Page 47 of A Nameless Highland Laird
With the right directions in mind, Charlotte headed off, her steps purposeful as she walked through the castle. It took her only a minute to make it to his door. It was one she had passed countless times over the last week on her way to the dining room or the library. Unlike the door to her father’s chambers, there was nothing that stood out about it. Nothing told her it was the door to the Laird’s rooms. It looked like any other door in the hall, though perhaps that was strategically done. Charlotte almost second guessed herself that she had made it to the right room, but she had memorized the directions the maid had given her the second they had been said. There was no way she had gotten lost.
Determined, she raised her fist and knocked three times, loud enough for it to echo down the hallway. With her hands on her hips, she waited for the door to swing open or for Cameron to call out. But several heartbeats passed without neither things happening. She knocked again. She wouldn’t be deterred from making sure that Cameron was all right, regardless of if he wanted the company or not.
“Cameron?” She called, knocking on the door again. “I ken ye are in there. Alastair told me ye are unwell. What is going on?”
She waited again, but there was no reply. Dejected, Charlotte took a few steps away from the door. It was clear that Cameron wasn’t interested in seeing her and she didn’t want to push more than she needed to. A part of her, and it was no small part, was ashamed that she had accepted defeat so easily. It was that shame that had her turning right back around, marching up to his door again. She tried knocking one more time but didn’t bother waiting before she ignored all sense of propriety and opened the door herself.
The room was dark, the curtains still drawn and only one candle was lit. She could hardly make out where she was going so she stayed by the door and let her eyes adjust to the darkness.
“Cameron? It’s me. I came to talk. And to see if ye needed anything.”
Still, there was no response. She blinked a few more times and the room came into view. It was laid out in a very similar way as her own room with a giant bed taking up most of the space, a wardrobe on one wall and a vanity on the other. There were windows hidden by heavy panels of dark blue velvet that matched the bedding.
She was sure there was more to the room than that, but she didn’t see any of it as her eyes were drawn to the figure on the bed itself.
Quietly, she stepped further into the room, watching his chest rise and fall in a slow, deep rhythm.
“Cameron?” She called again.
This time she could see that he didn’t answer, not because he was ignoring her or wanted to be left alone, but because he was asleep.
The knowledge offered her some relief. She had thought perhaps he was still very angry with her and would ignore her presence entirely. She had even thought Alastair had been lying to keep her away from Cameron. But as she inched closer to the side of the bed, it was clear he had not been lying.
Charlotte had to silence a gasp as she picked the candle up and held it a little closer to Cameron’s face. His skin was too pale and covered in droplets of sweat. Though he was breathing deeply, she could tell it was a labored effort. His whole body seemed to heave with each inhale and shudder as he exhaled.
Her heart ached for him. He seemed absolutely miserable and she had no idea how to help him. She doubted anyone could. Beyond that, she knew he would hate for anyone to see him in such a state. It was no wonder news of his illness had been kept from her.
It was clear to her that now was not the time to try to talk with him, to clear the air. He needed to rest first and then she would make things right. This time as she stepped away, those feelings of defeat were not what followed. She wasn’t leaving because she was giving up, she was leaving because that was what was best for Cameron.
She took three steps back, twisting towards the door when Cameron cried out, paralyzing her.
“Nay! Nay, please!”
Her heart wrenched at how terrified he sounded. She turned back to him, though she stayed put, wringing her hands.
“Cameron? I dinnae have to go. I was just trying to let ye rest.”
“Donnae leave me! Please!”
His cries grew even more desperate, though his face remained hidden in the dark. She took a few ginger steps in his direction, hoping to see what exactly had caused such a reaction. He flailed about in the bed, twisting the sheets until they were wrapped around his arms, leaving his legs and stomach exposed. Though he was still wearing a white nightshirt, it had become drenched with sweat, rendering it almost useless. Her cheeks flamed red just at knowing she was seeing more of him than she should have before they said their vows. But he cried out in anguish again and her thoughts were only on how to bring him any semblance of comfort.
“Cameron, I am here,” she reassured, rushing back to the side of his bed.
Her words calmed him only a scrap. It was then she saw that his eyes were still closed, though they fluttered against his inner turmoil.
“A nightmare,” she whispered, relieved that it was nothing more serious than that.
He jerked again, throwing the blankets completely off of him. She sighed in frustration that there was nothing more that she could do. She didn’t want to wake him as she didn’t know how he would react to her being in his chambers while he slept.
Resigning herself to leaving him in his current state, Charlotte picked up the discarded blankets and tossed them back onto the bed. Without realizing what she was doing, she began humming a soft tune that her governess had often sung to her when she had trouble sleeping. As she hummed, she pulled the corners of the blanket into place, settling them around Cameron once more. Only once she was satisfied that he was as comfortable as she could make him did she turn to leave.
She took one step and his hand shot out from under the covers and gripped hers. She startled at the clammy touch that he hadn’t had only a few days ago. When their fingers had brushed across the pages of his book in the library, they had been warm and sure with the slightest hint of calluses on his fingertips. He felt like a completely different person now.
One look at his face told her that he was still sound asleep, entirely unaware of what he was doing. She doubted he would be so bold had he been conscious. She also knew that he would be mortified if he were to wake up and find her in his chambers, trapped under his grip. The urgency to leave before he did so coursed through her as she tried to twist and turn her wrist out of his grip.
The more she moved, the tighter his grasp on her became. She bit back a wince as his fingers encircled her arm like a vice, refusing to budge. The longer he held her in place, the more worried she became that he was going to wake up to her there. Not to mention the bruise she could already feel forming under his fingertips. She marveled at how someone so ill, so weak could hold her so tightly. She didn’t understand it and yet, no matter what she did to try to escape his hold, he didn’t so much as lose an inch.
With her teeth clenched, she pulled one last time, daring to yank her arm as hard as she could. Her skin burned and her muscles ached with the effort of staying in such an awkward position for so long. Cameron’s eyes fluttered and he mumbled something unintelligible, making her freeze her efforts. His mumbles morphed into a full fledged scream. She no longer concerned herself with getting out of his grasp but recentered on making sure that he was okay.
