Chapter Thirteen
Lachlan worried o’er Veronica’s sleeping
body. She was naked now and buried deep under his covers, only her
head, neck, and shoulders visible. Upon returning to the keep with
her unconscious body, the wide eyes of his clansmen and clanswomen
asking questions they’d dare not ask him directly, he’d ordered the
female servants to draw her a bath. He’d held her lifeless body up,
careful not to look upon her nakedness in their presence, as the
servants cleaned her body and hair of the dead refuse still upon
her.
“Do not empty the water into the sea or
streams,” Victor had warned him. “Just to be safe I want to
burn anything still in that tub.”
After collecting all bits of diseased flesh
from the freshly cleaned Veronica and the dog she’d brought with
her, the whole of it was placed in the tub and set afire using pig
fat wrapped in strips of wool. Victor had insisted upon letting it
burn for nigh unto an hour, until nothing was left in the boiling,
greasy water but liquid.
“It’s safe to discard the water onto the
ground now,” Victor had finally muttered. “It was probably
safe anyway, but I had to be certain.”
That had been o’er a full day ago. The dog
had awoken some hours back and filled his belly with the proffered
meat and water servants brought to him. He was presently chewing on
a bone in front of the hearth in the laird’s bedchamber, full and
content. Now if only Veronica would wake up. He couldn’t rest until
she did.
Lachlan stopped pacing and hovered o’er
Veronica’s sleeping body. She was even more comely and shapely in
the flesh than she’d appeared on the AI scanner. He was impatient
for her to awaken, but had been warned by Victor not to try and
rush the process. “Remember when you shook me awake after
finding me?” Victor had drolly inquired. Lachlan had but
grunted. “Unless you want her to vomit on you too, I suggest you
let her come to in her own time.”
And so he kept waiting, his vigil showing no
signs of nearing its completion. His gaze raked o’er Veronica,
noting that her breathing was even. ‘Twas a good sign, he realized,
though the impatience still tore at him.
He frowned and resumed pacing. ‘Twas all he
could think to do.
*****
Veronica blinked several times in rapid
succession as she tried to sit up, moaning as she fell back against
whatever it was she was lying on. Opening her eyes, she struggled
to see through them, the world seemingly fuzzy and confusing.
“Where am I?” she rasped, her throat parched. She fought to bring
her gaze into focus. “Did I make it?”
Silence.
“Hello?” she asked again.
“Aye. You are here, lass.”
The deep, gravelly voice penetrated the
haze. A familiar gigantic form with black, braided hair slowly came
into focus. He lingered over her, his expression an unusual
combination of relief and anger. Her breathing hitched. She’d
thought of him as larger than life while speaking to him and seeing
him on the laptop; in real life, face to face, he was even more
formidable. And, she admitted, more handsome. “Why do you look
mad?” she croaked out.
“Anger? I have no ire. ‘Tis just the way I
look whilst worried.”
The warlord had been worried about her? That
was kind of sweet. She made to sit up again, but a bout of nausea
stole over her. Falling back against what she now presumed was a
bed, Veronica took note of her nudity for the first time. She
reached for the fallen covers and pulled them up to her chin.
“I’m naked,” she said dumbly, her eyes wide.
“You undressed me?”
“Aye. With help from the female
servants.”
She blinked, not knowing what to say to
that. She narrowed her eyes as the scent of lilacs reached her
nostrils. “Did you bathe me too?” she bit out.
“Aye. In a manner of speaking.”
She had thought he was sweet to worry over
her? Truly, the man had no shame. “What manner?”
He shrugged. “I held your body whilst the
female servants washed you and your hair. ‘Twas chunks of dead
flesh all o’er you.”
She winced at the reminder, her umbrage
deflating. “Oh. What about the dog?”
“He made it too.”
Just then she noticed the dog laying near
the hearth on the opposite side of the big, if stark, bedroom. He
was busy chewing on what appeared to be a large soup bone. She
found a smile and slowly sat up, letting the blankets fall to just
above her breasts. She was still a little woozy, but nothing as bad
as before. “He saved my life,” Veronica said. She cleared her
scratchy throat. “I’m so happy he’s okay.”
“I ken that, milady. I watched the whole of
it, you’ll remember.”
Milady. She still didn’t know what to
say to that epithet. “Come here, boy!” she encouraged the dog,
smiling at the animal rather than dealing with the man at hand.
When the dog jumped on the bed and licked her face, she giggled.
“You’re my hero,” she told the brave guy as she pet him. “So that’s
your name now. Hero.” The dog licked her face again as if giving
his agreement. Her smile widened as he jumped off the bed and
returned to his bone. “I see you’ve been feeding him,” she said to
Laird Gunn. Her gaze found his. “Thank you.”
The giant grunted, but eventually nodded.
“’Tis welcome, you are.”
Another thought struck her. “How long have I
been sleeping?”
“Aboot two days and nights.”
That explained her parched throat. “What is
it now? Day or night?”
“’Tis the eve.” His voice was thick.
She suspected he might be aroused, but
played the innocent, unaware virgin. She wasn’t yet ready to deal
with the marriage issue he most likely wanted to discuss. Luckily,
her belly saved her. It rumbled, reminding her if she’d been asleep
for two days she’d not eaten in that long either. “Is it too late
to get food and water?”
Lachlan turned on his half boot and took a
few large strides to the doors. He opened one of them enough to
growl out an order. “Wake the maidservants!” he barked at someone.
“The lady has need of food and drink.”
“Oh that’s okay!” Veronica said quickly. She
didn’t want to get off on a bad foot with anyone. She imagined
waking someone from their sleep to prepare her a meal wasn’t
exactly an endearment. “I can wait until morning.”
He ignored her protests and closed the door
again. “You will eat and drink,” he ordered as he strode back
toward the bed. Again, he hovered over her. “’Tis not a discussion
we will have.”
She frowned at his high-handed manner, but
didn’t gainsay him. The longer she was awake, the hungrier she
grew. “I just didn’t want to put anyone out.” When one of his
eyebrows rose inquisitively, she explained, “I don’t wish to be an
inconvenience.”
He folded his arms across his expansive
chest, hands under his armpits. Veronica could see all his muscles
bulging. She instinctively wet her lips. “’Tis not an
inconvenience. ‘Tis an honor for the maidservants to fuss aboot
their lady.”
Their lady? She blinked. Her mouth
worked up and down, but nothing came out.
“Do you wish a chemise to wear whilst you
eat?” he asked. “My sister left you two chemises and a few bliauts
of hers. Hopefully the shoes she gifted you will fit as well for
‘twill take longer for new shoes to be cobbled than for your
wardrobe to be prepared. Leastways, it depends on how many bliauts
you have commissioned.”
She blinked again. She knew a chemise was
something akin to a slip or a nightgown, but a bliaut? She searched
her ancient Gaelic vocabulary, but nothing came to her. “What’s a
bliaut?”
“The gown you wear o’er your chemise.”
Clothes that fit the time period. Right.
Victor had warned her that nobody save the giant and two of his men
named Finn and Ramsay knew of their origins. The laird had decided
their cover story was that Victor had been captured in a battle
against the fictitious Banks clan and Veronica, his sister, had
surrendered months later to save his life. Which begged the
question, how in Lachlan’s cover story was she supposed to go from
being his prisoner to his wife? She decided against asking for an
answer, at least for the time being, because it would force the
discussion she was least ready to have.
“Yes,” she said in a faint voice, returning
to his original question. “A nightgown—I mean chemise—would be
nice.”
The laird unfolded his arms and strode
toward the hearth. He petted Hero before picking up a sheer, white
nightgown that left little to the imagination.
This was all a lot to take in. One minute
Veronica had been injecting herself with a time traveling serum in
the hopes of exiting a dying world and the next minute she was a
so-called lady prisoner in a backwards, if thriving world. Victor
might have taught her antiquated Gaelic, but he hadn’t taught her
how to live here. From being whatever a lady was to the ins and
outs of daily life, she had no idea how to fit in.
“Where is my brother?” she asked as Lachlan
pulled away the blankets and told her to raise her arms. She let
out a short shriek. “Hey!”
He grunted, but said nothing as he dressed
her in the flimsy nightgown. He took his time covering her breasts.
His extended stare caused an unexpected pang of arousal to knot in
her belly and harden her nipples. He grunted again, as if pleased
by her reaction to his gaze.
“I’d really like to see my brother,”
Veronica said, desperately trying to change the subject from the
elephant in the room. “Please. It’s been four years.”
Lachlan stilled. His stoic expression was
unfathomable. “Fine,” he snapped at last. “After you’ve eaten your
supper and we’ve come to an understanding.”
She was afraid to ask. She looked him up and
down from the top of his cornrowed head to the tip of his boots.
“An understanding?” she hesitantly inquired.
“Aye. An understanding.”
“And what understanding is that?”
“You are my wife, my new bride. You will
behave thusly in all matters, Lady Gunn.”
Her heart threatened to beat out of her
chest. Her eyes widened. “I thought we were discussing that later?”