Page 78 of Laird of Flint
He would somehow have to endure the throbbing, because he planned to take no more.
He had no desire to become like a few men he’d known—men who had never found relief from their pain except in greater and greater measures of the poisonous flower. Better he should endure the anguish of his injuries than inflict new wounds where there were none before.
Besides, it was a sacrifice he’d gladly make. There was nothing more rewarding than serving as a guardian angel, watching over the one he loved.
Even as he had that thought, he silently cursed his eager heart. Already he was calling her “the one he loved” when she’d given him no assurance of her affection. None whatsoever. Only gratitude for what he’d done in saving her and her coo.
Her coo.
Thinking about the great beast touched off a memory.
In the wee hours of the morn, when he’d been in the throes of opium, they’d spoken about the night he’d first seen Carenza at Dunlop.
But what had they chatted about? He strained to recall.
Oh aye, she’d asked him why he’d been lurking about the castle.
He’d told her he was following someone from the monastery.
He exhaled on a groan. God’s eyes. Why had he told her that?
Naturally, the curious lass had immediately wished to know why that should interest Hew.
He’d had no choice but to confide in her.
Nay, that wasn’t true. The opium had made it feel like the right thing to do. As if confiding in the lady would be wise and sensible.
Holy hell. Just how much had he shared with her?
Enough, he decided.
Enough to know that in doing so, he’d flagrantly broken his word to the abbot.
Enough to put his investigative process at risk.
Enough to endanger his discovery if Carenza couldn’t be trusted with his secret.
The lass asked too many questions. And she no doubt had many more.
This entire scheme of hiding Hew from the king by stashing him in a monastery and putting him to work hunting down a thief had been ridiculous.
First of all, keeping a secret in the Dunlop clan was impossible. Already, half the Highlands knew Sir Hew of Rivenloch was staying at Kildunan. And now Carenza was privy to his highly confidential mission.
Would she keep that confidence? Or compromise his efforts?
How long would it be before Father James began to suspect the odd guest at Kildunan was up to more than taking his ease at the monastery? How long before news of Hew’s whereabouts reached the king’s ears?
He sighed. His head had begun to throb again.
Despite the pain, he resolved that he was done with opium wine. It made him far too vulnerable.
“Sir Hew?” Carenza called softly.
“Aye?”
“I’m beginnin’ to feel…strange.”
“Are you?”
