Gordon replaced his sword, but he kept an eye on Synclair until the man followed suit.
“Lady?” Jemma turned her head and recognized Lady Justina. Synclair nodded at her in response. Gordon turned to sweep her with a keen look, ensuring that she was settled well before turning back to look at Lady Justina.
“Why are you dressed like a boy, Justina?” It was a dangerous thing to do because the Church spoke against women dressing in men’s clothing. Punishment was harsh, but even worse were the superstitions that attached themselves to those females who donned britches.
They would be sterile or too small to take a man’s member or become diseased, and the list continued. There were even those who claimed witches were girls who had worn britches, and the clothing had turned them against the natural order of the world.
“Fine, nothing from the kitchens.” Gordon walked over to the window the water was drawn through. He pulled on the cable and turned over more than a dozen buckets before he filled the small cup with water and carried it back to the bed.
Justina walked to the open shutter and looked down. Synclair was right behind her, and he even reached out to pull on the rope and watch the buckets rise from the river below.
“That should keep them busy for a moment.” Gordon lifted the mug to her mouth, and Jemma sighed as the cool liquid soothed her dry lips.
“I have decided on which chamber she shall go to.”
Gordon released the back of her head and settled her against the pillows before turning to look at Justina.
“And how do ye plan to feed her if nothing may come from the kitchens?”
“My maidservant Claire will do all that is needed and use only those things that were brought from Amber Hill. I will reside here and sample what is sent up from the kitchens.”
Jemma didn’t think she might feel worse, but hearing Justina make her suggestion filled her with dread.
“Justina, no, you must not risk yourself.”
The lady moved across the floor with a smile on her lips. “Do not worry, Jemma, I will not eat much, only enough to catch the guilty one if they attempt to finish what they have begun. We must make them think you are here, so a woman must take your place. Believe me, I am glad of the chance to do something for your brother.”
That brought another feeling of discomfort to her for she hadn’t really thought of the woman her brother had at Amber Hill. Lady Justina had betrayed his trust by aiding his bride in escaping the castle. Curan wasn’t being vindictive in keeping the lady within his walls; someone powerful at court had sent her there to betray her brother’s trust. Curan was keeping Justina away from that man, but the fact remained that Justina had been living there, without a place, and that was something Jemma had tasted recently. It was bitter indeed.
“Synclair will show you the chamber I selected. There is only one window, and that will hopefully keep you from being seen. It is imperative that everyone down to the smallest kitchen girl believes you are still in this chamber and recovering well. If it is believed that you are regaining your health, another attempt might be made.”
“Justina—”
Justina looked at Gordon. “Take her now, she has not the strength for arguing against what is needed to end this threat for good. Rest is what she must have to recover. Do not be foolish enough to think because she is awake, all is well.”
“Gordon, don’t listen to her—”
“I have no better idea, lass, and keeping ye from harm is something I will do anything to achieve.”
Her husband scooped her up, and she couldn’t help but curl toward his heat. Her body was too cold, and the heat from his body helped soothe the ache that was threatening to send tears into her eyes. In truth, she felt her small amount of strength beginning to fail. She did feel those tears run down her cheeks because she was grateful to Justina for telling Gordon to take her away.
Her husband carried her through the hallways with Synclair walking ahead of them to make sure no one watched their journey. They left the tower that held the laird’s chamber and headed to the oldest one. This tower was round, and the stairs were steep and narrow. Gordon carried her up to the second floor and through a single door.
Her husband stopped and surveyed the room. It was humble but clean. The bed was made with fresh sheets, and thick pillows were piled up so that they would support her. He settled her on them and brushed a hand over the tears that had wet her cheeks.
“I didna mean to hurt ye, lass.”
“You didn’t. I detest being helpless, and I am too weak to not cry over such an unchangeable thing.”
He leaned toward her and kissed one cheek. It was a soft pressing of his lips, but she shivered with the contact. His hand was still cradling her nape, the fingers moving in soft, soothing motions.
“Yer tears wound me, lass. I swear I feel each one more deeply than any cut I have ever received.”
“Stay with me.”
She was weak and couldn’t hold back the words.
“I can nae and make the staff believe that ye are in our chamber, but I will come often, and be very sure that I will feel the separation keenly, lass.”
The door opened, and he jerked his head up.
“I am Claire.”
She had her arms full, and Gordon rose to help her. There were small bags and more sheets and towels; even a cooking pot was dangling from the woman’s arm. The room had a small fireplace set into the wall and a single window. The window did not have glass but wooden shutters that could be used to close it when the weather was
