Chapter Eight
Emma looked around the room and sighed at the mess from treating the patients who were now on their way. Then she turned her attention to Morgan. After touching his forehead again, she said, “So far it looks like yer fever isna going to torment ye again.”
“Can I leave now?” At least his lips twitched as he said that.
Ignoring his foolish question, she nodded at the large cup of ale on the small table next to him. “Be sure to drink all yer liquids.”
She finished up her work, then picked up her ever-present basket of medicants and supplies and headed to the door. “I will return with yer nooning meal.”
“Then can I leave?”
She slammed the door.
After a quick stop in the kitchen to tell Enoch to check in at the healing hut when he finished up his work in the kitchen to see if there were any new problems, and to gather more herbs to make tisanes she might need, she headed out of the castle to check on a few patients, mostly elderly.
She would also stop at the hut of the mother giving birth and see how that was faring.
Emma once again played over in her mind the words she’d heard when Morgan had first arrived. The reason he had injured himself, jumping from his horse and sliding in the mud, was to save another man from a definite death.
She wished he would heal and leave. She found him distracting.
He certainly was a handsome man with his curly black hair always falling into his deep-brown eyes.
She could resist him most times, but when he smiled, something strange happened to her lower parts, and butterflies took up residence in her stomach.
She shook her head. He was grouchy and a Gunn. She should not be thinking of him as anything other than her patient.
Her enemy patient.
But then, there were the comments he’d made …
She couldn’t help but wonder what things between them would be like if he weren’t a Gunn, and not in her healing hut as a patient, and a possible prisoner. ’Twas best to put that fool thought out of her mind. She had a job to do at Castle Leod as did he at Clyth Castle.
*
It had been several days since Morgan’s fever had finally ended and didn’t seem to be returning. His ribs seemed less sensitive to touch, although they were still tender which meant he could not swing a sword, or even pick one up.
He’d been up a few times with the help of Enoch, but she hadn’t wanted him walking much yet until she was sure of the gash on his leg. Any fall or stumble could open his stitches.
However, he’d been grousing more each day that lying around for so long had left him weak.
He was probably right, and she needed to arrange for him to take short walks. She hated the fact that she might be delaying telling Daniel that Morgan, with his fever gone for so many days and his gash healing nicely, could be moved.
Although she believed Daniel to be a fair and honest man, he was still a laird whose castle had been attacked. That was something that could result in executions.
She shivered just to think about that. If Morgan were thrown into the dungeon, would she be able to just leave him there? Or would she go against her laird and let him out?
She covered her mouth as she yawned, trudging to the healing hut, tired from all the calls she had made that day. And worrying about Morgan and how she’d react to her laird’s potential punishments had made sleep difficult.
She’d found herself tossing and turning, or having dreams that kept her on the shallow edge of sleep.
Morgan shouting during the night hadn’t helped.
It seemed just as she’d finally fall asleep, he’d begin shouting.
The battles he’d endured in his waking life had become battles in his dreams. The dreams weren’t caused by fever, at least. That had gone and come back again so many times she had become concerned.
Though after about four days now, it finally broke and didn’t return. Even after his fever had ended, she had continued to sleep in the hut instead of her bedchamber, afraid he would tumble from the bed, reinjuring his ribs or tearing open his stitches.
She found herself in his bed most mornings when she woke up. That was the only way they both seemed to get decent sleep. Wrapped in each other’s arms.
She opened the door to see the fool mon sitting up, with his legs dangling over the side of the bed as he attempted to push himself off the edge. She was about to shout at him, but realized that might cause him to startle and land on his arse or his wounded leg.
Slowly, she put the evening meal tray down, but even that small noise had him turning too quickly and, within seconds, landing in a lump on the floor.
Emma rushed over to him, dropping to her knees. “What the bluidy hell ’re ye doing?”
He was out of breath from his efforts and he glared at her. “No’ very proper language coming from a lass.”
“Language? Yer lucky I’m not hitting ye over yer stubborn head and tying ye to the bed.”
He took shallow breaths and grinned. His eyes took on that certain look that always affected her heartbeat. “If that is how ye like it, lass, I’ll be more than happy to spend more time in bed tied up.”
Even though she was not fully knowledgeable about relations between men and women, she did know he meant something that should embarrass her. And it did. She felt her face turning red and the flutters in her stomach were now joined with a thumping of her heart.
Morgan reached out and drew his finger down her cheek, then cupped her chin. “Ye are a beautiful woman, Emma Mackenzie.”
Despite them both sprawled on the floor with the chance of anyone entering the hut, he leaned forward and instead of her pushing him away, she waited, studied him as he moved closer and covered her lips with his.
Since Enoch had already taken Morgan to the small creek behind the hut for his daily ablutions earlier in the day, the scent of the soap he’d used surrounded her.
During his bath, he’d shaved his chin and cheeks, so he had no stubble and his lips were full and softer than she’d thought.
He must have picked some mint to chew while outside with Enoch because she could taste the fragrant herb.
He started off slowly, but obviously a man his age certainly knew how to kiss a woman.
He nipped at her lips, then slid his tongue into her mouth, shocking her.
But in an interesting way. She’d had no idea such a thing would cause such a reaction through the rest of her.
The flutters had spread throughout most of her body, adding the need to move closer to Morgan’s familiar warmth. His large hand left her face and his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.
Hearing a noise behind them, she pulled back and covered her mouth with her fingers, her eyes wide.
The door to the healing hut opened and Elizabeth, one of the kitchen maids, entered. “Oh, my goodness, Emma. Did ye both fall?”
“Nay,” Morgan answered, apparently much more composed than she. “I fell out of bed and Emma was trying to see if I made my injury worse.”
Still feeling the heat in her face, Emma stood and brushed off her skirts. “I shall get one of the men to help ye back up.” Before he could answer, she scooted off and hurried from the room.
Whatever was wrong with her? Morgan Gunn was a prisoner. Well, mayhap not a prisoner, but an enemy who had attacked their castle and was recovering from a serious injury.