Chapter Nine #2
Malcolm shook his great head and took the stack of linens from her. “I’ll clean the lad up while you go talk to cook,” he said, gently taking her arm and pushing her out the door.
Fiona waited until he closed the door before grinning triumphantly. Then she lifted her skirts and flew down the hall to the back stairs. Once there she slowed minimally, as she had fallen more than once trying to take the steep, narrow stairs faster than she should.
In the kitchens, chaos reigned. Instead of bothering any of the cooks, she grabbed a tray.
She fixed a bowl of runny porridge, throwing in some of the cut up dried fruit and nuts that were on a shelf nearby.
Then she piled a plate high with bread and slices of meat and cheeses.
She added several apples and all the necessaries for tea before filling a teapot full of milk and setting it on the tray as well.
Finally, she filled both pockets of her dress with her favorite sweet biscuits.
Placing a clean cloth over the entire tray, Fiona headed back the way she had come with a silent prayer sent Heavenward to get out without being seen.
She didn’t understand why, but her soul demanded she take care of John David, and be his guardian angel until he was able to fend for himself once more.
By the time she was back at the door to her bedroom, she was out of breath. She paused a moment to compose herself before knocking on the door. She sucked a surprised breath when her father opened the door.
“Father,” she said, stepping in and crossing to the small table by the bed where she set the tray of food. A glance at the bed showed Malcolm had finished washing the boy down and had him tucked under the down comforter she used year-round.
“Why did you bring the lad here, lass? It isn’t proper for him to be in your room, much less sleeping in your bed.”
“The boy needs a warm, dry place to rest and heal, and unless we hang him from the rafters in the great room, there is no other place for him to recover undisturbed,” Fiona stated simply as she met his inquisitive look with a determined one of her own.
Evan MacGregor stared at his daughter, and she stared back, refusing to give in.
She knew that he knew there would be no swaying her from the decision she had made, and he might as well give in with grace.
Here, alone in her room, he would give her what she wanted, which was why she had not discussed it with him while in the great hall.
She got her quick-thinking, coolness under pressure from him, but he claimed her pigheaded stubbornness came from her mother, God rest her soul.
He sighed and shook his head. “All right, you may tend to the lad, until he’s recovered. But remember, he’s not a pet, he’s a man, a half-Macgregor Highlander. He will not appreciate being treated as a bairn even if that’s what he needs until he’s back on his feet again.”
“Yes, Father,” Fiona said as she gently ushered him out of the room. “I’ll send someone for you as soon as he feels better.”
“And I don’t want you in here alone with him. Get Heather or one of the other maids to stay with you, and I’ll post Malcolm in the hall.”
Fiona tried not to laugh at her father’s orders. John David Hart would not be a threat to anyone for the next several days at least, and even as small as she was, she was bigger and stronger than the unconscious lad. “Yes, Father. We’ll be fine. And you have a house full of guests to tend to.”
Her father grunted and turned to say something else, but she closed the door on him. Turning back to her patient, she crossed to the door to the room her nanny had used and pulled the rocking chair from that room into her bedroom next to the bed.
Once it was in a place where she would be warm and still be able to watch her charge, she approached the bed. Brushing long, wild black strands of hair from his cheek, she touched his shoulder. “John David, wake up. You need to eat something.”
He frowned and shifted, but did not wake.
“John David, you need to wake up, now,” she said, her tone a little harsher, a little louder.
“Go ‘way, wanta sleep,” he moaned as he rolled over, giving her his back.
“You need to drink a glass of milk and then you can go back to sleep,” she said, shaking his shoulder a little harder.
After another round of shaking and jerking, he rolled over, sat up, and held out his hand. Fortunately, Malcolm had left the boy’s shirt on as the covers fell away from his body. Moving to the tray of food by the bed, she poured him a glass of goat’s milk before turning back.
She wrapped his fingers around the glass then guided the cup until the edge touched his lip.
He opened and began drinking obediently.
When she tried to pull the cup away, he fought her and continued drinking until the milk was gone.
His eyes still closed, and probably more asleep than awake, he burped loudly, and wiped the back of his hand across his lips before he flopped back down.
In seconds, he was making soft snoring sounds as he returned to the sleep he so badly needed.
After tucking the covers around him, Fiona went to her nanny’s room and pulled the blanket off the bed.
Wrapping it around herself, she settled into the rocking chair.
The room was warm enough, but the fire would need tending throughout the night.
Her charge would need tending throughout the night as well, and with the healer busy it would be up to her to see that John David Hart survived and carried on his family line.
The boy slept for two solid days, waking only enough to use the chamber pot, and consume the milk, or porridge, or honey-laced tea she forced on him at regular intervals.
The maid, Heather, finally arrived at daybreak the first morning, taking over watch so that Fiona could fall into the bed in her nanny’s room for a few hours’ sleep.
Malcolm helped the lad with the bodily functions while the women stepped out into the hall.
The gathering ended, and soon the castle was empty of all except those who lived and worked within its walls on a daily basis.
Late on the morning of the third day, John David stirred, stretched, and woke up fully. Fiona was reading a book when he sat up and looked around.
“Good morning,” she said laying her book aside and rising. “How are you feeling?”
Instead of answering, he looked at her, his blue-gray eyes sharp and assessing.
Then a glowing heat filled them. Fiona had seen that look before, usually in men on their way to the tavern, the kitchens, or some other place to prowl for a woman’s gentle touch.
He was so small, she had a hard time thinking of him as a man, but after pledging his fealty to the clan just days before, she knew her father would think of him as a man fully grown.
“John David?”
His eyes widened, and he shifted in the bed. His gaze cut away from hers to look around the room before it came back to meet hers once more. Clearing his throat, he stared deep into her eyes for several long, long moments.
Finally he swallowed hard and said, “Say yes, and ye’ll be the last woman I’ll ever love.”
End of sample chapter