” she said with amusement. “At least I assumed that was where you were slipping off to at night.”

“Aye, well,” Joan turned to face forward again. “He doesn’t speak to me then either.”

“He was hurt when you said you did not want to come to Sinclair with him,” Annabel murmured quietly. “He is unsure of your feelings and fears you resent him for the forced marriage.”

“What?” She turned with surprise again. “I thought he—”

“I know,” her aunt interrupted quietly, setting a chaplet on her head and weaving the braids she’d placed Joan’s hair in through it. “You both seem to be assuming a lot about each other that simply is not so. The two of you need to actually talk to each other and sort these things out. If someone is out to hurt you, the two of you need to work together. ’Tis better if these issues between you and Cam are resolved.

“There,” she added, stepping back as she finished with Joan’s hair. “How does that feel?”

“It’s less tight,” Joan admitted.

“Let us hope that it resolves the issue of your headaches,” Annabel said on a sigh. “Now, come. We should go below, break our fast and find out if anything else has occurred that we should know about. These things often happen in threes,” she added dryly as she led the way to the door.

Chapter 15

“
I
’M SORRY
I
WAS
NO’ THERE WHEN YE WOKE THIS MORNING.”

Joan glanced around when Cam whispered that apology by her ear. He was standing behind where she sat at the trestle table next to her aunt and she wondered briefly how he’d approached without her noticing. He hadn’t been at the table when she and Annabel had come below moments ago, but his father had explained that Cam was out at the stables seeing his brother off. It seemed that he and a small group of Sinclair warriors would carry the news of Finola’s death, as well as her body, back to MacFarland. It was thought that a member of the family should deliver the sad news rather than just a clan member. Douglas had volunteered to perform the deed.

“Ye have no’ already eaten, have ye?” Cam asked.

“Nay, we just sat down,” she admitted.

“Good.” Smiling, he held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Joan hesitated, but then took the offered hand and let him help her up from the bench. He didn’t release her then as expected, but continued to hold her hand as he led her to the keep doors. Distracted as she was by that fact, it took her a moment to notice the two saddled horses waiting at the base of the steps. Once she did, however, her eyes widened with alarm.

“ ’Tis all right,” Cam said at once. “Ye’ll ride with me.”

“Then why is the mare my aunt and uncle gave us here too?” she asked worriedly.

“He’s tethered to the back of my saddle,” Cam pointed out gently.

“Aye, but why?”

“I thought we’d go for a ride, break our fast, talk and then perhaps get in a quick riding lesson ere we come back,” he explained.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” she said unhappily and Cam chuckled at her expression.

“ ’Twill be all right,” he assured her. “We’ll go slow.”

Forcing a smile, Joan nodded and let him lift her up onto his horse. He then mounted quickly behind her and took up the reins.

“Ease yerself,” Cam said once they were out of the bailey and crossing the open area to the trees. “Ye’re stiff as a log.”

“Sorry,” Joan muttered and tried to make herself relax. It was difficult though. It wasn’t just her anxiety about riding lessons that had her tense. She was also concerned about the coming talk he’d mentioned. She knew they had to talk, Annabel was right about that, she was just worried about what she might learn once they did.

“Joan, I really did want to be there when ye woke,” Cam said suddenly. “I sat with ye from the minute I returned to the keep and learned ye were ill, but—”

“I saw you kissing Finola,” Joan blurted.

Cam reined in, bringing both beasts to a halt, and then caught her by the waist and lifted and shifted her so that she sat sideways in front of him and he could see her face. Tipping her chin up with his fist, he peered solemnly into her face and said, “I did no’ kiss Finola. She kissed me.”

He paused briefly, but when Joan didn’t respond, he added, “She took me by surprise with her boldness, and I didn’t immediately react, but then I pushed her away and let her ken I was well satisfied with me wife and no’ interested in stolen kisses with a wench in a stolen dress.”

“I was rather insulting about it,” Cam admitted quietly. “She tried to slap me, I caught her wrist and warned her if she did that, she could expect to be slapped back. Then, I told her she was no longer welcome at Sinclair and that I would arrange for men to return her to MacFarland today. After that I left her there on the landing and went below to fetch the candles I’d started out in search of in the first place.”

“At least, I thought I left her there,” he added suddenly. “But she followed me below and locked the storeroom door behind me.”

“You saw her close the door?” Joan asked with surprise.

“Nay, but it must have been her. Everyone else was sleeping,” Cam reasoned and then frowned and added, “She must have tripped over her skirts or something on the way back upstairs. I gather they found her dead at the foot o’ the steps this morning, her neck broken from the fall.”

“Aye, I heard that,” Joan said thoughtfully, taking in everything he’d said.

She believed him. That might have been just because she wanted to, but Joan did believe him and now considered the possibility that Finola had simply lost her footing and fallen down the stairs as he seemed to think. She wouldn’t put it past the woman to have been the one behind locking him in the storeroom. It would have been fine retribution for his insulting and rejecting her, but that didn’t explain the missing candle and holder.

“Did Finola set her candle down during your exchange?” she asked now.

“What?” Cam asked with confusion.

“She had a candle with her when I saw her approach you last night. Yet they did not find one near her, nor at the top of the stairs when she was discovered this morning,” Joan explained. “Did she set it down somewhere?”

“Nay,” he said slowly, obviously thinking back to last night’s events.

“Perhaps Finola set it down in the kitchens to free her hands to close the storeroom door,” Joan suggested.

“Aye, but she would no’ have then left it behind. The stairs were in complete darkness. She would have needed it to make her way back upstairs to her room,” Cam pointed out, frowning now.

Joan nodded solemnly, remembering that Cam had nearly disappeared into the shadows when she’d seen him at the top of the stairs. Even if Finola had forgotten the candle in the kitchens, she would have returned for it once she reached the stairs, she was sure.

“Ye’re sure there was no candle with her?” Cam asked with a frown.

“Aye. Aunt Annabel is the one who noticed. She said she went to Finola’s room and noticed that there was only one candle beside the bed. There are two in ours and she asked your mother about it. Lady Sinclair said there should be two in Finola’s room as well, that there are two in each chamber. So aunt Annabel checked by the stairs and asked about it as well but no one had seen a candle anywhere near the stairs or the upper landing,” Joan explained. “She thinks Finola had help falling down the stairs and that whoever did it took the candle with them.”

Cam was silent for a moment, but then grimaced. “Well, I suppose I should no’ be surprised. The woman was unpleasant at the best o’ times, and I gather she did no’ make friends while she was here. She—”

“—was wearing my dress,” Joan interrupted.

He glanced to her sharply. “Aye. She told Kenna the ladies wanted to hem—”

“I know,” Joan interrupted again. “But Aunt Annabel put that together with the cider incident and is worried that Finola was pushed down the stairs because she was wearing my gown and was mistaken for me.”

Cam’s breath left him on a slow hiss as he rocked back away from her in the saddle, and then he straightened with a hissed, “Damn. I did no’ think o’ that.”

They both sat still and silent for a moment, then Cam stirred himself and urged the horse to move again.

“Where are we going?” Joan asked.

“Nowhere. We’re here,” he announced as they broke through the trees into a clearing.

“Oh.” Joan glanced around at the small clearing he’d brought her to. It was a shady spot with large old trees offering covering from the sun, and a small brook running through it. It was quite pretty. Not as awe inspiring as the waterfall, but still lovely, she thought, as Cam dismounted and helped her down.

“Here, lay this out for us to sit on,” he instructed, handing her a large animal fur.

Joan accepted the rolled up item and glanced around, then moved to the center of the clearing to unroll and lay it out. By the time she’d finished, Cam was there, carrying a small sack in hand.

“I brought bread, cheese and fruit,” he explained, sitting down and opening the bag. “I brought a skin o’ cider too and—” He paused abruptly when he noted her expression, and then said wryly, “But mayhap cider was no’ the best option.”

Joan gave a faint laugh and shook her head. “Nay. I will make do without cider for a bit, I think.”

Smiling, he nodded and set the cider aside, then broke the bread in half and offered her a piece. He then gave her cheese as well and they began to eat. Silence fell over them and seemed to grow. Joan tried to think of something to say to break it, but didn’t know how to start the conversation she knew they had to have and the silence soon became almost palpable between them. It was a sharp contrast to every meal they’d had on their journey to Scotland. They’d seemed to talk so easily then, laughing and teasing and chattering away. But it had been different then, they’d both been free and simply enjoying the moment. Now they were married, and she at least was afraid of being hurt. Perhaps Cam was feeling the same way, but whatever the case, the silence began to drag on Joan and affected her appetite so that she merely picked at the food he’d brought.

A glance to Cam showed him doing much the same thing, until he finally set his food aside and quickly repacked everything. Setting the bag aside then, he peered at her, cleared his throat, opened his mouth, closed it and then sighed and said, “Perhaps we should start yer riding lessons.”

It was a sign of how uncomfortable she was that Joan actually nodded almost eagerly, preferring another round of lessons she would no doubt fail at in a spectacular way than have the discussion she knew they needed to have.

“Right,” he muttered and stood up, then moved to his own horse to untether her mount from it, saying, “The first lesson should really be to teach ye how to care fer a horse. But we’ll do that when we get back.”

“How to care for it?” Joan asked. She’d stood and followed him over, but now stood a couple feet back, eyeing the horse warily. She wasn’t exactly afraid of horses. Joan had no problem riding on them with someone else or tending them, but the idea of trying to control it herself was intimidating.

“Brushing it down, saddling and unsaddling it and so on,” Cam explained, turning to her with the reins in hand. “But as I say, we’ll tend to that another time. Fer now, we’ll start with mounting and dismounting.”

Joan relaxed a little at that. She’d mounted Cam’s horse all by herself when he was injured. She could do this, she thought with relief and moved to her mare, grasped the saddle and raised her leg to put her foot through the stirrup. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been wearing a gown the last time . . . and Cam’s horse had stood still for her, whereas her mare whinnied and shifted the minute she put any weight on the saddle.

“ ’Tis all right,” her husband said patiently. “Ye’re nervous and the horse is picking up on that. Just take a deep breath, hike yer skirt up a bit and . . .” His voice died as Joan yanked her skirt up and tucked it into the belt around her waist, leaving her legs bare almost to the thighs.

Joan wasn’t nervous: she’d done this before, she could do it again. She had just needed to get her skirt out of the way, she thought determinedly, and reached for the saddle again. This time her skirt didn’t get in the way and she easily slipped her foot in the stirrup, but again her mare whinnied and shifted, this time trying to move away from her. Foot caught in the stirrup, Joan hopped to keep from tumbling and then launched herself determinedly upward, threw her leg over, and landed on the saddle.

That’s when her world seemed to tip. The mare went crazy. Joan wasn’t even settled in the saddle properly before the mare let out a panicked whinny that sounded more like a scream, and reared. Joan threw herself forward, clutching at the mare’s whithers and neck with her hands and clenching her thighs around the saddle and sides of the horse, holding on for dear life as the mare tried to throw her off.

The animal came down hard on its hooves, still screaming, the jolt rattling painfully through Joan’s body, and then the mare reared again. Joan could hear Cam shouting and caught a glimpse of him pulling on the reins he still held, trying to force the beast back down while dodging her slashing hooves. Then the reins snapped. The mare came down with another bone jarring jolt and then began to run, charging out of the clearing and into the woods.

Still clinging to the beast, Joan closed her eyes, but then just as quickly opened them again when she felt something brush against her leg. A tree trunk, she realized, glancing behind her. The horse was moving so fast that it was narrowly missing—

Joan gasped with pain as they rushed past another tree, too close. Closer even than the last time and her leg was skinned against the trunk. She saw the blood begin to bubble on her outer leg, and then shifted her gaze forward. Another tree was coming up, and rather than try to avoid it, her mare steered toward it, as if she wanted to hurt her. Or scrape her off her back, Joan realized . . . and this time she was going to take one hell of a hit. By her estimate, she wouldn’t just receive a scraping, the whole front of her leg would be hit by the tree. If it didn’t drag her off the horse, it would drag her leg off of her, or crush it.

None of those options sounded like good ones and Joan desperately released her grip on her mare and tried to throw herself off the beast. Too late, she realized even as she did it. But there was nothing she could do but close her eyes as she flew through the air. Her entire side hit the tree rather than just her leg, still it wasn’t with the same speed, but it was enough.

Joan cried out on impact, the trunk slamming into her from her hip up to just below her still upraised arm, and then she crashed to her stomach on the ground and lay gasping for air she couldn’t seem to drag into her body. She could hear Cam shouting her name, but was too distracted trying to catch her breath to respond, and then he was kneeling beside her, turning her over.

“Joan?”

Her response was an almost airless groan as she slid onto her back.

“All right, love. ’Tis all right,” he muttered soothingly as he bent to examine first her side and then her leg. She heard him curse, but air was finally making its way into her and she was too busy sucking in large drafts to ask what was wrong.

Sighing, Cam straightened and clasped her hand, simply waiting as she regained her breath. Once her breathing had eased though, he squeezed her hand, drawing her gaze to him. “I have to pick ye up, love. It might hurt, and I’m sorry fer it, but I have to get ye back to the castle.”