Chapter 9 #2
“Come in!” Lottie chirped, but then she began to cough.
Jeane, instantly concerned, pushed the door open.
Lottie was doubled over, coughing, and she spat mucus into a cloth.
Jeane took the cloth from her, checking the color—green. That usually meant the sickness was getting worse.
“What we want is clear phlegm,” Jeane explained, and Lottie made a face.
“I have to look at the color of me phlegm?”
“Aye,” Jeane said with a small smile. “It’s one way to tell if yer on the mend or getting worse.”
“Which is it?”
“Right now, it’s green which means it’s worse. But ye haven’t started yer medicine yet.”
“What kind of medicine?” Lottie made a face again. “Will it taste bad?”
Jeane chuckled. “It willnae taste very good.”
“I ken. Medicine never tastes good,” Lottie mourned.
Jeane could not help but keep smiling at the bright young girl. Jeane had brought her black bag full of medicine and supplies, and she set it down on Lottie’s bed, next to the girl’s thigh.
She opened it and took out a draught for lung fever which she suspected ailed Lottie. It could be a dangerous disease and had once taken three members of McKay Castle one bitter winter despite Jeane’s ministrations.
“Ye will need to take this one twice a day. Once at breakfast, once at supper. If ye daenae take it with food, it might make ye ill.”
Lottie nodded.
Jeane brought out a second draught. “This one ye can take when the cough gets bad, and ye need to rest. It will make ye drowsy, but it’ll help ye breathe.”
Lottie stared at her almost in wonder. “Old Morna had a few draughts, but she wasnae as adept as ye.”
Jeane rifled through her bag, looking for the third draught that she had brought.
“Liliana?”
Jeane kept searching through the bag, freezing only when her mind finally caught up with her. Liliana. That was what Fergus had introduced her to Lottie as.
“Oh! Aye?”
Lottie tilted her head curiously. “Are ye all right?”
Jeane swallowed hard and nodded. “Aye, aye, I’m fine.”
She cursed herself inwardly. How could she have been so stupid? She did not think Lottie would think much of it, but if she did, she might out her to the whole castle.
And then the only way out would be to marry Fergus. Perhaps then, she’d be saved. But what would Lottie think, knowing that Jeane had lied to her all this time? Would she hate her? Jeane hated to think of it.
“This last one, ye only take when the cough and pain are very bad,” Jeane warned. “It has milk of the poppy, so it can be addictive.”
Lottie nodded slowly. “I will use it sparingly.”
Jeane smiled, relieved that Lottie understood.
“I will leave these with ye, but if it’s all right with ye, I will come by every morning to dispense yer first dose.”
“Aye,” Lottie said, smiling. “And soon enough, I will be better, and I can go swimming with Aiden again.”
“Not in the Loch,” Jeane warned. “Who knows what kind of critters are in there?”
Lottie laughed, the sound strained due to her bad lungs.
“Ye sound like me brother. He never complains when I go hunting or riding, but when I try to swim in the Loch, he says the same thing about critters.”
Jeane’s eyes widened as she looked at Lottie. “He doesnae mind ye going huntin’ and ridin’? Is he nae… protective?”
“Aye, he never wants me to get hurt, but other than that, I can do what I want,” Lottie said, almost smugly, smiling widely. “He kens that Aiden will keep me out of real trouble.”
“Ye and Aiden are practically attached at the hip,” Jeane teased, and Lottie flushed.
“He’s me unofficial bodyguard,” she explained. “That’s the only reason. Fergus trusts him more than anyone else.”
He trusts ye, too, Jeane thought but did not say. Her father would never allow her to go hunting or riding or swimming, especially with a male chaperone, and Jeane wondered what such freedom would be like.
Jeane could not help but think of Beatrice Campbell, her best friend. Lottie’s free spirit reminded her a lot of Beatrice. When Jeane ended up getting punished for doing something her father deemed inappropriate, it was usually Beatrice’s idea and influence that drove her to do it.
Mary entered the room to give Lottie her breakfast, and it gave Jeane a few moments to miss her friend. She felt it deep in her chest, in her gut, and in her very bones.
Would Jeane ever see Beatrice again? It seemed unlikely if she wanted to keep her life. If she went back to her father, she would be married off to some brute, and God knew what would happen.
Mary exited the room, and Lottie ate, and Jeane pushed away thoughts of her friend. She wished to see her desperately, but she could not go back. She could never go back. She had to expect to be lonely for a while.
Unless ye accept Fergus’ proposal, a thought rattled at the back of her mind.
That thought led to others—the kiss they had shared the night before, how her body had reacted. She had wanted…. She was not sure what she had wanted, but she had wanted it badly. She had ached for it. Ached for his touch.
Was that normal? Jeane had never felt that way about a man, not even when she was young, and it was not as if she had never been around men. Her father’s men were always around, and more than one of them had been interested in looking at her with lewd eyes.
She supposed it felt different with Fergus. Even though he had taken her, he had given her a purpose—to heal Lottie and Aiden’s brother. That was the only real reason he wanted her here, was it not?
He was just a territorial type of man, she supposed, and did not want her working anywhere else or being married off, so she could not continue healing for him.
He could not have really meant that he wanted to marry her. Could he?
“Fergus would not care if I picked up a sword and wore breeches as long as I did it safely,” Lottie continued, and Jeane looked up, wondering just how much she had missed.
“A-aye,” Jeane stuttered.
Lottie smiled. “What were ye thinking about, Liliana? Yer face is all flushed.”
“I’m nae flushed,” Jeane argued. “I’m just surprised that yer brother isnae more worried about yer wild ways.”
Lottie snorted. “Me wild ways? Ye must be one of those buttoned-up types. Me brother has always been… unconventional.”
Jeane tilted her head, curious in spite of herself.
“How so?”
“Well, he fights alongside his men, for one. He’s not very good at delegating. And he lets me live as I want. He says all women should live as they want. He hates the idea of me bein’ married off, wants me to choose me own husband.”
Jeane blinked at Lottie. “He does?”
“Aye,” Lottie said with a nod, her face a little flushed as she gave a small smile. “Bet ye cannae guess who I will choose.”
Jeane laughed, looking down at Lottie’s flushed face and easy smile.
The man that Lottie described, the unconventional one, was not the man who had taken Jeane from the woods. Fergus had been like any other man then, taking what he saw fit to take.
“Ye will have to report to Fergus every day about me health,” Lottie said. “He was very adamant about that.”
“Aye, I assumed I would,” Jeane said.
Her head was still spinning as she gave Lottie her first dose and left the other draughts with her.
The carefree Fergus that Lottie described did not match the cold, demanding man that Jeane knew. Even his kiss had been hungry, wanting more, wanting to take. And even if part of Jeane had wished to give Fergus what he wanted, that did not mean that she should marry him just because he said so.
She needed to face him, but she was not sure how. She needed to tell him that she needed time to think about his proposal, but first, she would report on Lottie.
There seemed to be two men warring inside Fergus—the happy, lenient man who let his sister wear breeches and the demanding, cold man who had kidnapped Jeane.
Which was he, really?