Chapter Four
I WAS NOT ONLY ALLOWED but also expected to remain at Wilkie’s side, as he was taken to his chambers and treated by the healer.
His chambers were large and, as expected, luxurious.
Heavy furs hung at the windows to protect against the night breeze, which was becoming more biting with each passing day.
A fire had been laid in a grand stone fireplace and crackled pleasantly, casting orange light.
Wilkie’s bed was supported by four vertical carved wooden beams that reached to the ceiling and were hung with thick embroidered curtains, pulled back now, so the healer could attend to his injury.
I took my place in a chair by the fire as Wilkie’s attendants inspected and cleaned his wound. I was so exhausted, I could have slept in the hard wooden seat. My eyelids felt heavy, and I struggled to keep myself from drifting.
Kade and the laird hung back, watching the healer attend to their brother. In a flurry of commotion, two younger women rushed through the door, frantic with the news of Wilkie’s return. His sisters, it was easy to see, with their dark hair and blue eyes.
“Wilkie,” one of them gasped, pressing her hand to his brow. “He’s fevered,” she said.
“He’s alive, and home,” said the other sister, “and strong as an ox. He’ll be fine.” She adjusted his furs with extreme care, fussing over him.
I envied him, his family close around him, wrenching concern etched onto their faces.
The slightly taller sister, whose hair was as black as Wilkie’s, addressed the healer. “Effie, how severe are his injuries?”
“Quite severe,” replied Effie. “Who stitched this?” she asked the laird.
“’Twas the lass here,” the laird said. “Roses.” All eyes moved to me, but I was too tired to take much notice of their scrutiny, which soon shifted back to Wilkie.
Effie gave a noise that suggested she was mildly impressed.
“It can remain in place. The wound itself has begun to heal. In fact, the quick stitching probably saved his life. ’Tis a nasty wound indeed.
” She cleaned and bound Wilkie’s torso, then she prescribed a drink of cooled willowbark tea, which she scooped from a pot with a wooden goblet.
But when the women tried to hold his head to make him drink, he swiped the goblet away, sending it flying across the room where it struck the stone wall.
“You must take the drink, Wilkie,” Effie instructed him in a loud voice, as though he was deaf rather than fevered. But when they tried again, his reaction was even more violent, and his body began to thrash in agitation as he groaned with the pain of his own unrest.
“Roses,” the laird said, signaling for me to go to Wilkie. “You try.”
Uneasy under the room’s collective gaze, I walked to Wilkie’s bed. He lay in the middle of the expanse, so I had to climb up to sit next to him. I put my face close to his. “Warrior, you must drink. Let me hold the cup for you. It will cool your throat.”
He turned his face toward me but didn’t open his eyes. “Ach,” he barely whispered, a slow smile touching his mouth. “My angel has come to me.”
Effie handed me the goblet. I held Wilkie’s head, lifting him until his lips touched the rim. “Here it is. Take your drink, warrior,” I crooned. “That’s it, and a little more.”
He drank until the cup was empty.
“Stay with me,” he said drowsily. “Right here, where I can feel you.”
“Aye, warrior.”
I laid his head back on his pillow, more peaceful now.
I made a move to slide off the bed, but Wilkie looped a large, muscular arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
I tried to pry his fingers gently loose, attempting to unwrap his arm from around my hips where I lay practically on top of him.
But Wilkie immediately began to protest, pulling me back to him and securing his hold around me, even more tightly.
Through the haze of his fever, he murmured my name and other words of endearment that brought heat to my face, and elsewhere.
The laird and Kade noticed my blush, which only worsened its effect.
I leaned up to Wilkie, whispering assurances close to his ear that I was still here, that I wouldn’t leave him. He quieted and loosened his hold, allowing me to sit. But I was still locked decisively in his ironclad grip.
“He requires rest,” announced Effie. She contemplated my placement next to Wilkie and the entwined clasp of our fingers. “The lassie looks dead on her feet. Would you like me to find a bed for her, Laird Mackenzie?”
Wilkie’s words were slurred but quite emphatic for a man infirmed. “She’ll sleep here. With me.”
At this, Kade chuckled quietly.
But the laird did not appear to be quite as amused. “She can sleep in the women’s chambers, and be brought to you on the morrow.”
This information appeared disagreeable enough to rouse Wilkie momentarily from his fugue. His eyes barely opened, and his voice was husked with illness, but he spoke clearly enough to be understood. “I need her. She keeps the darkness at bay.”
“Wilkie,” said the laird, and his voice was firm, as though he was confident he could talk some sense into his delusional brother.
“Be reasonable. The lass is neither a figment of your imagination nor is she a captive. In fact we know next to nothing about who, indeed, the lass is—a mystery I aim to get to the bottom of as soon as she is rested. She’ll sleep in the extra bed in Christie’s chambers and we can all meet and discuss what’s to be done in the morning. Now—”
“Nay!” Wilkie’s voice sounded almost panicked, and his grasp grew stronger as he attempted to rise into a sitting position.
“You’ll not take her. She’s mine.” But the pain in his side speared him, and he flinched, clenching my fingers all the while in a vise-grip, and fell back onto his pillows.
Shocked by the agonized sound he made, I used my hands to gently hold him in place.
“Please, warrior,” I urged him, wiping away a tear from my cheek. “Sleep now. Don’t damage yourself further. The moment I’m allowed to return to you, I will.”
The lingering agony was taking its toll; Wilkie’s eyes were directed at me even as he spoke to his brother, and they were heavy-lidded as he slurred from the effects of the strong brew he’d been given.
“I’ll die. The sight of her. Her touch...
She heals me like no medicine could. Let her...
Roses. Angel.” His voice faded as he struggled to retain consciousness.
His grip on my body loosened as he succumbed to sleep.
“The man’s taken total leave of his senses, to be sure,” Kade said lightly, but he was watching Wilkie with worry.
One of the sisters spoke then. “Let me get some furs and make up the bed in Wilkie’s adjoining chambers.
Please, Knox. Roses can sleep in there, in case he awakens and calls to her.
” We hadn’t been formally introduced, but she’d clearly surmised my name during the proceedings.
She sounded as if she’d already accepted Wilkie’s pleas and would do all she could to accommodate them.
“Aye,” said the other sister, eager excitement written into her features at the prospect of scandal.
“I’ll sleep with her if you like, so she’ll be chaperoned.
You must agree, Knox. There’s no need to agitate Wilkie further by removing Roses completely from his chambers when it’s clearly against his wishes.
He’s obviously taken an attachment to her.
And we must do everything we can to speed his recovery. ”
Laird Mackenzie looked thoroughly irritated by the situation, but perhaps he was concerned enough about his brother’s obvious distress to make allowances.
He glanced once at Kade, who shrugged and said, “’Tis a reasonable suggestion.
We don’t want unnecessary agitation to worsen his condition.
We can check in on them from time to time. ”
The laird’s glance rested on me for a moment, as though attempting to read my motives.
“I suppose we could.” With a heavy sigh, he said, “All right, then. Ailie, you make up the beds. Christie, you’ll sleep with Roses.
Effie, you’ll see to the lass—the shoulder of her tunic is stained with fresh blood.
She appears to be injured. You’ll tend to the lass’s wound.
Kade, you’ll check in at regular intervals during the night. ”
Once, it might have occurred to me to question or protest this blatantly inappropriate scenario of sleeping in the adjoining chambers of a man, and one I barely knew.
In fact, I felt wildly relieved. I wouldn’t be cast out.
And I could be near him, this warrior whose blood had mingled with my own and whose eyes and mouth and fingers had already provoked a longing in me that I could neither explain nor deny.
Effie began to gather her equipment.
One of Wilkie’s sisters went ahead, through the door of the adjoining chambers, and the other helped me extricate myself from Wilkie’s grip. She took my arm. “Come, Roses. We’ll show you to your bed.”
“First,” said Kade, “we’ll divest you of your weapons.”
The abundant weaponry slung across his body, along with his size and slightly wild-eyed look, was wholly daunting as he approached me. I did as he asked. I removed my belt, holding it out, along with my small sword and knife. Kade grabbed the lot.
I remembered Laird Ogilvie’s officers’ passing descriptions, then, of the Mackenzies. Lethal. Armed to the teeth.
Aye, Kade Mackenzie was armed to the teeth. But his blue eyes appeared more curious than cutting; he seemed mildly intrigued by this unusual turn of events and at Wilkie’s sudden desire to have me close. “Your weapons,” he said, “will remain in our care.”