Chapter Nine
Morgan drew up his good leg and rested his forearm on his knee.
Bollocks, that had been a bad idea. After spending so much time with Emma, and not only admiring her bonny face and curvy body, he’d also been taken in by her kindness and bit of spirit when she came back at him.
No weak lass was his healer Emma Mackenzie.
His?
Whoever the maid had been that interrupted them walked closer to him. “I canno’ help ye up, but do ye want me to bring yer evening meal tray over from the table Emma left it on?”
Tray? He was still trying to calm his body down and was grateful for time to do so while Emma was out of the hut and wouldn’t see how she had affected him.
He smirked. “Nay, I’ll wait until I’m off the floor.”
The maid blushed. “Of course.” She dipped in a curtsy and left the room. Minutes later, the door opened and Emma and Enoch entered.
With the three of them they got Morgan back on his feet and onto his bed. Emma glared at him. “I hope ye dinna cause damage to yer stitches.”
She turned to Enoch. “Thank ye, lad. I spoke to the laird once more and he said ye should be free to join me all the time in a couple of days.”
Enoch nodded and left the hut. Emma picked up the tray of food she’d brought for Morgan and placed it on the table next to him.
With just the two of them in the hut again, he noticed Emma seemed a bit uncomfortable and kept her distance from him. “Once I am back from eating my evening meal, I will help ye up and let ye walk a bit.”
“Outside?”
She thought for a minute. “Aye.”
He picked up a piece of bread and then grinned, wanting to see the redness on her cheeks again, even if this time it was from annoyance. “Then I can return to Clyth Castle?”
She sighed and her serious expression wasn’t the one he’d been trying to cajole from her. She was concerned for him, he realized. “Please stop asking me that. I will ken when I feel it’s safe for ye to return.
“However, remember, that is no’ my decision. Right now ye are considered a prisoner of Laird Daniel Mackenzie. He will be the one to decide if and when ye can return.”
She shook her head slowly. Was that sympathy he saw there? “My job is to make sure ye keep from damaging yer ribs more and seeing that the gash is healed enough for me to feel comfortable in declaring my work finished.”
He shrugged. “What would be the point if I will be thrown into the dungeon once ye are finished?”
Emma stopped examining him and looked into his eyes. “I canno’ speak for the laird but I know him to be a fair mon, as well as a smart one. I believe he would no’ allow ye to be under my care these two weeks if that was his intention once ye are healed.”
He shrugged. “Mayhap yer laird intends to ransom me. Although, I doubt my uncle would spend one coin to set me free, even though I am his heir.”
It bothered Morgan, because as laird there were so many things that he would do with the Gunn clan that needed doing. His uncle was stingy with the tenants, the very people who supported the castle.
The man continued to raise their rents, which left many of the larger families struggling to feed their bairns.
True, Morgan didn’t have access to the clan books to see what the income and spending was, but he had a strong suspicion that plenty of the clan’s coin went for his uncle’s whisky and his trips to Edinburgh to play the puffed-up Laird of Clan Gunn.
He pulled his attention back to Emma who got close enough to pat his hand. “Ye need to concern yerself with keeping yer stitches from tearing. I have no idea what the laird will do, but as I said, I do ken him to be a fair and honest mon.” She smiled.
Immediately, the muscles in his stomach tightened at her smile. Most of the times he’d gazed into her deep-blue eyes with the long, dark lashes, he’d managed to stop himself from reacting to her strength and beauty.
He thought of the time he’d crossed the line and felt her warm, moist lips against his, the softness of her mouth, and the places within that caused a visible reaction in her. He could no longer see her just as his healer.
In addition to erasing memories of the other Emma, which he had been somewhat successful in dismissing, he also had to erase the memory of holding this Emma’s warm, soft body in his arms as they’d slept.
Never having slept with a lass in his arms, it was surprising to him how easily he and Emma sleeping together had become so normal.
He didn’t want her to have any effect on him. And it wasn’t just because of her name. They were enemies.
St. Bridget’s toes. His clan had apparently staged a fake attack so his uncle could kidnap a married woman and force her marriage to be annulled.
What he didn’t understand was the role the Sinclair played in this.
Megan Mackenzie wasn’t his blood niece, but once Robert Sinclair died, the Sinclair had apparently assumed not only the laird role, but also responsibility for the lass, which gave him the right to arrange another marriage for her.
With his uncle being of an old age, there must have been some reason why the Sinclair agreed to a marriage between Megan and the Gunn.
While he’d been ruminating, Emma had been studying him carefully. What was she looking for? Could he give it to her?