Page 15 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Arran rolled onto his side and Dahlia leaned in to dab a smudge of arnica on his forehead.

“Ow! Lass, be gentle.”

“Iambeing gentle. Dinnae complain.” She giggled. “Ye really are a sight tae behold, Arran Mackinnon. What with yer arse allstitched up and ye looking like a hen has laid her egg on yer head.”

He huffed, but then his mouth quirked in a grin. Before long he was giggling with her. “I daresay I am a sight, lying here as helpless as a babe.”

She gave him a long look. “I cannae consider ye’d ever be helpless. By me reckoning, lump or nae, ye’d be on yer feet and fighting if needs be.” Glancing again at the scar on his chest she couldn’t help wondering…

“I’d feel better if I was again fully clad.” He reached for her hand. “Can I ask ye tae dae me a wee favor?”

“Hmm. It depends on what ye’re asking.”

“I’ve a clean shirt in one of me saddlebags. If ye could go tae the horses, mayhap see tae it that the poor creatures have water tae drink. Seek out the shirt and bring it tae me.”

“All right.” Dahlia got to her feet. “But ye must promise ye’ll nae fall asleep.”

He yawned. “I’ll dae me best, but I’m mighty tired. Me eyes are closing of their own accord.”

“Well, keep them open until I come back with yer shirt.”

She hurried out of the cottage and hastened across to the spot where the horses were tethered. When she got there, she spied young Morag with a bucket of water offering Dahlia’s mare a drink.

“Thank ye, wee lass. That is right kind of ye.”

The child ran her small fingers along the mare’s forehead. “I love horses,” she said with a sigh. Dahlia undid the buckle on one of Arran’s saddle bags and withdrew the contents. She found several rolled-up items of clothing including britches and a freshly-laundered shirt.

When she returned to Elspaith’s cottage she found Arran dozing and elbowed him awake. “Ye’re nae tae sleep, Mackinnon.” She held up the shirt. “Here put this on.”

He managed to sit and raise his arms while she lowered the shirt over his head, enabling him to place his arms into the sleeves. She tied the laces before he lay down on his side and closed his eyes again.

She gave his shoulder a gentle shake and his eyes shot open.

“Ye told me ye were nae a cruel lass,” he murmured.

“’Tis fer yer own good. Elspaith’s orders. She needs tae make sure that blow on yer head’s nae serious.”

Reaching for her hand he drew it slowly to his lips and brushed it with a kiss. “I thank ye fer yer care, Lady Dahlia. I dinnae deserve ye tending tae me like this.”

She felt her cheeks burning and couldn’t resist the urge to smooth his mane of long hair back from his forehead. “I believe ye dae deserve me tae care fer ye, but fer the life of me I dinnae ken why I feel like that.”

Elspaith’s assistant, who Dahlia had learned was named Janet, brought them a bowl each of leek and potato soup and a thick slice of oatbread.

Arran managed to lever himself onto an elbow, but as it was impossible for him to balance the bowl, Dahlia spooned the soup into his mouth.

“Thank ye again, melady.” He gave her a rueful grin. “I’m like a wean ye have to feed fer fear I’ll slop the soup all over mesel’.”

She laughed. “Fer tonight ye should stay quiet. Tomorrow ye’ll be fit enough tae ride from this place.”

A cold, dark fist tightened inside her at the prospect of tomorrow and her arrival at Castle Mackinnon.

CHAPTER SIX

When he woke, it took Arran several moments before he could work out where he was. The morning light was seeping through the smoke-hole in the roof and his surroundings were altogether foreign to him.

As he went to roll over, he winced at a sudden pain in his side. Then the recollections of the previous day came tumbling back. He waited, took a deep breath and gingerly rolled over to take stock of where he was.

A sleeping Dahlia was curled like a kitten, tucked in beside him, halfway down the bed.

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