Page 49 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Eventually sleep carried her away, leaving her caught between troubling dreams where Laird Ranald looked down on her with angry, disappointed eyes and spoke harshly, and warm, gentle dreams where he touched her hair and stroked her cheek and whispered those words again, this time so she knew them for a truth, directed solely at her.
She woke with dawn light coming through the sky, and a voice saying her name. “Lydia?”
Lydia sat up. From his place on the cot, Laird Ranald blinked at her. His eyes were still hazed with sleep and the lingering effects of the medicines she and Evelyn had given him throughout the night, but there was no question he was aware of his surroundings, and of her.
Lydia swallowed hard, then rose from her seat. Her body ached from being stuck in one position for so long, but she ignored it as she bent to press a hand to his forehead. “Fair morn, my laird. How do ye feel?”
“Weak as a newborn colt. Me chest hurts.” He scowled and tried to move. Lydia forestalled his attempt with a hand on his shoulder.
“You lost much blood, my laird. And the wound was serious enough it needed a hot iron to seal it.” She checked his forehead again, testing the feel of his skin in comparison to her own.
There was no fever, and he was clearly lucid. Awake, aware, and with no sign of the delirium that had plagued him through so much of the night, save for the shadows under his eyes. “It appears you are doing well.”
“Were ye… were ye here, all night?” Laird Ranald frowned. “I ken… there was a voice, it sounded like yers…”
“’Twas nothing, my laird. I only did as Evelyn said was needful.” She checked his wound, then stepped back. “I will tell her you are awake, so that she may come tend to you.”
“Lydia… wait… did I…”
She could hear the questions in his voice, questions she knew she could not answer. Unable to face him, overwhelmed by the thoughts and feelings that had haunted her throughout the night, and terrified of giving herself away, Lydia did the only thing she could think of to do.
She fled, calling for Evelyn as she hurried away from the sickbed, and Donall Ranald’s inquisitive eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Two days. He could not believe Evelyn had kept him so long in bed.
Donall scowled as he slid his clan sash over his head, then winced at the pressure of it, slight as it was, against his wounded chest. The wound was sealed, cauterized, and Evelyn assured him it was recovering well, but the burns and the cut itself still ached, even with all of Evelyn’s salves.
Evelyn’s and Lydia’s. According to Clan Ranald’s healer, Lydia had a skillful hand at preparing salves, ointments, tinctures and tonics, and her labels were so clear and distinct that her potions were easy to locate amongst the others in the healer’s stock. Donall wanted to ask Lydia where she’d learned such skills, and who had taught her, however, there was one highly vexing problem.
He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Lydia at all in the past two days. In fact, he’d rarely had any chance to see her at all. A part of that could be blamed on Evelyn’s medicines, for the healerhad plied him liberally with painkilling and relaxing tonics to keep him from becoming too restless, but he also had the sense that Lydia was…not avoiding him, precisely, but avoiding any form of solitary conversation with him.
I was feverish, delirious, according tae Evelyn. Mayhap I said or did something? I dinnae think I did but… there’s nay way tae be certain without speakin’ tae her.
Donall finished dressing, then strode out of the healer’s cottage. The day outside was a comfortable temperature, with the sun shining overhead and a fair breeze blowing through his hair. To one side, he heard the clatter and crack of the guards practicing. Donall’s hand itched with the desire to join them, but Evelyn had forbidden any form of swordplay or combat for at least another day or two.
Alex an’ Ewan will manage the warriors without me, an’ make sure everyone is ready fer what may come.
The sound of soft, feminine voices made Donall turn to look in the other direction. Two of the serving maids were working in the herb garden. Donall started to turn away, when the sparkle of sunlight on cinnamon-colored hair made him turn back.
Lydia.She was working in the herb garden alongside Maisie, the two of them speaking softly to one another as they alternated between working and watching the warriors in the training yard. Donall followed Lydia’s gaze to the warriors to see who she was watching with such focus. When he realized who had captured her attention, his stomach lurched.
Lydia’s gaze was trained on Alex, watching as Donall’s best friend led the youngest warriors through a series of exercises. The other man’s shirt had been discarded, and Donall could see the way his muscles were flexing as he moved through the steps, even from where he stood.
A hot, violent spike of jealousy stabbed through Donall’s gut, rendering him almost breathless with the force of it. For a single moment, all he wanted to do was challenge Alex.
What in heaven’s name am I thinkin’? ‘Tis folly.
The spike of anger cooled, and Donall wanted to thump his head against a wall in exasperation. He turned away from the training yard and made his way toward the herb garden.
Maisie saw him coming first and curtseyed, as well as she could with a basket in her arms. “Me laird!”
Lydia echoed her movement a moment later. “My laird.”
“Lydia. A word with ye.” Donall gestured, and the maid fell into step beside him. Donall led her around to a secluded area between the outer wall and the stables, then stopped and turned to face her. “I heard ye stayed with me, while I was fevered.”
Lydia blinked, as if startled, but she answered, her voice wary as she spoke. “Aye. I did, my laird.”
