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Authors: Lizzy Ford
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t’stay.”
She stared at him. “Did you not hear me? I plan to kill you!”
“Yea. I heard.” He seemed to be trying not to laugh. “Yer hands tell me ye’ve never held a dagger, and yer eyes tell me ye’d never kill a man.”
She looked away. “You are wrong, Laird Cade.”
“Yer brave and beautiful,” he said softly. “I ken what it is to have no home, nowhere t’return to. But I believe here is better than the home ye’ll return to, if ye wed that Englishman.”
Embarrassed by the common knowledge of how Richard treated her, Isabel almost corrected Black Cade for speaking on a matter he should not. She did not want to feel more of a connection to him than she had at the river, when their fates, and bodies, had been locked together. “If you want to help me, then you will allow me to kill you. I shall never know peace until I do.” With a hasty bow, she strode away, once again unsettled by her interaction with him.
“I havena finished speaking t’ye, Lady Cade,” he called after her.
“But I am done with you, Laird Cade!”
“Then ye doona mind me sharing the contents of yer bag with your betrothed.”
She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
“You need yer rest today and t’see the healer fer yer leg. I will tell him so,” he said. “Meet me tomorrow morning, before we break our fast, and we will talk.”
What is there to discuss? She almost spoke the words aloud but stopped herself. As pleasant as his words sounded, no part of what he said was a request. She could ill afford to anger the man she meant to kill, but it was the relief washing over her, the knowledge she was at least safe in his home for one more day where she could heal, that left her even angrier.
Why had her enemy chosen mercy once more? Why did it almost sound as if he were protecting her?
Black Cade said nothing more, and she turned to see him walking away. Her eyes lingered too long on his body.
Why can I not hate him? she asked herself quietly. It was a sin, yes, but if any man had earned her sin, it was the one granting her refuge against her own countryman and betrothed. Shame brought warmth to her cheeks this time, and she turned away from him.
At a loss as to how to handle Black Cade or the flurry of unnerving emotion she experienced around him, she did as he bade and returned to her chamber.
An older woman with mostly white hair and bright blue eyes stood immediately from her position seated near the bed. She carried a small basket and offered a quick curtsey.
“My lady, I am the healer. Laird Cade sent me to attend you,” she said with a heavy French lilt to her speech.
Isabel sat on the bench at the bottom of the bed and stretched out her leg. “I doubt there is much you can do,” she said.
“My skills are legendary here,” the healer said and knelt. “I can heal any wound or break.”
Isabel clasped her hands in her lap and watched.
The healer pushed her skirts up to her knee and touched her calf with cool fingers. Isabel hissed at the light touch.
“You are strong, my lady,” the healer said with a concerned smile. “This is broken. You should be in too much pain to walk.”
“If I have learnt anything, it is that women bear pain more quietly and more steadily than men,” Isabel responded.
The healer ducked her head to hide her smile. She lifted Isabel’s leg by the heel and moved it gently.
I am also accustomed to it. Pain radiated through her, but she said nothing, thoughts on the father who hit her as he plunged into madness and the betrothed who beat her out of anger.
“The break is clean and it has begun to set itself,” the healer reported and released her leg. She sat up and leaned forward to touch Isabel’s forehead. “You have a fever, albeit a light one. Black Cade was right. You need to rest.”
“Black Cade …” Isabel started to refuse and then clamped her jaws closed. It was unbefitting of her rank to belittle a laird to his servant. The fact she even
She stared at him. “Did you not hear me? I plan to kill you!”
“Yea. I heard.” He seemed to be trying not to laugh. “Yer hands tell me ye’ve never held a dagger, and yer eyes tell me ye’d never kill a man.”
She looked away. “You are wrong, Laird Cade.”
“Yer brave and beautiful,” he said softly. “I ken what it is to have no home, nowhere t’return to. But I believe here is better than the home ye’ll return to, if ye wed that Englishman.”
Embarrassed by the common knowledge of how Richard treated her, Isabel almost corrected Black Cade for speaking on a matter he should not. She did not want to feel more of a connection to him than she had at the river, when their fates, and bodies, had been locked together. “If you want to help me, then you will allow me to kill you. I shall never know peace until I do.” With a hasty bow, she strode away, once again unsettled by her interaction with him.
“I havena finished speaking t’ye, Lady Cade,” he called after her.
“But I am done with you, Laird Cade!”
“Then ye doona mind me sharing the contents of yer bag with your betrothed.”
She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
“You need yer rest today and t’see the healer fer yer leg. I will tell him so,” he said. “Meet me tomorrow morning, before we break our fast, and we will talk.”
What is there to discuss? She almost spoke the words aloud but stopped herself. As pleasant as his words sounded, no part of what he said was a request. She could ill afford to anger the man she meant to kill, but it was the relief washing over her, the knowledge she was at least safe in his home for one more day where she could heal, that left her even angrier.
Why had her enemy chosen mercy once more? Why did it almost sound as if he were protecting her?
Black Cade said nothing more, and she turned to see him walking away. Her eyes lingered too long on his body.
Why can I not hate him? she asked herself quietly. It was a sin, yes, but if any man had earned her sin, it was the one granting her refuge against her own countryman and betrothed. Shame brought warmth to her cheeks this time, and she turned away from him.
At a loss as to how to handle Black Cade or the flurry of unnerving emotion she experienced around him, she did as he bade and returned to her chamber.
An older woman with mostly white hair and bright blue eyes stood immediately from her position seated near the bed. She carried a small basket and offered a quick curtsey.
“My lady, I am the healer. Laird Cade sent me to attend you,” she said with a heavy French lilt to her speech.
Isabel sat on the bench at the bottom of the bed and stretched out her leg. “I doubt there is much you can do,” she said.
“My skills are legendary here,” the healer said and knelt. “I can heal any wound or break.”
Isabel clasped her hands in her lap and watched.
The healer pushed her skirts up to her knee and touched her calf with cool fingers. Isabel hissed at the light touch.
“You are strong, my lady,” the healer said with a concerned smile. “This is broken. You should be in too much pain to walk.”
“If I have learnt anything, it is that women bear pain more quietly and more steadily than men,” Isabel responded.
The healer ducked her head to hide her smile. She lifted Isabel’s leg by the heel and moved it gently.
I am also accustomed to it. Pain radiated through her, but she said nothing, thoughts on the father who hit her as he plunged into madness and the betrothed who beat her out of anger.
“The break is clean and it has begun to set itself,” the healer reported and released her leg. She sat up and leaned forward to touch Isabel’s forehead. “You have a fever, albeit a light one. Black Cade was right. You need to rest.”
“Black Cade …” Isabel started to refuse and then clamped her jaws closed. It was unbefitting of her rank to belittle a laird to his servant. The fact she even
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