Page 117 of Laird of Flint
He flinched once, but ignored her and kept on rushing toward his chamber.
Surprised, she hastened her pace. “Peris.”
He didn’t look up.
She knew he could hear her. Why wasn’t he responding?
He seemed terribly nervous, which made the hair stand up at the back of her neck. Was it true? Had he stolen valuables off of a corpse?
Determined to find out, she followed him as he left the great hall.
“Peris!” she called out as he rattled his key in the lock of his door.
That he couldn’t ignore. He licked his lips and turned the key. “Can it wait until the morrow, m’lady?”
When he turned to her, she could see tears standing in his eyes. Lines of worry and fatigue were etched in his forehead. Against her better judgment—after all, this was the man who’d almost poisoned the man she loved—her heart went out to him. She remembered he’d just come from the bedside of a dying man. And she remembered he’d looked exactly the same way on the day he told her father his wife was gone.
She asked him gently, “Did ye have a difficult day?”
“Aye,” he said, dropping his gaze to the ground.
“A death?”
He nodded.
“Would ye like to tell me about it?”
“I’d just like to get some sleep, m’lady, if ’tis all right with ye.”
She couldn’t argue with him. A physician’s life was chaotic. Late nights. Early morns. Births. Deaths. Impossible demands. Unreasonable expectations.
“O’ course.” She nodded her head in farewell. “Sleep well.”
He entered his chamber and locked the door behind him.
She grimaced. She’d lightly entertained the idea of sneaking into his room while he was asleep and rifling through his satchel. But that couldn’t happen now. And by the morrow, if hehadabsconded with any valuables, he would surely hide them before he emerged.
She let out an unhappy sigh as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. At this rate, it would be years before they solved the monastery thefts.
She couldn’t wait that long. It wasn’t that she cared so much about catching the thief. But every day wasted was a day she and Hew couldn’t be together.
She had to do something. Find a way to speed things along. If she couldn’t hurry along the investigation, perhaps she could expedite the courtship.
The weather conspired against Hew for several days. So much rain poured from the heavens, he began to grumble to the monks about the possibility of building an ark. Nearly another fortnight went by before the roads were passable and Hew could come up with a believable excuse to visit Dunlop again.
He claimed the laird had requested more honey. Since Dunlop frequently loaned their physician to Kildunan, the abbot repaid his services with honey collected and jarred by the monastery. So with his axe over one shoulder, a satchel of honey jars over the other, and a smile of anticipation on his lips, he made his way toward Dunlop.
Lady Carenza greeted him with a gaze of such adoration and yearning and eagerness, it would make a monk forswear his vow of chastity. Her face was bright with love and longing. Her smile twitched with secret promise. And he could see her racing pulse in the delicate skin of her delicious neck.
He ached to press a kiss to that spot. To pull her in and hold her close against his throbbing heart. To devour her mouth with all the hunger and passion he felt for her.
“Sir Hew!” The laird came down the steps, emerging in the great hall. “Ye’ve returned to us. But what have ye brought?”
He slipped the satchel off of his shoulder, rattling the jars. “Honey.”
“Marvelous. Kildunan’s honey is the ambrosia o’ the angels.” Then he turned to his daughter. “Carenza, will ye show Hew to the pantry so he can unburden himself?”
She gave him a polite smile and a nod. But Hew saw sparkling in her eyes and hastening of her breath that told him she was going to kiss him soundly as soon as they were alone.
