Chapter Five
Morgan felt as though he was standing in Hell, which was where he’d always assumed he would be one day. He opened his eyes to see Emma crushing leaves in a bowl. “Why is it so hot in here?”
Emma turned and hurried over to him. She placed her hand on his forehead and shook her head. “Yer fever is no’ coming down.”
He frowned. “Then fix it, healer.”
She rested her hands on her hips. “I canno’ ‘fix it,’ patient. Yer body has to do that. Ye need liquids and a cool bath. But a grumpy attitude isn’t going to help.”
He grinned at her. “I would feel a great deal better if ye are the one giving me a cool bath.”
His grin grew wider as the flush moved from the top of her kirtle to her forehead. Why he enjoyed teasing her was a question he refused to consider. After all, she was an Emma.
Despite her obvious body’s reaction, she chose to ignore his words, and raising her chin, said, “I will see if Enoch from the kitchen who helped me before can assist ye, and we’ll need a few of the lads who work in the castle to carry buckets of water from the creek.”
He almost suggested he go to the creek instead when he remembered he couldn’t walk with the gash and bruised ribs, which twisted his stomach, causing the oatcake he had earlier to almost travel back up to his mouth.
He turned his head away from her and said to the wall, “Then unless yer plan is to have me die from the fever, I suggest ye do that.”
Obviously grinding her teeth, Emma closed the door a tad more enthusiastically than necessary. Once again he berated himself for snapping at her. She was a kind, considerate woman and from what he’d seen, a capable healer.
After all, he was her clan’s enemy, and he was here in her care because his clan attacked their castle to kidnap one of their clan members. He was lucky they hadn’t thrown him in the dungeon and left him there to rot.
He tried to tell himself it was the pain and the lack of a future that had him acting this way, but he knew in his heart he was fighting the attraction he felt for the healer. If he could keep her angry with him, he would not have to worry about Emma.
Emma.
*
It took her a while to have a few lads to lug the water from the creek to the healing hut and for Enoch to be released from his duties so he could place Morgan in the tub.
She hadn’t done it often, usually just wiping the patient down with cloths was enough, but she was concerned with this injury.
She needed to continue to monitor Morgan’s leg and give more attention to his ribs.
However, right now the fever was the priority.
She had directed Enoch and the lads on where to set up the bath and then left to eat her noon meal and bring food back to Morgan. “Be sure to keep his leg out of the water,” she added as she left.
“How is yer patient doing?” Daniel asked as Emma took a seat at the table next to the laird.
Normally she wouldn’t sit with the laird and his family, but with the warriors taking their break the hall was quite filled up, so Daniel had waved her over.
Plus, she thought he wanted more information about her patient.
“The main problem is assessing the bruised ribs and the infection that just started on the deep gash on his leg.”
Daniel shook his head. “We should dump him in a wagon and drag him back to Gunn Castle and let their healer take care of him.”
“Daniel!” His wife, Beth, frowned at him. “If ye are going to kill the mon, just do it, but doona drag him around with crushed ribs, a serious gash, and a fever.”
He nodded. “Aye, wife, as always ye offer good advice. I’ll plunge a dirk into his heart when I am done with my meal.”
Both Beth and Emma gasped. “Ye will no’ plunge a dirk into my patient,” Emma said.
Daniel smiled. “I was just making a joke, lass.” His smile quickly turned into a frown. “However, once the mon is on the mend, it will be necessary to speak with him.”
She heard Beth say under her breath, “Be nice, husband.”
Emma finished her meal and went to the kitchen to have a tray made up for Morgan. She’d had Jemima make a bone broth and placed a bowl of it with a piece of bread onto the tray. With a fever, it might be difficult to get him to eat, but the food would help start the healing process.
Morgan appeared to be asleep when she entered the room. The tub of water sat near the fire and after looking at her patient it appeared he’d had his bath. She felt his forehead, which was warm, but not as hot as before.
He opened his eyes. “Did I die and go to heaven? It seems they sent the bonniest angel to show me the way. And here I thought I’d be sent to Hell.”
She couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips and felt something warm spread in her middle.
Then she chastised herself. Why did that statement affect her?
This mon was her enemy. His clan had taken her da’s life.
’Twas better when Morgan was grousing at her.
She didn’t want to like him. Or find him attractive.
Even though she did.
What she was having a hard time with was how quickly he switched his moods. One minute he was charming and the next he was grouchy.
She took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, Gunn, this is no’ heaven and I am no’ an angel. However, I did bring ye food. Nothing heavy, just broth and bread.”
He shifted a bit so he could see her better. “If ye expect me to get better, ye need to feed me more than bairn’s food.”
She shook her head. “Ye sound like Adair Mckenzie. Ye have had a serious injury and now ye’ve a high fever. ’Tis better to give ye food that is easy on yer stomach for a day or two.”
Morgan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The seriousness of his voice and the fear etched on his face tightened the muscles in her stomach.
“Lass, I’m a warrior. I need the use of my arms and legs. ’Tis verra important to me that I am able to swing a sword and stand on two solid legs.”
He reached out and took her hand, his eyes widening, as something strange and unknown passed between them. They stared at each other, and Emma’s heart began to pound.
Suddenly this handsome, frightened mon became just another patient, not the enemy. Truth be known, Morgan Gunn was not just another patient either, but one who was able to throw her senses and feelings into a spin.
Feeling a bit confused, she pulled her hand away.
“I am doing my best for ye, but bruised ribs take a while to heal and the gash on yer leg is causing yer fever, and honestly giving me some concern. That could take quite a while to heal since ’tis a deep cut.
Now, ye need to eat and then I have a tisane for ye to drink that will ease ye. ”
“Nay. I doona want a tisane.” He shook his head and offered her a slow, little-boy smile and winked. “Now if ye bring me some of that whisky ye dumped on my leg, that would help with the pain and make me sleep. Or do other interesting things.”
“Ye’d no’ be able to do ‘interesting’ things in the shape y’er in.” She couldn’t help grinning at the mon again. No doubt he used that charm on all the lasses. But she couldn’t let him work it on her.
“Ye are a sassy lass.” He narrowed his eyes and his smile faded. “And it appears ye ken too much about what I just said. Are ye married, then?”
“Nay.” She huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “But now we need to concentrate on ye healing. Ye need to eat before I can give ye the tisane.”
This mon was able to distract her in a way that had never happened to her before. She’d helped many warriors over the years, but to her they were just patients.
And she needed to remember that was exactly what Morgan Gunn was.
*
Morgan watched Emma Mackenzie stride from the room. No sashaying or gently gliding along for her. She was all business. Yet she still managed to tempt him with the sway of her generous hips.
He must truly be bored if he was casting his eyes in the direction of a woman named Emma. Although ’twas a better pastime than thinking about his future. If he could no’ continue on with Second-in-Command to the Gunn, he had no idea what he would do for the rest of his life.
How would he earn a living?
How would he take a wife and raise a family, which was something he had always planned to do one day?
And what would happen to him if the Gunn passed away and Morgan became the laird? Unable to swing his sword or limping from a poorly healed gash on his leg? Who would honor and respect him as laird of the Gunn clan?
He managed to get the broth down without spilling too much, but he would be cursed before he would ask Emma to help him with it. The bread was tasty, but there simply was not enough of it.
The door to the healing hut opened and a woman entered, her hand wrapped around the upper arm of a lad about eleven winters. After looking around, she said, “Where is Emma?”
The lad had tracks of dirt down his face from crying, along with a growing black eye and blood tricking down his chin from his lip and nose. ’Twas obvious he’d been in a fight.
“She is no’ here right now, but I doona think she will be gone long.” He had no idea why he was getting involved with those who came to the healing hut. He was a patient.
In pain.
Still hungry.
And a Gunn.
The enemy.
The woman leaned down to the lad and although he didn’t hear her words, from the sound of her voice she was very angry.
Emma entered a few minutes later and turned her attention to the woman with the lad.
“Emma, ye must take a look at Alasdair’s nose. I think the fool lad broke it in a fight with Daniel.” The woman glared at her son. “Again.”
Emma looked at the lad and shook her head as she moved him near the window with better light.
Morgan enjoyed watching Emma work. She was truly a gifted healer. Her manner with her patients was interesting to watch. She had both the mom and the lad calmed down by the time she assessed the damage and pronounced his nose not broken, but bruised.
Both left the healing hut with a smile on their faces. The door no sooner closed then Enoch from the kitchen came in. “Did ye speak with the laird about my training?”
Emma wiped her hands dry on a clean linen and smiled at the lad. “Aye. I dinna have a great deal of time to speak with him, but he said after talking to Jemima he thought training with me was a good idea.”
The lad grinned.
Emma glanced over at Morgan, and then looked at Enoch. “Ye can start yer training by gently turning Morgan over—be careful of his ribs—so I can see how the gash on his leg looks.”
The lad would probably make a good healer. His gentle touch caused very little pain in his ribs. He wasn’t happy to hear Emma draw in a deep breath when she looked at his leg.
“What?” he said.
“I had hoped to see yer injury looking better, but ’tis still a bit swollen and red.” She placed her hand on his back. “However, cuts like this, which was quite deep, could take longer than ye would like to heal.”