Page 3 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Once they’d returned to their mooring, Everard waited with the lass, while Hugo stepped ashore to seek out lodgings. They needed some place where they could warm the lass and provide her with the nourishment that would help her regain her strength. And, with any luck, they might find a healer whose tisanes and remedies would strengthen her.
Hugo returned with a stout good-wife who he introduced as the Widow Lachlan. She took one look at the fragile form in Everard’s arms, rolled up her sleeves and took charge of the situation.
“Come with me,” she ordered. “I have a comfortable room in me house where the poor lass will be warm. I have broth heating on the fire, which will put some color back in those pale cheeks.”
She led them up the hill from the shore toward a substantial stone house. Everard carried his charge upstairs to a warm and comfortable bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed while Widow Lachlan stoked the fire. A serving maid hurried in with a covered pot containing hot coals and inserted it between the sheets to warm the bed.
“First, we must get her out of those wet clothes. She’ll never warm up while she remains sodden.” The widow unwrapped the still form from the rugs. “Look away, lad. Ye’ve nay right to see her naked.”
Everard obediently turned away. Moving toward the small window he kept his gaze on the road where a farmer was leading a large bull by a rope attached to a ring in the animal’s nose. His two dogs nipped at the bull’s hooves, keeping it moving as they hurried through the village.
He kept his ears tuned to the murmurs and encouragement from the widow as she tended the stricken lass.
“Ye can turn back now.” The Widow Lachlan said, a satisfied note in her voice. “I’ve dried the lass and tucked her under the quilts. The bed’s nice and warm. I’ll leave her in yer care while I see tae the nourishment.”
As she left the room, Widow Lachlan handed what was left of Davina’s clothes to the serving maid. “These are ruined, she’ll never wear them again. Throw them into the big fire downstairs with the other rubbish.”
Everard pulled up a timber chair beside the large bed, keeping his eyes fixed on the lass, acutely aware that she was naked under the covers and that her only clothing had been consigned to the fire.
As she warmed, her eyelids began flickering and by the time the widow had reappeared with a trencher and a bowl of broth, the lass was moving her head, looking around the room.
When her eyes came to rest on Everard she gasped, her eyes widened and she plucked at the bedcover as if she was trying to hide herself.
“Who… are… ye?” Her voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper and Everard had to lean forward to catch her words.
“I am Laird Everard MacNeil of Kiessimul Castle on the Isle of Barra.” He kept a formal tone as he spoke. “And, may I enquire who are ye lass, and how did ye come tae be half drowned in the sea?”
The terrified expression on the lass’s face was replaced by a look of blank puzzlement. She shook her head on the pillow. “I’m nae sure who I am. I ken me name is Davina, but I ken aught else.”
“Ye dinnae recall how ye came tae be underneath the waves?”
Davina spent a few moments pondering his question. “I recall I was mightily afeared.” She thought some more and shook her head. “Mayhap it will take a while fer me tae recall something more. Me head daesnae feel right.”
Widow Lachlan took a chair beside the bed next to Everard and spooned the broth between Davina’s lips. “Dinnae fash, lass. Ye’ll soon get yer strength again. Take some more broth.”
The door opened a fraction and Hugo’s worried face appeared in the doorway.
“Me Laird, if we’re tae sail on the tide, we cannae delay any longer. Otherwise, we’re here until the next high tide.”
Everard rose to his feet, strangely reluctant to leave the lass. He reached for the purse at his belt and withdrew several gold coins which he handed to Widow Lachlan.
“I thank ye fer yer care and fer yer kindness. If ye can see tae the lass until she’s well enough tae travel I’d be much obliged t’ye.”
The widow placed the coins in the pocket of her apron. “I have freshly laundered clothes fer her and when she is well enough, I’ll see her on her way.”
A small cry came from Davina and all three looked up.
“Please.” She was shaking her head and trying to sit.
Everard reached an arm around her and helped her upright, while Hugo piled pillows behind her for support.
Clutching the coverlet under her chin, she looked from one face to the next, as if gauging whether they could be trusted. She turned to Everard, speaking in a low voice.
“I ken ye’re a kind man and ye’ve helped me this far. But I must be on me way. I cannae stay here.”
She reached a hand out to clutch his sleeve and, in doing so, that coverlet fell away, revealing her naked shoulders. She gave a shriek and pulled up the cover. “Me clothes…?”
Widow Lachlan gave Everard a disapproving look. “I’ve another kirtle fer ye, lass, if ye wait awhile the maid will bring it.”
