Celia looked at Ellen for a hint of what was happening, but Ellen simply blushed and looked away.
“No more talk,” Agnes commanded, “until you get into this bathwater.”
With Ellen's help, Celia stripped out of her wet clothes in a moment and stepped into the tub. The scent of jasmine greeted her, and she melted into the warm liquid as Agnes carefully unwrapped the bandages from her head. Agnes gently soaked the dried blood from Celia's hair using a separate bowl of liquid that smelled strongly of herbs. The older woman looked very closely at the wound at the back of Celia's head as she cleaned it. She carefully pulled Celia's hair back, inspecting the sizable lump that was half hidden in the tangle of auburn curls.
“It looks like those blows on the head weren't intended to kill you, but those bruises on your neck certainly show lethal intentions on somebody's part.”
“Aye,” Celia responded. “An Englishman, and a rough one at that.”
“Well, I hope somebody killed the bastard.”
“Colin did.”
“Aye, that doesn't surprise me at all,” Agnes said. “Colin's always been a bit protective of those he cares about.”
As Celia drifted off in the warm bath, she thought of Agnes's words. Colin had been so open in showing his affection—his attraction to her—in front of everyone. Celia remembered Father William's shocked expression when they'd been at Argyll. He had been so surprised to see them so taken with each other.
She could see that she would have to talk to him about Colin. Father William had always been highly critical of potential suitors for Celia. He believed that the suitable match for her had not yet been born...did not exist. And all these years, she had somehow agreed with him. But now it was all different. Colin was different.
Agnes carefully combed out Celia's clean hair and, when the young woman was ready, helped her into a fresh nightshift and robe. Celia could smell the delicate lavender aroma in the clothes and felt incredibly warm in the glow of attention that Agnes was bestowing on her. She ate a little of the food and wine that had been laid out for her, and watched as Agnes directed the servants as they carried out the tub and wet linens.
Ellen had returned to Kit when Agnes sat Celia down to her supper. Celia paused before beginning to eat.
“Agnes, there’s something you should know,” Celia began slowly. “And I want to be the one to tell you.”
“What is it, my dear?” she answered with concern.
“I am not who I’ve been pretending to be. My real name is Celia Muir, not Lady Caithness. You see, traveling through the Highlands with Kit, we’ve needed to protect ourselves because Lord Danvers, the English commander, is after me. The intention was that by assuming the Caithness identity, we would attract less attention. But I do not want to keep up that pretense any longer. I’m sorry we deceived you.”
“My dear, you do not have anything to be sorry about,” Agnes said warmly. “These are troubled times, and a woman has to protect herself and the ones she loves any way she can. We all care for you because of the kind of person you are, not because of any name.”
“But there is more to it than just that, Agnes,” Celia said. “Danvers is evil, he’s a butcher, and I’ve brought that evil into your lives.”
She paused, searching for the right words.
“I was to be his wife, Agnes. Not by my own choice, but by the command of a king.”
Agnes put her hand on Celia’s.
“What kind of king would command a woman to marry such a demon?” she said softly. “We do not honor such commands out here.”
Agnes put her arm around Celia and hugged her affectionately.
“You’ve been through so much already in your young life, child. Do not take the troubles of the world on your shoulders. It’s time to leave those bad memories in the past. It’s time to look to the future.”
Celia felt the tears well up in her eyes at the older woman’s unquestioning acceptance and understanding.
“Agnes...” she began.
“Enough of that, Celia,” Agnes interrupted. “You’re here now, and we’re glad for that. Now tell me about your adventures at Argyll’s castle.”
Celia filled her in on most of what occurred there, and she felt the discomfort of the earlier admission wash away as they spoke. She found herself dwelling at length on Colin's heroic response when her life had been in jeopardy. And Agnes noted with inner delight that the young woman returned again and again to Colin in her narration.
But soon Agnes began to dominate the conversation, telling stories of Colin's youth and young manhood to an enraptured Celia. Agnes had been a mother to him, and her pride in Colin was maternal.
Celia thought about what Colin might have been like as a child. He was so much a man now—tall, muscular, weathered—that it was difficult to picture. And yet, sometimes he'd get that boyish look.
“It's too bad his mother didn't get a chance to see him grow into what he is now,” Agnes continued, as if reading Celia's mind. “She'd be so proud of what he's become.”
Agnes's eyes misted over a bit, and Celia reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Do you miss her very much?” Celia asked.
“Less and less since you've arrived,” Agnes replied, giving Celia's hand a return squeeze before releasing it. “Although, when Colin was growing, I often missed her dreadfully.”
“It must have been very difficult for you.”
“There were times in the beginning when I was ready to go back to France,” Agnes said with a laugh. “Hugh can be a difficult man, you know.”
“Is this a case of `like father, like son'?” Celia grinned.
“Probably so,” Agnes laughed. “But really, my dear, Colin has so much of his mother in him.”
“She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“Constance was a fine woman,” Agnes began. “She had a very sharp mind, and she was a thoughtful and generous friend.”
“I'm sure she must have felt the same about you,” Celia replied.
As they talked, Agnes realized that it had been a long, long while since she had felt so comfortable talking with another woman. Perhaps since Colin's mother had passed away. She had been Agnes's friend, but this had a feeling of friendship and something more. Agnes felt a bond forming with Celia that she had only felt with Colin. As she sat with the young woman, Agnes knew in her heart why everyone at Kildalton was so drawn to Celia. From all she had heard and all she had seen, she knew this young woman's heart was pure and accepting, strong and courageous, open and giving. Constance Campbell would have loved to have her as a daughter.
Agnes was tucking her into bed when Celia laid her hand on Agnes's arm.
“Agnes, I want to ask you something woman to woman,” she began, hesitating as she struggled with the words. “Why hasn't Colin married?”
“He was waiting for someone like you, Celia.”
“Seriously,” Celia persisted, blushing at her own lack of subtlety. “Certainly he must have been the object of more than a few young women's fancies.”
“And more than a few fathers’ fancies,” Agnes responded. Many a laird had seen Colin Campbell as a way to move his own family up socially and financially. Agnes had seen many a pretty young thing thrown in Colin's path. She could still feel pride in how Colin had always managed to thwart the fathers' attempts while still preserving the young women's reputations and futures. “The Campbell fortune and position have always been a temptation for some, but Colin has always waited for love.”
Agnes smiled benignly down on Celia and squeezed her hand gently before leaving the room.
But Celia felt a pain in her heart. A gnawing, empty sadness that undermined in an instant all of the happiness that had been growing there. Suddenly all of the exhausting trials of the day seemed to crush her with weariness.
She had nothing to offer Colin Campbell but love.
How could she even think for a moment that Colin would want her in marriage? Truthfully, he'd never even mentioned it, and Celia had never given him any hint that marriage was what she wanted.
But Celia loved Colin. She loved him with a fervor that burned in her veins. She loved him more than her own life, and he was the only man she had ever wanted. She knew that she would give her body and soul to him for as long as he wanted her, for as long as they had left.
There was something else, though. Celia knew her love for Colin could be construed by others as something less than the passion it truly was. But for Celia, the love she felt for him was too strong, too pure. She could not allow that love to be tainted by anyone's suspicion of it being anything as despicable as opportunism. She was no fortune-seeker. No, she would stay with him as long as she could, but Celia would never allow herself to hope for marriage to Colin.
Celia drifted into a deep, sound, dreamless sleep just moments after Agnes left. When Colin knocked softly at her door, she barely lifted her head from her pillow.
“Who is it?” she called quietly.
Colin pushed the door open and peered into the darkness.
“Have you given up bolting your door?” he whispered.
“Come in, Colin,” she said, laying her head back down.
By the time the warrior had traveled the few steps to her bedside, Celia was nearly asleep again. Colin sat beside her and gazed at her face, softly illuminated by the light of the flickering firelight. Her eyes opened briefly, and she smiled at him. She reached out and took his hand, holding it to her lips.