She didn’t know. She knew only that it was wrong—wrong for her, for her plans, for her life. She belonged at home with Cameron, tending their land, their heritage. Not far away in England with this fickle, over-serious, infuriatingly attractive miller.
Her thoughts turned to Jason more every day…her thoughts and her heart. But staying with him was impossible. Even if Jason wanted her, it would be impossible. And he didn’t want her—at least, not all the time—which should have made it easier to turn away from him. But it didn’t make it easier; it made it worse.
Much, much worse.
The hated tears flooded her eyes, and one rolled warm down her cheek. She dashed it away with her good hand.
“Nearly there,” Jason soothed, stroking her hair. “He’s almost finished.”
She felt another jab and tug on her arm, and the tears flowed faster. Not from the pain, though…
Oh, aye, from the pain. The pain that weighed heavy as a brick in her chest. The pain in her heart.
It wasn’t long at all before the surgeon knotted the thread and cut it with a knife. He tied a bandage around her arm to protect his handiwork. Then, mindful of his patient’s distress, he collected his things quietly and went to Jason. “Go to Hampstead Wells and ask to see Dorothy Pippen. She sells medicinal water.”
“My thanks.” Jason pressed a few coins into the surgeon’s hand and followed him to the door, closing it softly behind him. Cait put her arm back in her sleeve and tightened her laces.
“There.” Jason came close and patted her shoulder. “It wasn’t so bad, after all, was it? And now it’s done.”
She shook off his hand. She couldn’t bear his touch. Not when she knew they’d reach London tomorrow and go their separate ways, with nary a regret on his part. Only pride, she imagined, that he’d kept her where he wanted her, ensuring his successful, unimpeded capture and murder of Geoffrey Gothard.
Oh, it was not to be borne! Despite a heroic effort to rein in her emotions, she rose and wandered away in tears. Her hand went into her pocket and found the miniature of her brother.
She pulled it out and stared at it, drifting to the window, where she could see the picture better in the failing light. Her thumb caressed the glass that protected Adam’s familiar face.
Adam. Where was he? Though Lord Darnley’s wedding wasn’t until Friday, Adam might well be in London by now. Maybe she would find him tomorrow, and when she saw him, her world would be set to rights. Her plans would be back on track, and she wouldn’t feel as though her life were so out of control.
Adam. Dear, familiar Adam. She gazed at his oval face, his wheaten hair, his hazel eyes. All just like hers. The foppish outfit he’d posed in, all velvet and ribbons and snowy linen, brought a smile through the tears. So unlike herself and Da, but typical Adam.
“Who is that?” Jason asked from behind her.
“Adam,” she said louder, feeling better just saying her brother’s name. She had a goal—a worthy goal—and at last it was within reach. So close. “Adam. My brother.”
When she turned to look at Jason, his face was whiter than Adam’s lacy cravat.
“What is it, Jase?” She’d never known a man to faint, but he looked as though he might keel over at any second. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes.” He blinked and shook his head. “No. No.” He drew a long breath, and his lips curved in a forced smile. “You’re tired. Let me go downstairs and bring up some supper. Then I’ll pay Dorothy Pippen a visit and get you the water.”
Cait’s hand went to her amulet. “I don’t need special water. And I’m not hungry. Just stay with me, all right?”
His gaze skittered away. “I must at least make some inquiries and see if I can find out where we need to go tomorrow. Where Scarborough lives, I mean.” He made as though to reach for her, then pulled back. “Sleep well. I’ll be up later.” With a distracted kiss to her forehead, he left her to go to bed.
Alone.
FIFTY-FIVE
GASPING, HE checked his momentum, but not in time. His silver blade flashed, sliced in, sending a shiver up his arm. The man before him crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood pumping into the dirt. His eyes stared unseeing at Jason… hazel eyes… Emerald’s hazel eyes… Caithren’s hazel eyes…
Caithren’s brother’s hazel eyes.
His heart racing, Jason let out an anguished yell as he awakened. He curled up on the bed. His breath heaved. He couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for supper, but it felt like it were about to come back up.
“Jason?” Caithren leaned over him, patting his shoulder uncertainly.
He moaned. His head pounded from overdrinking last night—something he never did—and a frustrated dampness squeezed from beneath his clenched eyelids.
Dear heavens, he’d killed her brother.
She would never accept him, never love him, never stay with him, never marry him. As though killing an innocent man hadn’t tainted him enough, the man had been her brother.
With all his might, he wished she’d really been Emerald. He would still love every stubborn inch of her, and he might have a chance with Emerald. Emerald would understand the driving need for justice that had turned him into someone he didn’t recognize. Emerald would understand the way killing, even unintentional killing, changed a person.
But Caithren…sweet, provincial Caithren…
She wouldn’t.
And he’d killed her brother. Her brother. How could he expect her to forgive him, when he couldn’t even forgive himself?
He couldn’t tell her the truth.
He had to tell her the truth.
“Jason?” Her hand jiggled his shoulder, spiking the pain in his head. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Slowly he rolled over and gazed up at her.
“Was it the nightmare again?”
He nodded.
Her lovely hazel eyes filled with compassion. “It will go away when you know who he was.”
“I—”
He broke off. Words simply failed
