Page 13 of The Highlander's Dangerous Bride

“Try over there,” she told him, pointing with her eyes at a wooden chest in the corner. “While ye dae that, I’ll go and stoke up the fire.”

He nodded and, while Meg went off to poke at the hearth, he went to look in the chest. Two blankets were neatly folded inside.How the hell did she ken they were there?

As if she had heard his thought, from her station by the fireplace, Meg chuckled and said, “I’ve seen many a patient at this inn. I ken where just about everythin’s kept around here.”

Feeling there was something uncanny about the healer, Arne removed the blankets and took them over to the bed. As he stood looking down at Maeve, he could see her breasts clearly outlined through the translucent material of her shift. The tips were the same deep raspberry color he remembered. A wave of embarrassment suddenly washed over him at the thought of undressing her completely and seeing her naked again.

Which he told himself was ridiculous, for it suddenly struck him that he knew every inch of Maeve’s body as well as he did his own. Memories flooded back of their lovemaking, sometimes tender, sometimes fierce. Images flickered through his mind of the times they had lain together naked, forcing him to relive those moments when he had caressed every part of her with his mouth and hands, worshipped her with his whole body, delighting in her moans of pleasure, and thrilled by her loving, passionate touch upon him.

A snort of soft laughter came from the healer. “Get on with it, lad, before she freezes tae death,” she chided, adding logs to the fire from the grate and wielding the poker with an expertise that seemed to beguile the flames, making them leap and crackle until they blazed almost unnaturally brightly.

Terrified she really had read his mind, Arne’s cheeks burned with fresh embarrassment, a heat he knew he could not blame on the rising temperature of the room. “Aye, sorry,” he mumbled, horrified by the erection that had suddenly sprung up in his trews.

It seemed to him like a cruel joke that his body should betray him thus, for it clearly still craved Maeve’s, even after all she had done to him. Frantically willing his state of arousal to abate, afraid Meg was aware of it too, he forced himself to focus on the job at hand.

His heart in his throat, he bent over Maeve and gathered her bedraggled mass of hair gently in his fist, moving it aside. He slid his arm around her back, feeling the fragile bones beneath the flesh as he lifted her gently. He leaned her limp body against his chest, enclosing her in his arms as he reached behind her and began unlacing her stays. The beating of her heart against his chest and the feel of her soft breasts pressed against him did nothing to help tamp down his shameful ardor. But he gritted his teeth and persevered.

It was difficult to loosen the laces of her stays because the water had melded the knot tightly. Plus, he was trembling so much that his fingers felt like sausages, too big and clumsy for the delicate task. In the end, in frustration, he unsheathed his dirk and sliced through the knot, and was finally able to pull the stays from her slender waist. He carefully draped them over the arm of the bedstead to drip onto the wooden floorboards below, where they formed a small puddle.

Next, he laid her back down on the pillow so he could untie the string of her petticoat. That he managed to achieve without the use of his knife. He began peeling the petticoat down from her waist with feelings of both wonder and dread, for he could only guess at the effect her nakedness was going to have on him. He swallowed hard, already able to clearly see the dark, triangular patch of hair he was so familiar with defined at the hinge of her thighs, beneath the water-logged fabric of her shift.

Oh, God save me from mesel’!

As her legs were revealed to him, still clad in their cotton stockings and garters, he vividly remembered the many times he had run his hands up and down them and kissed her behind her knees to hear her laugh. Or parted her thighs to feast upon her gaping sex and make her scream his name.

Stop it! Get a hold of yersel’, man.

Hoping to God Meg was too busy with whatever she was doing by the fire to hear what he was thinking, he carefully removed the petticoat and put it with the stays. He removed the garters and rolled down Maeve’s stockings, adding them to the soggy collection now hanging from the bedstead. As if on cue, Meg came and gathered them up and took them off to dry over the back of a chair by the fire.

At last, Maeve lay before Arne in nothing but her wet shift. She might as well have not had stitch on for the effect it had on him, for he just could not stop himself from hardening again. He paused for a moment or two, summoning all the self-control he could muster, telling himself not to look, that he was almost done, before lifting the hem of her shift and gently pulling it up over her motionless body.

Averting his eyes, he laid it aside with the other things, and then, as quickly as he could, wrapped her in the blankets and pulled the coverlet up over her again. He breathed a silent sigh of gratitude when the slender white body his own so patently still desired finally disappeared beneath the covers.

Meg pottered over and collected the shift, taking it off to dry with the rest. “Ye’re soaked yersel’, lad,” she observed when she had hung it up and began rummaging in her medicine bag. “Ye should get changed before ye get a chill.”

“Aye, I will.” Glad at the excuse to move away, keeping his back turned to conceal his embarrassing condition, Arne walked awkwardly over to his saddlebag by the door and took out a dry shirt. He pulled the wet one over his head, rubbed his face and hair with it, and then threw it to the floor before putting on the fresh one. He heeled off his boots, which he had so thoughtlessly run into the sea wearing and changed his socks. He felt immediately better but decided to wait until Meg had left to change his trews.

CHAPTER FIVE

“She should warm up quite quickly now,” Meg said, coming to join him, placing a flask of some concoction on the nightstand. She surveyed his handwork and gave a brief nod of approval. She picked up Maeve’s wrist, circled it with her surprisingly long, soft fingers, and frowned. “The lass is skin and bone. Has she nae been eatin’?” she asked, giving him a penetrating look with her large, almost hypnotic eyes.

“I dinnae ken.” Arne shrugged. “I’ve nae seen her fer three years. I’ve nay clue where she’s been. I just pulled her out of the water from the shipwreck, like I told ye,” he explained, feeling like the healer was looking into his soul. If she was, she showed no sign of seeing the chaos raging within. Nevertheless, he was quite relieved when she looked away.

“Is that so?” she ruminated, releasing Maeve’s wrist and gently setting it down on her chest. She gazed down at Maeve’s pallid face intently. “A bonny lass, but an unhappy one, I think. She’s been through many a trial this one. Ye need tae take good care of her, lad.”

“I must stay at the village fer a wee while fer work. Would ye give me the medicine she needs so I can tend tae her mesel’?” he asked, adding as an afterthought, “I have money. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”

Meg looked up at him, chewing her thin lips for a moment as if pondering something. Finally, she sucked her remaining teeth and said, “I need nay money, lad. Ye can bring me some firewood or some food at me cottage near the kirk if ye like. There’s the medicine there, look.” She gestured at the flask on the nightstand. “Just give her a cupful of that when she wakes and then every hour or so. It’ll bring her strength back. But as I told ye before, above all, let her sleep. She’ll likely nae be able tae speak much fer a few days. Her throat’s raw from the salt water.”

“Aye, I guessed as much. Thank ye, I’ll dae as ye say,” he replied, making a mental note to have a load of firewood and plenty of provisions delivered to her as soon as he got back to the castle. “In the meantime, I’m very grateful tae ye fer yer help and kindness.”

The woman cackled like the proverbial witch, giving him another of her white-toothed grins, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Ye’ve fine manners tae go with yer handsome looks, lad, I’ll give ye that. I’ve taken quite a shine tae the both of ye,” she said, shaking her head.

“Well, I’m glad tae hear it, and I’m sure she will be wantin’ tae thank ye hersel’ when she’s able tae,” Arne said, a little spooked but with total confidence in Meg’s healing abilities. “Her name’s Maeve, by the way,” he added, nodding at the figure in the bed.

The old healer gazed up at him quizzically. “Are ye sure about that?” she asked in her little girl’s voice.

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