Page 48 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Donall tried to grasp at the thoughts, but his mind and his limbs refused to work with him, and everything felt heavy and shrouded in fog. The more he struggled, the more the darkness seemed to press around him, until finally it dragged him under once again.
Lydia… she’s important… is she the woman… I love…?
Then thoughts faded away, and even that last awareness drained from him into warmth and darkness, until all that remained was the lingering sensation of a hand on his face, and a sense of peace.
“Nay, please… please, dinnae… nae again.” The broken, pleading words tore at Lydia’s heart, all the worse because there was so little she could offer to quell the nightmares that plagued him.
Carefully, she dipped a cloth into cool water and used it to wipe his brow, his face, his hands and as much of his chest as could bereached around the bandages. Laird Ranald moaned and twisted restlessly on the bed, his face flushed as the fever clung to him.
She wondered what his nightmares contained. Memories of being imprisoned? His father’s death? Either would be horrible enough. From his words, she feared they were memories of his imprisonment, and of gaolers who had not been kind to him.
Another moan, and she touched his jaw, stroked her hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and laid a hand comfortingly on his bare shoulder. “It is all right. Be at ease. It is safe. You are safe.”
To her surprise, the green eyes cracked open, blinking at her. There was no sign of awareness, no sign of recognition, but his eyes were still focused on her face.
“Do not fret. You are safe. I will not hurt you.” She offered him a smile.
Laird Ranald blinked again. “Ye… I ken ye…”
“Yes. You do. And I promise, I will do you no harm.” She slid a hand behind his head and used the other to press a cup of watered down cordial to his lips. “Drink, and rest.”
To her surprise, he frowned at her. “Ye… Lydia…”
She wondered why her name seemed so important to him, then dismissed it. He had often wondered about her name, it was nosurprise his uncertainty and curiosity would linger even in his fevered, delirious state.
She answered him, keeping her voice as soft as soothing as she could. “I am, my laird.”
His brow furrowed, a troubled expression appearing, then fading as weariness washed away his strength for it. “Ye… Lydia… ye’re…”
“Your maid, my laird, and…”
“Ye… I love…” His voice faded as his eyes slid shut, but Lydia could only stare at him, feeling as if she’d been struck by lightning.
Was that… a confession? Or a question? Or perhaps a revelation of someone else he might care for?
It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t have said something like that. Lairds did not fall in love with serving maids. And even if they did, she could not possibly return his feelings, not when she was deceiving him and hiding in his household.
Even so, the words stirred her heart, and made her stomach clench with longing. Longing, and an ache that mirrored the tone of his voice all too well.
I must leave soon.
And yet… and yet… I do not wish to leave.
The realization was like cold water across Lydia’s face. She had tried so hard not to care for anyone at Ranald Keep, tried not to make any friends, or come to have any feelings for those she interacted with. And yet, despite her best efforts, she had failed.
Maisie was certainly a friend, as was Evelyn, who was also her mentor, a woman she felt great respect for. And Ewan. And Laird MacEwen - they were kind and friendly, and in their current roles, there was little else they could be, but in another situation, she would have considered them friends.
And Laird Ranald… as little as she wished to admit it, even to herself, he had been fast claiming a place in her heart. She had persuaded herself to ignore her feelings, certain they could never be reciprocated.
But then she’d seen the dress - a dress no laird would ever have bought for a serving lass, and though she’d been distracted by Maisie’s discovery of the truth, she could not deny that a part of her had hoped that perhaps he felt something for her…
Even then, she’d known nothing could come of it. But there were also the late night and early morning conversations they’d shared. And now, those muttered, feverish words.
He’s delirious. He will likely not remember a thing he said to me when he regains awareness.
She repeated the thoughts to herself like a mantra, but no matter how she tried to blot them out, two thoughts still remained, circling her mind as she slipped into a light, exhausted slumber.
I do not want to leave. Not Ranald Keep, not the friends I have found here, and most of all, I do not want to leave… him.
