The Imposter Page 4

  I knew women that would kill for lashes and hair like this man. His dark, chestnut hair sprung from his scalp and curled in loose masses about his shoulders. His face was tan and darkened further with the shadow of a beard. He had not shaven in days. A strand of hair had fallen across his face and I brushed it aside carefully so as not to wake him. In his sleep, the corner of his mouth curled into a slight smile, an action that I found endearing despite being so tired. He smelled of man, leather and horse, and was clearly in desperate need of a bath.

  My body thrummed with energy as I examined his face. My heart beat more rapidly, and I quickly looked away from Devon McClain. He was intensely handsome, but I had been pulled to him by something else.

  I dismissed my feelings with a shrug, accepting that exhaustion must be overpowering my rational thoughts. I busied myself with preparing to remove his grimy shirt. The homespun gave way and revealed a nasty wound that even to my novice eyes was in the early stages of infection. The angry gash began on his left shoulder and spanned the length of his pectoral muscle. Someone had intended to sever this young man’s head or at the very least inflict a mortal wound. They had missed their intention by mere centimeters. I determined that this injury would likely benefit from stitches by the way that the flesh was gaping open, still oozing.

  Watching his chest peacefully rise and fall as he enjoyed his drunken stupor, I almost hated to intrude. I felt exhaustion beginning to rise up within myself, and I fought an intense urge for sleep as I watched his peaceful slumber with marked jealousy. I worried that I too would be the victim of Leti’s fury if I didn’t rally the strength to treat her beloved brother, drunken sot that he appeared to be.

  I sprung into action in an effort to cling to my last threads of wakefulness by barking at Nathan, “Hold his shoulders, please. He’ll probably wake up quickly.” Nathan obliged by placing a large hairy hand on each of Devon’s tan muscled shoulders. He nodded that he was ready, and pressed down firmly.

  “I’m going to clean his wound with whisky so that it doesn’t putrefy,” I cautioned my reluctant nurse, “Its going to burn like hell.”

  “Seems a waste to me lass.” Nathan shook his head and shot a wry glance in my direction. “What say we split the whisky and leave this young dolt to his devices? He’s drunk enough to cleanse his wound from the inside out!” the burly man chuckled, his rosy cheeks flushed beneath his bushy beard.

  I laughed in a way that only the extremely tired do, finding his comment far funnier than in actuality it was. The late hour and lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on my humor. “It would serve him right!” I exclaimed. “Might be difficult to explain to his sister though. I suppose we should give him the same chance to make it as the rest.”

  “On we go then, lass.” Nathan resumed the pressure on the young man’s shoulders and braced for the worst.

  I poured a dram of whisky directly into the wound and was greeted with unexpected silence. I looked up to see Nathan’s eyes clenched shut. His face was twisted into a grimace as he held his breath and waited for the fallout from my actions. The sight of his scrunched up face made me giggle and I made a quite unlady-like snort as a laugh broke free.

  “Hmmmph,” murmered my patient. Roused by either the sting of the whisky or the laughing of his medical team, his eyes fluttered open and focused on my smiling face looming above him. They were a striking green. A shade that reminded me immediately of Collin McClain.

  “Are ye an angel?” “Mmm. Am I dead?” he mumbled, eyes slowly scanning the room as he tried to use his elbows to push himself up off the table.

  “Uh, no,” I laughed in response, my eyes darting towards Nathan, catching him smirk as he tried to muffle his laughter. I put a firm hand on Devon’s chest and pushed him back down onto the table, afraid that if he tried to get up he might fall and hurt himself further. I cleared my throat and made a vain attempt to regain my composure. After all, now that I was the chief healer, I had a reputation to uphold. “No, you’re not dead, and I am certainly not an angel. You got hurt and I’m here to help you.”

  “Oh good. I’m not dead.” And with that, his eyes closed and he promptly went back to sleep.

  Nathan and I burst into simultaneous laughter and again sunk into the teamwork of caring for our inebriated patient. Nathan was clearly very tired and yet his motions were still methodical and precise.

  “He’s out cold, Nathan. Why don’t you go get some rest?” I offered, seeing that Nathan was fading fast.

  “I’ll stay with ye lass. Help ye finish up,” he replied.

  “No really, I’ve got it under control. There’s nothing more that you can do to help me. I’ve just got to stitch this up, and it’s kind of a one person job,” I smiled, threading my needle.

  “Are ye sure, lass?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m sure. Go to bed,” I ordered, looking up at him. He was exhausted and it didn’t take much effort to talk him into retiring for the night.

  “If ye insist,” he said, leaning over to kiss me on the forehead. “Goodnight, lass. Ye did well tonight,” he smiled slightly, praising my efforts.

  “Thanks. So did you,” I replied, glad to have had Nathan working by my side.

  Nathan walked from the great hall and I turned my attentions back to Leti’s brother. I grimaced as I pulled the wound together and gathering the flesh between my fingers. Cautiously, I began to stitch it closed. I bit my lip, loathing the feeling of the needle piercing flesh, and the effort that it took to drive the metal through the tough skin.

  Midway through stitching the gaping wound closed I glanced up from my concentrated work to see that the green eyes of my patient were not only open, but that he was contently watching me stitch closed the angry tissue. A bit startled, I stopped my work.

  “Hello there, um, how are you feeling?” I asked uncomfortably, not quite sure of the proper etiquette required when addressing one’s patient mid stitch.

  “Mmmph,” he made that familiar Scottish noise that I had heard as a response that could mean, yes, no, or anything in between.

  “I’ve decided that ye are no an angel,” he said flatly. “Ye must be here to finish me off!” he chastised with a faint smile.

  His eyes were a deep captivating green and when he smiled, there was a dimple that appeared on his left cheek right above the masculine angle of his well-set jaw. Although Devon McClain had the physique of a warrior, his demeanor was not what I would expect from a Scottish barbarian. He was teasing me. His easy smile made me forget what I was supposed to be concentrating on. I regained my composure and shifted my eyes back to my stitchery.

  “Well, if that’s the thanks I can expect, I’ll stop right here with you only half sewn up and leave you to your own devices, you drunken sot!”

  “Aye, don’t be fashed lassie. I ken it must be done, and I thank ye for yer efforts. I’d rather be stitched up by a lovely lassie any day than be under the needle of auld Nathan.” This jab missed the ears that it was intended for, and Devon’s eyes glanced over his shoulder, looking to the empty space where Nathan had been only moments before. “Had enough of holding me down, did he?” Devon asked in reference to Nathan’s disappearance. “I’ve a mind for such treatments on horses, and I ken tell that you are doing your best tae be gentle about it. Carry on lass,” he said, lowering his head back down to the table and raking his hand through his unruly hair. “Damn, my head hurts something fierce,” he said, raising his left hand to rub his forehead.

  “That’s because you are drunk,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Could you please stop moving so that I can finish this?” I asked, my voice coming off harsher than I had intended.

  “Och, sorry, lass. I ken that yer tired, ye’ve done a braw job tonight fixing up my men. I owe ye a great debt of gratitude,” he said sincerely, green eyes holding my gaze.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, appreciating his appreciation of my efforts. He had easy quality that caused me to like him right away. Impulsively, I set the needl
e down on his chest. The glimmering firelight reflected off of the metal causing it to sparkle against Devon’s skin. I leaned forward over his chest and placed my fingers on his temples, making slow circles as I applied pressure to ease his headache.

  “Ye are an angel for sure,” he whispered, closing his eyes to enjoy the massage. “Mmmm. That feels sae good,” he said, body relaxing beneath my hands on the table. I could feel the tension leaving his body as I massaged his temples and forehead, releasing the headache from his body.

  As I leaned over him making slow, rhythmic circles with my hands, I noticed how solid, how warm he felt beneath my fingertips. My heart fluttered a little faster in response to him. The intimacy of our close bodily proximity made me come quickly to my senses. I drew my hands slowly away from his warm skin, straightening up on the bench.

  “Thank ye, lass,” he said quietly, eyes still closed in relaxation. He opened his eyes and they lingered on me as he smiled slightly, causing me to look away nervously. “Better get on with it,” he coaxed, smiling a slight lopsided smile as he glanced down at the needle that I had left on his chest.

  I tentatively began my work again as he lay still as a board upon the table. He shot me a debonair smile of encouragement as I poked the needle through the swollen flesh of the wound.

  “Well lass, now that you’ve seen me in such an undignified state and tortured me with yer wee needle, may I ask your name?” I’ve not seen ye around here before, and I’m like to know all of the fair lassies,” he followed the inquiry with a wink. I was beginning to bet that indeed, he probably did know a great number of the lassies in the keep.

  “I’m Kate,” I replied, trying to maintain my concentration on stitching.

  “What!” he exclaimed as he jerked up from the table, causing my needle to stick him neatly in the chest. “Kate? As in Kate Berkshire?” His face contorted as if he didn’t believe me.

  “Uh….yes, that would be me.” I felt guilty each time I feigned Ms. Berkshires stolen identity. To hide my unease, I snatched the needle that was stuck in his chest and removed it quickly, applying pressure to the place where a crimson bead of blood had begun to pool. I panicked for a split second thinking that perhaps he had met the real Ms. Berkshire, and knew my claim of being her to be false.

  His face broke into a genuine smile and his torso began to shake with a fit of such hysteric laughter that my hand fell from his chest, and blood once again began to pool at the site of the needle prick.

  “So, yer Kate?” he managed in between chuckles. “Really?”

  In lieu of an answer to his question, I placed my hands on my hips, and shot him what I intended to be an intimidating stare.

  “Aye lass, my Da would have been right pleased with this arrangement. Too bad he couldna have lived long enough tae meet ye. You’ve a fire in yer eyes and my by estimates, yer young enough tae have been his daughter. He’d have been right pleased indeed!” Devon chuckled.

  I could imagine the scene rolling through his drunken mind of his elderly father with a wife young enough to be his daughter.

  I pushed Devon back onto the table, grabbed the needle and jabbed it a bit too harshly into the tender skin of his flesh wound. I was exasperated that he found my situation so humorous, but more than anything, the danger of assuming Ms. Berkshire’s identity hit home with a weighted blow. What would happen to me if I was discovered to be an imposter?

  He regained his composure and flashed a mischievous smile. “And here I was enjoying yer attentions sae much, thinking ye an angel and such and ye were tae be my step-mother! Ha! My Da must be rolling over in his grave!”

  “Lay back you drunken lout, I’ll never finish sewing this up if you keep laughing.” I placed a firm hand upon his chest and used my fingers to hold the wound together in preparation for the final stitches. “I doubt very much that your Dad would like you to join him in the grave due to a nasty infection,” I threatened.

  Between his occasional muffled giggles, during which I had to pause so as not to stick him with the needle again, I was able to finish closing his wound. As I pulled back to admire my amateur work, I saw that my patient was once again fast asleep. I had been so absorbed in my work that I had not noticed that the hustle and bustle in the hall had died down and only a few maids remained to tidy the mess. There was a steady muffled hum of the breathing men who had been left in the hall settled into the rhythm of well deserved sleep.

  I grabbed a woolen blanket from the hearth and placed it over Devon’s sleeping form. His chest slowly rose and fell and a hint of a smile remained on his face. I carefully tucked the blanket about him and brushed a fallen clump of hair from his eye. A feeling of peace from a job well done came over me and I let out a well deserved sigh. I placed a quick kiss right above his eye where the hair had been. His skin was warm and weathered beneath my lips. I froze above his sleeping body, embarrassed by my action. What had come over me?

  “Good night, step-mother,” he whispered, catching me off guard. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I felt the color rise to my cheeks. He had known I was there the whole time and had most certainly felt the kiss that I had placed on his forehead. One never uses their best judgment under the grips of sleep deprivation. Kissing Devon McClain had most certainly been a bad idea.

  Chapter Four

  Morning sun shone down on Kate, glimmering off her auburn hair and highlighting the lighter more golden flecks. Devon looked down on her from the balcony attached to his chambers which gave him a fine, secluded viewpoint. Her movements were exquisitely feminine and she looked radiant even in her gray woolen dress that she used for working in the garden. She intrigued him and he watched her now to confirm that it had not just been the alcohol overwhelming his senses last night when she had tended his wounded shoulder.

  Although it was undeniable that he was physically attracted to her, it was also evident that there was something else about her that drew his attention. Her manner of speech was peculiar. She spoke with an accent he had never encountered before. The Berkshire lands were close to the English border but he had expected less of a pronounced accent in Kate’s speech.

  She obviously knew of his position within the clan, and yet she was not intimidated by his position as other women often were. She had matched him line for line, and her take charge attitude had shown him that she was self-assured, intelligent and strong-willed.

  The way she had taken charge of the wounded last night had impressed him. She had worked tirelessly to tend to his men, ever calm in her ministrations. He had enjoyed watching her survey the injured, sorting out the most grave injuries and dealing with them swiftly and efficiently before moving onto those who were less severely injured. She was a born leader and was clearly knowledgeable about her craft. She worked quickly and was able to make quick decisions. These were qualities that Devon admired in a man but had never encountered before in a woman. The idea of a woman with these qualities piqued his interest.

  Hell, she had been betrothed to his father! The fact that he was even entertaining the idea of a tryst with her would make his Da roll over in the grave.

  As the next in line for the McClain lairdship after his brother Collin, Devon could easily have his pick of the women about the keep. He’d seen them employ a wide array of tactics to ensnare his affections and although he had bedded a few of the overly willing ones, he had quickly grown bored with their games. He couldn’t get last night’s brief encounter with Kate out of his mind. He wanted to know more.

  Devon was not the type to sit and wait for answers to his questions. Pulling a clean white shirt over his head and hastily tucking it into his kilt, he decided to stop spying on the lass and go get a few of his questions answered. He gathered his thick chestnut hair at the nape of his neck and secured it with a leather throng, noticing that his shoulder injury did in fact hurt more that he was willing to admit when he raised his right arm. He would go and see for himself why this lass was so intriguing to him. He would find out wh
at exactly about her it was that was so arousing to his senses. Pulling the chamber door closed behind him, he made his way down the stairs, hoping that he wasn’t rousing a fire within himself that he would not be able to put out.

  ***

  “What I wouldn’t do for a hot bath,” I muttered out loud as I examined the state of my fingernails, blackened with dirt. I had asked the kitchen maids for a chore to do, needing a mundane task to keep me occupied. I also hoped for an opportunity to scour the castle grounds for escape routes.

  “I think that could be arranged. I’ve quite a debt owed tae ye for my rudeness.” Devon said, startling me.

  I jumped at the sound of unexpected company and Devon smiled charmingly as I peered over my shoulder.

  “That’s the least I could do for my good mother,” he balked as I gave him my best glare, still not finding the same humor in the situation as he did. Devon moved the basket in which lay my harvest and settled to the ground next to me in the garden. He leaned back against the stone wall surrounding the garden, looking relaxed and at ease.

  I continued my work of loosening a garlic bulb from the grips of the Earth. Suddenly, he reached for my hand. I was startled by his unexpected touch and jumped visibly, raising my eyes to meet his.

  Seeing my reaction to his touch, he jerked back his hand. “I’ve come tae apologize, Kate. I was quite well into my cups last night and I vaguely remember being a less than accommodating patient,” his green eyes watched my hands intensely as he waited for my response.

  “Your forgiven, you lout,” I said trying to minimize my reaction to him. I was surprised that his brief touch could spark such a shocking reaction. “Remember, that I was the one with the needle in hand,” I bantered, wondering exactly how much he remembered from last night.