Because deep down, he knew that, no matter what, he would always want to be the man to tend to her wounds.
CHAPTERSIX
Eilidh clamped a hand over her mouth, her washcloth forgotten in its bucket. Sheknewshe should not have been eavesdropping. But she had heard the Graham men speak amongst themselves, and then she had heard them speak her name…
Caelan’s words played in her mind. At least now Dabria would let go of her matchmaking dreams. Somehow, Eilidh had allowed her friend’s endless encouragement to fill her head with foolish dreams. For a moment, she had truly believed that a small part of him regarded her as something more than a friend.
Now, she discovered, she was less than a friend. Less than an acquaintance.
“Born to a lady of pleasure”, he had said.
She had not heard nor seen her mother in six years, yet her reputation still marred her own. How she wished she’d never stayed at the keep now! She wished she had allowed Laird MacAdam have his way with her instead. Surely, that would have been less painful than the pain of hearing Caelan’s words.
He was the kindest person she had ever known. Even Dabria could not match his gentleness. Although few knew that side of him, Eilidh realized. Onlyshewas aware of the number of times he rode to the villages under their clan to distribute food and take care of them. Onlysheknew that he’d risked his life countless times to protect their people and that he never asked for a thing in return.
The man she’d just heard sounded like a cold monster. A beast without a heart who had tricked her into believing that anything was possible. Eilidh swiped an angry hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears, and she grabbed her washcloth. With every swipe against the window, she erased all the fantasies she had created in her head about him. That was all they were. Fantasies. Just because he had swooped in to save her, she had fooled herself into thinking that a Laird’s son would actually look at her with tenderness.
Still, Eilidh knew she was being irrational. When it came down to it, she was feeding into her anger. Caelan was within his rights to marry anyone he chose. He had spoken the truth after all—shewasnobody.
She cast a teary glance about the hall. The windows were clean enough. She wiped her hands on her gown, grabbed the bucket handle, and waited until the voices around the corner faded before leaving. Her good sense whispered that it was wrong to detest him. It did not quell the fire in her heart.
“Ye’re back!” Iona said, busy watching Cook and the maids at work. “Good. Knead the dough for Cook, now. We are behind time for dinner,” she ordered. The other scullery girls were focused on their own tasks, barely sparing Eilidh’s reddened face a glance.
“Aye,” Eilidh croaked.
Iona’s head jerked up, and her jowls wobbled. “Are ye all right?”
Eilidh cleared her throat, saying, “Aye.”
“Ye dinnae look it. Ye look white as a sheet! Go an’ have the healer look at ye before ye pass whatever yer affliction is to us.”
“I’m fine,” snapped Eilidh.
Iona’s reddish brows furrowed. “Watch yer tone, lass.”
“I apologize,” Eilidh muttered. She moved over to the washbasin, elbowed the lass washing dishes aside, and cleaned her hands before she drew in several breaths to calm her nerves. It would be of little use if Iona decided to assign her to muck out the stables due to her insolence.
Beside Iona, on the large, wooden counter, Eilidh gave the dough a couple of slaps. “How is yer nephew’s leg?” she asked Cook, but it was Iona who answered.
“He’ll survive.”
Eilidh swallowed. “I suppose he only wanted some sweets.”
“Mmh.”
“We can keep a few out in case the boy returns. Then he won’t have to run around the keep and hurt himself.”
Iona paused and glared at her. “If I agree with ye, will ye shut yer trap and work?”
Eilidh aimed a bright smile at the woman and shook her head. “Nae.”
Iona narrowed her eyes at her. “At least ye’re smiling now. If ye let some undeserving lad break ye heart, cry in yer bed butnaein me kitchen.”
Eilidh was dumbfounded. She pounded the dough as though it had Caelan’s face drawn on it. Yet, as she prepared the bread, memories of those nights she had shared with him came flooding back. The meals they had shared over his stories; how he never lost his temper once while teaching her to read; how he argued about the books without making her feel stupid.
His smile. His hearty laugh and that curious snort of his. His walk.
His perfect lips…