Chapter 5
Sunny woke, then wished she’d stayed asleep. She felt dreadful, as if every cell in her body had been put through a grinder. She groaned as she tried to make herself more comfortable, then opened her eyes gingerly to see where she was and what had happened to her.
Determining the second was easier. She had been taken to a lake and drowned.
Well, obviously not completely drowned because she was alive, but the fact that she was still breathing air instead of water was probably an accident.
She thought back further to the events that had led to her little unintended snorkeling trip.
She had woken at some point close to dawn after a night spent sleeping in the kitchen and found herself overpowered.
She had used every trick Patrick had taught her, broken a nose or two, and left several other men on the ground, clutching their groins, but there had been just too many men too determined to see if she really was a witch to get away from them all.
It had never made sense to her, that whole business of dunking a woman to see if she was a witch.
If a woman drowned, then she was innocent—but dead.
If she floated, then she was a witch and they drowned her anyway—and she was still dead.
Perhaps logic wasn’t much of a requirement in the Middle Ages.
She supposed that someone had rescued her, finally, which was why she found herself in a bed instead of at the bottom of the loch. But who was that gallant soul?
And why was she naked?
She looked up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, so it was a safe bet she wasn’t in a villager’s house.
She turned her head and saw the fireplace set into the wall.
That was the same fireplace she’d knelt in front of when she’d been trying to tend Breac mac Cameron.
He was no longer there, so perhaps they had buried him already.
There was a servant girl sleeping there now.
Sunny looked at her for a moment or two, then realized they weren’t alone.
Someone shifted in a chair that sat to the left of the hearth.
She took a deep breath, then looked to see who it was.
Robert Francis Cameron mac Cameron was leaning back in that chair with his arms folded over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles, watching her. He looked absolutely exhausted.
Too bad it took nothing away from his handsomeness.
She looked at his feet because looking at his face made her feel not only a little weak in the knees but extremely conspicuous lying in his bed, again, stark naked.
His feet were shod in rather rustic but imminently functional brown boots.
They were very worn, though, as if he didn’t have the luxury of running into Inverness to Marks & Spencer for a new pair.
The haft of a knife stuck out of each of those boots.
That was nothing she hadn’t seen before in Patrick’s family, nor were the bare knees that weren’t nearly covered enough by a rustic looking plaid—a very rustic plaid, actually, though the Cameron’s clothes were nicer than she would have expected.
The bedchamber she was lying in was sturdy and well built, and the bed actually quite comfortable.
Perhaps the Camerons were better off than most.
Then again, perhaps she just didn’t have all that much experience with medieval lairds still living in their medieval surroundings.
She took a deep, steadying breath, then allowed herself the pleasure of looking at his face. She found herself rather glad, all things considered, to be lying down.
He was just stunning—and she wasn’t unaccustomed to good-looking men.
James MacLeod was very attractive. His cousin Ian just as easy on the eye.
Patrick MacLeod made the word gorgeous hang its head in shame at the thought of applying itself to him.
She’d stared at those faces for over a year and become accustomed to being in the presence of absolute male beauty.
So why was it she could hardly look at Cameron mac Cameron without having her mouth go dry?
His dark hair hung down to his shoulders, framing a face made up of features that were softened just enough to make them handsome and not sharp.
His eyes were so blue, she could tell their color from across the room.
And his mouth . . . well, it was just a marvel.
She was half tempted to crawl out of bed and go over to touch it.
That mouth quirked up on one side. “Finished, lass?”
She met his amused gaze. “Fever,” she said promptly. “I’m delirious.”
“No doubt,” he said with a smile. He yawned hugely, rubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head sharply. He got to his feet and stretched, then started across the room. “I think you’re whole. I have business.”
“Wait,” she said, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her throat. “Where are you going?”
He stopped and looked down at her. “Out.”
“Where are my clothes?”
“Burned.”
She retrieved her jaw from where it had fallen. “Who took them off me?”
He leaned against the foot post of his bed and looked at her mildly. “I did.”
“But—”
“I didn’t look at you whilst I was at it.”
“You didn’t?” she asked in surprise.
“Well,” he said, dragging the word out quite a while, “no more than a polite glance or two.”
She felt unaccountably and uncomfortably hot. She would have put her hands to her cheeks, but that would have meant letting go of her sheet and that would have drawn attention to the fact that she was still completely without any clothes.
Cameron nodded toward a trunk in the corner. A dress lay draped over it. “That’s for you.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling vastly relieved. “Thank you.”
He pushed away from the post and started toward the door. He put his hand on it, then stopped and looked at her. “Are you whole, in truth?”
“I’ll live,” she managed. “I have you to thank for the rescue, don’t I?”
“You do.” He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t believe in witches, as it happens.”
"Yet you rode onto MacLeod land and fetched me.”
“I do believe in healers.” He studied her for a moment or two. “Are you a MacLeod?”
She pulled the covers up closer to her chin. “Are you fighting the MacLeods?”
“No more than usual, I suppose,” he said with a smile.
She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or not. “I’m not actually a MacLeod by birth,” she admitted. “My sister is wed to one and they accepted me because of it. The laird is pleased with my knowledge of herbs.” She paused. “I’m sorry that knowledge didn’t serve your brother.”
“He was dead the moment the sword pierced him. Besides, there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there?” He looked at her thoughtfully. “If you’re not a MacLeod, what are you?”
“A Phillips, though I’m actually a MacKenzie by blood.” She looked at him quickly. “Are you at war with MacKenzies?”
“The MacKenzies are too far away to trouble ourselves over, so I suppose you’re safe.” He leaned his shoulder against the door and folded his arms over his chest. “Does your sister call you Sunshine or does she have a pet name for you?”
“Sunny.”
“Sunny,” he repeated. He smiled at her for a moment or two, then straightened abruptly. He turned away and opened the door. “Take the clothes. I’m sure you’ll want to get home today.”
He walked out the door and slammed it shut behind him before she could say anything else.
Sunny put her hands to her cheeks and found that they were very warm indeed. Fever, no doubt, not the fact that she was blushing furiously. Or at least she had been a moment ago. Now, she was rather cold.
She surely hadn’t expected that Robert Cameron would have wanted to keep her, but his abrupt departure wasn’t exactly flattering.
Well, she had no business looking twice at a medieval laird—no matter what he had done for her.
He felt responsible for bringing her to his keep, no doubt, and hadn’t wanted her death on his hands.
But now she was alive and she was finished in the past. There was no time like the present to get back to her future.
She considered the complete improbability of that thought, then pushed it aside. She would philosophize later, when she was sitting in front of Moraig’s hearth with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. She might even go so far as to borrow some marsh-mallows from Madelyn.
She managed to get her feet on the floor, but had to sit there for several minutes until her head stopped spinning. She finally got up and staggered toward the opposite side of the room. The girl lying before the fire leaped up and rushed over to her.
“Let me aid you, my lady,” she said, taking Sunny by the arm.
Sunny was grateful for the help. She let the girl help her the rest of the way across the chamber, then sat on the trunk while the girl pulled the dress over her head.
It was a little disconcerting to be without any sort of underwear, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Besides, she wouldn’t be there long enough for it to be a problem. She looked at the teenager.
“Thank you, ah . . .”
“Brianna, my lady.”
“Thank you, Brianna,” Sunny said gratefully. “I’m not very steady yet.”
“The fever was hard upon you,” Brianna said. “Laird Cameron was worried, though I dinna suppose he’ll show it. He never left your side, my lady. Well,” she amended, “he did, but only to bury his brothers.”
Sunny closed her eyes briefly. She couldn’t imagine having to bury her sister with her own two hands. It was no wonder those MacLeod men were tough as flint when this was the reality they had grown up with.
Once her head had cleared enough to allow her to get up, she thanked Brianna again for her help, then shuffled across the room. She shut the door behind her and made her way down the passageway. It took her an appalling amount of time to get down the stairs, but she managed them as well.