“This will likely pain you some,” Gabriel said, about to smear salve on Cristie’s blistered palms.
“All right.” Cristie managed to smile at the English knight. He alone had remained with her after the others had carried Ruaidri indoors. Then he’d escorted her to the great hall, discovering the sorry state of her hands on the way. He’d left her seated in a quiet corner, returning after a short while with a cup of warm ale and the accoutrements for her blistered hands.
Despite his staid demeanour, Gabriel Fitzalan was, she thought, a compassionate man. A true knight. Not a man to vex, however, according to Ewan. She could believe it, too, having watched him training with his sword. And now, to her mild surprise, he also appeared to have some knowledge of healing.
He didn’t return her smile but rather frowned as he dabbed the pungent salve on her cracked flesh. Aye, it stung a little. Nay, actually, it burned like fire. Cristie sucked air through her nostrils and held it.
“The burning sensation will soon cease,” Gabriel said, administering to her other hand, “and take the pain with it.”
Eyes watering, Cristie merely nodded, saying nothing as he wrapped bandages loosely over her treated flesh.
“Who struck you?” he asked, without looking up.
Cristie drew a breath. “Alastair.”
The furrows in his brow deepened for a moment. “We must repeat this treatment tomorrow.” He gathered his things and rose to leave. “The skin will probably take a sennight or so to heal. Do naught to aggravate the wounds in the meantime.”
“I understand.” Cristie gave the man another smile. “Thank you for your kindness, Gabriel.”
He inclined his head and left her wondering if she’d even be there tomorrow. Despite bringing Ruaidri back, the animosity shown toward her by those at Castle Cathan had not been tempered. Indeed, it had intensified. And the contempt she’d seen in Ewan’s expression had sickened her. No doubt he believed as everyone else did—that she’d known about their laird’s captivity and hidden the truth from them. Their assumption, while misplaced, had merit, and she knew better than to try and deny it. Instead, she waited, wondering how Ruaidri fared… and not because she needed him to speak for her. She simply wanted him to live. More than anything, she wanted him to live.
To say she had forged a bond with the laird of Clan MacKellar understated the situation. They had shared a deeply emotive experience that would forever bind them in friendship. She also knew he would never force her to leave Castle Cathan. But she couldn’t stay. Not if she had no hope of rekindling Ewan’s love. It would be too painful. Again, she wondered where she might go.
“Cristie.” The sound of Morag’s voice pulled Cristie from her musing. She looked up to be greeted by a fleeting smile, which barely hid the lass’s obvious discomfort.
Cristie’s eyes widened. “Is Ru— I mean, how does Laird MacKellar fare?”
“He’s resting and in good spirits. We can only pray that he recovers fully.” Morag glanced down at the bowl clasped in her hands and cleared her throat. “Um, he told me what you did. How you saved his life. I wish to thank you from my heart. I… I’m truly sorry for what I said earlier. I assumed wrongly.”
Cristie’s throat tightened. “’Tis all right, Morag. I’d have assumed the same. As you say, we can but continue to pray for him.”
She was rewarded by a nod and another fleeting smile. “He mentioned you’d hurt your hands. What happened?”
“Blisters.” Cristie eyed her bandages. “From rowing across Loch Raven. Gabriel put some salve on them, though, and they feel better already.”
“Good.” Morag glanced at the bowl in her grasp. “Well, I’d best go. Ruaidri willnae eat this. Says he wants some of Glenna’s oatcakes instead.”
“A good sign, I daresay.”
“I think so. Can I bring you anything?”
Cristie shook her head. “Thanks, but nay.”
She watched as Morag wandered off toward the kitchen, aware of being watched herself by others in the great hall. No doubt, her conversation with the laird’s sister had snared their attention. Yet, despite Morag’s apology, melancholy still weighed heavy on Cristie’s mood. And, if she dug deep enough, she knew she’d find the reason for it.
Ewan.
What might she expect from him now that he knew the truth? A simple acknowledgement also? Or dare she hope for more than that? Would he ever look at her again the way he once had?
Beyond exhausted, and weary of the turmoil in her mind, Cristie folded her arms atop the table, rested her head on them, and offered up a silent prayer.
*
“Cristie.”
Ewan’s voice, little more than a whisper, drifted through her dreams. It echoed around the snow-capped mountains, across the surface of dark, ominous lochs, and through the silver mist that swirled atop secret, moonlit ponds. He’d spoken her name once before—his voice, at that time, cold and hard. Now it sounded warm and gentle. It was but a dream, though. Destined to end. And she didn’t want it to end.
“Cristie, wake up.”
She fought against an upward spiral of consciousness and lost the battle as her eyes flickered open.
“You cannae stay here, lass.”
“Mmm?” Lifting her head from the pillow of her arms, Cristie squinted at the candle flame held aloft, its golden light dancing across Ewan’s face. Her heart first skipped a beat and then sank. Had he actually spoken those words?
“You cannae stay here,” he said again, confirming her worst fear. “Come with me.”
A chill ran across her skin. It seemed her self-assurances had been wrong. “Right.” She straightened and glanced about, her head swimming with fatigue. Other than the soft glow of the fire, the hall lay in near darkness. “I… I understand, of course. Perhaps I might be allowed to stay till the morning, though? I promise I’ll leave at first light.”
A bewildered look crossed Ewan’s face, resting there a moment before understanding took its place.
“Och, nay, lass. You misunderstand. I would never…” He glanced about the hall as he held out a hand. “I meant you cannae stay here. ’Tis no place for you to rest.”
“Oh.” Relief washed over her as she placed her fingers atop his, hardly able to breathe as flesh met flesh. To be near him, to touch him, and to see no sign of contempt in his candlelit gaze, stirred up a horde of butterflies in her belly. “Thank you,” she said, as she rose. “Um, how’s Ru— I mean, Laird MacKellar?”
“Sleeping soundly.” Ewan frowned as he examined her bandages. “I’d have come for you before now, but I was loath to leave him till I saw him settled. Morag told me Gabriel had administered to your hands. Are you in pain?”
“Not much. I doubt I’ll be able to row a boat for a wee while, though.” She managed a smile. “I’m glad to hear the laird is resting.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“A little, aye.”
Eyes narrowed, he studied her face, his gaze resting a moment or two on her bruising. “I misunderstood, Cristie,” he murmured. “When I saw you tonight, at the gate with Ruaidri, I assumed, wrongly, that you’d known about his captivity. Please forgive me.”
She fidgeted. “Dinnae think any more of it. There’s naught to forgive.”
His answering smile lingered but a moment. “Come,” he said. “You need to rest.”
Cristie followed, saying nothing as Ewan led her up the stairs. It was only days ago that they had trod this same path together, before her deceit had been exposed.
Days ago? It felt like weeks.
“Ruaidri is resting in the laird’s chamber, which is where I’ll also be for tonight at least, in case he has need of me.” Ewan paused outside what had been his old room. “You can sleep in my chamber for now. Shall I have someone come to help you undress?”
As he had done, so many times? The memory warmed her cheeks. “Um, nay, thank you. I’ll manage.”
He looked doubtful. “But, your hands.”
“I can still use my fingers,” she said, finding a smile.
“As you wish,” he said. Then, brow furrowed, he pushed the studded door open, and stood aside to let her pass. Within, a single candle flickered on a bedside table, casting a small halo of light across the wide bed with its blue coverlet.
Cristie met Ewan’s gaze and held it, hoping he might say more. Some additional words of kindness, perhaps. A gesture. Something—anything—to give her a sign that he still retained some fondness for her. But he merely regarded her, the furrow still etched into his brow. As the silence stretched into awkwardness, she forced another smile to hide her disappointment and moved past him. “Goodnight, then.”
“Cristie.”
Stomach churning, she turned back to him. “Aye?”
“What you did…” He sighed and moved closer. “What you did was very brave.”
She bit her lip. “I didnae act alone, Ewan. It was Elspeth’s idea to take the boat, or I’d have been too late. And it was Tasgall who—”
“It was Tasgall who tortured my brother.” Ewan’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “And who would have watched him die if you hadnae been there.”
“Aye, that… that is true,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice, “but, by God’s good grace, ’twas a combination of blessings that saved Laird MacKellar. I cannae take all the acclaim.”
Expression still grim, Ewan trailed his fingertips over Cristie’s bruised cheek. “I swear before God,” he murmured, “there’ll be a price exacted for all the harm Alastair has done.”
“I fear your brother is already paying it.” Cristie suppressed a shiver as Ewan’s fingers trailed down to her jaw. “I’m no’ sure what he told you, but I believe his spirit might no’ be as strong as it seems. He suffers yet.”
“I dinnae doubt it.” Ewan dropped his hand. “Wounds to the spirit can be more damaging than those to the flesh. I have seen Templar brothers similarly afflicted. But I have faith Ruaidri will rally. He has the love of his family and his clan to support him.”
Ewan’s reply prompted a new concern to surface in Cristie’s mind as she stammered out a response. “I… I shall continue to pray for him.”
Again, Ewan fell silent, his gaze still locked with hers. Cristie had the impression he wanted to say more and she wondered at his hesitation. At that moment, she wanted only to be taken in his arms, to feel his strength and be assured that she still held a place in his heart.
“Get some rest, lass,” he said finally, reaching for the doorlatch as he turned to leave.
Desperation forced her to speak. “It was me, Ewan!”
Frowning, he looked back at her. “You?”
She nodded. “I had never seen the sea till that first night with you. And I could listen to your tales of life abroad for the rest of my life without ever tiring of them. It was me who spent time with you. It was me who rode with you, walked with you, and watched the sunset with you. It was me, Cristie Ferguson.” She drew breath. “Not Elspeth.”
Ewan’s expression had softened as she’d spoken. “Much has happened this past while, Cristie,” he said, after a moment. “Many lives have been touched by misery, not just yours and mine. And there is yet more to come, I fear. ’Tis a time to reflect. A time to pray.” He touched her cheek again. “You’re exhausted. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Hollow inside, Cristie stared at the closed door for a while as her mind replayed Ewan’s every word, every nuance, every touch. The exercise gave her no real peace. He had expressed his gratitude, but that had to be somewhat expected. He had also treated her with kindness, but Ewan MacKellar was not, at heart, an unkind man.
His response to her final outpouring had been gentle, but ambiguous. A response that stoked both hope and fear. A response that forced her to acknowledge her new concern.
That Ewan might decide to renew his Templar vows.
Now that Ruaidri had returned, Ewan would be relinquishing his lairdship. He no longer needed to consider political alliances through marriage. Cristie knew how much he valued the Order, how seriously he had taken his vows. How reluctant he had been to surrender the white mantle. And he was now free to resume his allegiance to the Temple, despite the French king’s edict.
Cristie glanced down at her bandaged hands as hope yielded to despair.
“Stop this,” she whispered, staving off the threat of self-pity. She was indeed exhausted. Overwrought, nerves stretched to the limit, and in dire need of sleep. And, though her weary mind might imagine the worst, she could still pray for the best.
Heaving a resigned sigh, she turned, wandered over to the bed, and got down on her knees.