Page 38 of A Wife for the Highland Villain
The other men shook their heads, and some snickered. “Nay, me Lady. Nae Ian.”
“Then it makes sense,” Lily said, her eyes bright with mischief. “Yer right hand must be thanking ye for the rest since ye have fallen ill.”
The men went still for a beat, and then laughter erupted, loud and hearty. Ian’s face flushed bright red, and he lifted his hand in surrender, a weak smile tugging at his lips.
“Well struck, me Lady,” one of the older soldiers called, still laughing. “Well struck.”
Sorcha shook her head, half-scandalized, but Lily only laughed with the rest. She bent again, examining a man’s bandages, asking after his pain, offering a word here and there. She moved from one cot to another, speaking with each man as if he were kin.
When she found herself standing over Ian’s cot again, he sat up a little straighter. “I must apologize, me Lady. I daenae ken what made me speak so. It was poorly done, and I will never say such a thing again.”
Her eyes softened. “I will let it slide. Ye are sick. The sick seldom speak their best words. Now, tell me the truth, how do ye fare?”
He rubbed his temple. “Fine enough, save the pounding in me head. The fever comes and goes. To be honest, I think I have Dr. Moseley to thank for that, with all his blood draining.”
“I see,” Lily responded.
She was about to speak again when a maid stepped up to her. She looked up.
“Me Lady?” the maid greeted. “The Laird asked me to fetch ye. The council is here.”
“Oh,” Lily muttered.
“Ye can go,” Sorcha said, her tone reassuring. “As ye can see, we have it all under control. Plus, ye daenae want to miss the council meeting.”
Lily swallowed, then nodded and rose to her feet.
The maid led the way, and she followed, crossing toward the hall’s entrance. Then, as if she was struck by something unseen, she froze.
She turned slowly toward Ian, her eyes narrowing. “Wait. What do ye mean, blood draining?”
Ian blinked, confused by the edge in her voice. “Dr. Moseley said I had poison in me blood. So he cut me arm and let the blood run. Said a night’s sleep would cure it.”
Lily’s face paled. She took a step toward him, her breathing quickening. Her gaze fell on his neck. The skin was dry, the veins rope-thick, pulsing against the hollow. He was drained indeed, weakened near to death.
“Did he give ye herbs while he bled ye?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.
Ian shook his head. “Nay. He said it wasnae needed.”
Lily pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing hard. Then, she spun to Daisy. “Fetch me all the garlic and onion ye can find. At once.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Aye, me Lady.” She fled down the hall.
Lily turned to Sorcha, her voice shaking slightly. “Bring me dandelion root. Quickly.”
Sorcha frowned. “Why? What are ye about?”
“Because if Dr. Moseley was right, the poison still runs in his blood, and the bloodletting did nothing. I must make a stew of herbs, or he will go into shock?—”
Before she could finish, Ian stiffened. His body arched, and his arms jerked up, a guttural cry tearing from his throat.
“God help us,” Lily whispered, falling to his side. She pinned him down, her fingers tight around his shoulders as his body convulsed.
The men watched, fear stark in their eyes.
“Go!” Lily cried to Sorcha. “Now!”
Sorcha bolted out of the hall, her apron whipping against her ankles.
