Page 97 of The Winter Laird
“I know,” Nioclas replied, placing his hand on the elder’s shoulder. “I only wish the others had given their oath so as to save their lives.”
“Clan before self,” Cian said, a touch of sorrow in his words. “We thought the best way to help the clan was to stay alive so we could fight this battle. The others…didn’t.”
“I know,” Nioclas repeated, his voice like steel. “That is why I’m giving you the most important duty I’ve ever given since the day we rode against Burke over twenty years ago.” Nioclas raised his voice so all in the hall could hear him. “Cian MacWilliam, I charge you to go forth with my brother, Aidan MacWilliam. Your purpose is to find Burke—and kill him on first sight.”
“You do not want the honor?” Cian asked.
“Honor has nothing to do with it,” Nioclas stated firmly. “He is a threat to us.” Raising his voice again, he continued. “Burke will gather more men and attack us again. When those men lose to us, as they will, he will run from battle—again—and continue the cycle until he has killed me and my brother and taken my wife for his own. Aidan will be your laird in my place. You shall honor him as such and do as he asks.”
“Aye, my laird,” Cian replied, bowing. “When do we depart?”
“Soon,” Aidan said. “Say your goodbyes, then meet me in the stables.”
“My wife died last year, and there were no children. I am ready to leave immediately, my laird.”
Aidan nodded, then turned to Nioclas and embraced him carefully.
“Bring him back dead,” Nioclas said.
Brianagh threw her arms around Aidan, finally letting her dam burst. “Please take care,” she pleaded through her tears. “I can never thank you enough.”
“If I don’t return, you can name the little one after me,” Aidan whispered, then threw her a lascivious wink.
She laughed, then swatted him on his uninjured arm. “Don’t,” she laughed, then sniffed. “Ry, Col, are you staying?”
“For a bit,” Reilly replied. “But not long. We’ll help clean up here, then be on our way.”
Aidan turned before leaving the castle, giving her a quick wave and blowing her a kiss. She pretended to catch it, then smiled sadly as he disappeared down the steps.
“I hope he finds him,” she said, staring at the empty spot in the doorway.
“He’ll find what he’s looking for,” Reilly whispered in her ear. Straightening, he said, “Perhaps it’s time you get your husband up to his chamber and take care of his wounds?” He handed her the satchel they’d originally stuffed with food, now filled with the supplies James insisted they take.
She took the bag, then looked over at Nioclas. He was in discussion with Donovan about something, and she nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“I’ll have someone send up hot water,” Reilly said, catching her arm. “Be sure to wash everything before applying any of that to him.”
She nodded, then wrangled her husband away from Donovan and herded him upstairs.
* * *
After allowinghis wife to fuss over him before, during, and after his bath, Nioclas admitted to himself that he liked the feeling of being cherished. She refused to allow him to bathe himself; she’d insisted upon washing every inch of him.
He complied with haste.
She carefully dried him, then had him lay face down on the mattress naked so she could apply a salve of some sort to his back. She attended to each whip mark gently, packing them with a poultice she made with her mysterious satchel of supplies.
Her feather-light touch was leading him to madness. With more patience than any saint he knew of, Nioclas sat still while she wrapped a stiff cloth around his back and chest. When she finally stood back and pronounced him finished, he grabbed her and flipped her onto the bed.
“Nioclas!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Your back!”
“And my ribs,” he said as he trailed his tongue up her neck, “and my wrists.” He nipped her jaw. “And my heart.”
Her breath caught as he reached her ear. His tongue did wonderful things that made her close her eyes and moan softly.
“You’re the one to heal me,” he whispered, blowing gently on the spot he’d just kissed. “Just you…”
“Maybe,” she said slowly, “more than just me.”
