“Not feeling well, m’lady?” As gently as he could, he touched her face. By the saints, she was burning up. He’d seen more than one person die of a fever, and he did not want to consider such a fate for his bonny Sassenach angel.

“No,” she whispered on an uneven, intake of breath. “Would you have Tessie bring me willow bark steeped in hot water?”

“Aye, that I will.” Thanks be to God, she was well enough to ask for whatever medicine she needed. He instructed MacDade to fetch Tessie along with the willow bark tea. Something could be done to help her and she would be well soon. Alasdair willed it to be so.

Rory stood by, squirming. His wide blue gaze darted back and forth. The appearance of the tiny boy, so silent and alone reminded Alasdair of how he’d felt as a child when his own mother had been deathly ill.

“Come here, lad.” If he couldn’t do anything right away to help Gwyneth, he’d do what he could for her son.

Rory hung his head and crept forward.

Alasdair bent, picked him up and held him on one arm. The lad weighed no more than a full-grown squirrel.

“Don’t fash about your ma. She will be well soon.”

Rory nodded and buried his face against Alasdair’s neck. He hoped to God the lad wouldn’t cry. He didn’t think he could abide it with a dry eye.

Lachlan sent him a curious, lifted-brow look, along with a tiny grin.

“Rory and I have been friends since I awoke mangled up in the cattle byre, have we not?”

The child nodded and lifted his head to peer around with watery eyes. Saints, the lad near broke his heart.

“Rory, this is my younger brother, Lachlan. He’s a right nice sort of fellow most of the time. But sometimes he’s a pain in the rump.”

“Och. My thanks to you, dear brother,” Lachlan retorted.

Rory allowed a tiny grin.

“A pleasure to meet you, Rory.” Lachlan shook his hand.

The lad averted his gaze, then glanced at the bed where his ma lay, worry again paling his face.

“Lachlan knows a fair bit about swords, daggers, claymores and such, do you not, Lachlan?” Alasdair asked.

“Aye.”

“’Haps you could show Rory your collection.”

Lachlan frowned.

“Rory has a fondness for such things.” He gave his brother a meaningful look.

“Ah, very well then.”

Alasdair set Rory on his feet. Lachlan took his hand and led him from the room. Lachlan looked right at home, leading the lad around. He had two sons of his own he carted about on occasion, when he brought them up from the village. Bastards to be sure, but Lachlan claimed them as his own and loved them.

Alasdair turned back to the bed at the same time Tessie rushed into the room with the willow bark in hot water.

“Good, I’m glad you’re here.”

“M’laird.” Tessie gave a brief curtsy.

“This will help her recover, I’m certain,” he said with the strongest conviction he could muster.

The girl turned wide eyes on him. She looked no older than a child, herself. “I pray it will.”

He nodded and forced himself to rebuild the fire when all he wanted to do was touch Gwyneth, hold her hand.

“Here, Gwyneth, drink this,” Tessie whispered behind him.

He prayed that another woman he was getting used to having around wouldn’t desert him.

Chapter Six

Gwyneth awoke with a start and a clear mind. Her sweat-dampened clothing clung to her skin. Overheated as if she lay in an oven, she shoved the covers down. Claws of soreness sank into every muscle of her body. She stilled, praying the pain would go away. Her gaze landed on the sole light in the room, the fire in the hearth. The faint but bitter scent of peat and wood smoke filled the room. Heavy rain blew against a glass window.

Where am I?

The glow from the flames revealed the carved bed draped in velvet. Alasdair’s guest room.

She glanced aside and found him sitting in a chair by the bed. Good heavens! What was he doing here? All her muscles tensed with shooting needles of pain. Then she noticed his eyes were closed, and his head rested against the back of the chair. It reminded her of the eve she’d found him injured on the battlefield, passed out. Somehow, she’d known then he was an unusual man. A leader who craved peace had to be a caring man. She could never grow tired of looking at him. Long dark hair framed a ruggedly appealing face. His jaw clenched hard, and she thought she heard his teeth grinding together.

But this was no romantic interlude. Danger and treachery lurked about everywhere, in her clan as well as this one. Someone here had tried to kill her after all. Ignoring the soreness, she sat up and glanced about. Rory wasn’t in bed beside her. Where was he? Maybe Tessie was watching after him. She slid toward the edge of the bed to find out.

At her motion, the bed creaked.

Alasdair awoke and straightened. “M’lady?” His gaze searched her face, then dropped to her arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She gently touched her injured arm. “But still sore. Where’s Rory?”

“My cousin’s wife is caring for him. No need to worry. She’s very trustworthy.”

“Good. I thank you.” A bit of relief eased her tense muscles.

Leaning forward, he examined her closely in the dimness. “The fever is gone, then?”

“Yes.” Tugging the coverlet up again in modesty, she realized she needed to change out of her sweat-drenched smock.

Before she knew what he was about, he reached out and placed his hand on her forehead. He skimmed warm, raspy fingertips down to her cheek while his sharp, observant gaze searched her face. His frown remained in place a long moment.

She forgot to breathe beneath the caring, yet seemingly desperate, ministrations of his hand.

“Thanks be to God.” He shoved himself out of the chair and grabbed his cane. “Are you hungry?”

Before she could answer, he wrenched open the door and bellowed a command to someone in the corridor. “Have Tessie bring porridge and milk.” He eased the door closed and sent Gwyneth a sheepish glance.

Milk? What was she, a child? And his order had made the food sound like a life or death necessity. She hid a smile behind the coverlet and her drawn-up knees. She had never encountered a man such as Alasdair.

He poked at the fire and added a bit of peat. Long moments passed while he stared at the flames, the only noise the popping of the sparks. Finally, her curiosity overcame her.

“What are you doing in here?” Without doubt the clan would gossip about their chief’s highly unusual activity of caring for a sick woman of the enemy clan.

He cast a dubious look over his shoulder. “Making sure you were recovering. Did you do any less for me?”

She shook her head, remembering the night she’d lain in the byre beside him when he’d had a fever. Surely it wasn’t the same. She was a healer; he wasn’t. Had he applied a cool cloth to her hot forehead? She could not imagine it.

He seemed intent on coaxing the fire into throwing off more heat, though the room was sweltering.

“What of the two women in the dungeon?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t done something drastic.

“They remain imprisoned,” he said in a hard tone. “I held off deciding their fates until I knew you lived.”

A knock sounded at the door. When Alasdair opened it, Tessie entered with a tray of food.

“I’ll be next door if you should need anything,” he said.

She didn’t know whether she was glad or disappointed that he’d suddenly decided to take his leave.

“I thank you,” she told him before he disappeared. “And I thank you as well, Tessie. You are a blessing.”

“You’re welcome. I’m pleased to see you feeling better.” She set the wooden tray laden with food on Gwyneth’s lap. The delightful smells made her stomach grumble.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to fetch me so many things.”