Page 50 of Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides 8)

“There,” Dwyn said after she’d stuffed the last pillow behind him. Settling her hip on the bed beside him, she then reached for a goblet on the bedside table and moved it to his lips, holding and tipping it to help him drink.

Geordie could have wept when the sweet, cool cider slid over his tongue and filled his mouth. It was the best damned thing he’d ever tasted, he decided, and would have gulped down the entire contents, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Slowly, husband, until we see how yer stomach handles it,” Dwyn cautioned, before tipping the goblet again. She tipped it four times in a row, but then set the goblet on the bedside table again and turned to look him over with bright eyes. “I should go fetch Rory. He made me promise to get him when ye woke, but . . .” Dwyn sighed and then bent to kiss him softly, before straightening to look at him again, as she said, “’Tis so nice to finally have ye awake again. I just want to look on ye for a minute.”

Geordie smiled, and wanted to raise a hand to caress her cheek, but it flopped uselessly at his side when he tried. That brought a frustrated frown to his face until she reached over and clasped his hand, squeezing gently.

“Do no’ fret. Ye’ll get yer strength back quickly now ye’re awake,” Dwyn assured him, and then tears filled her eyes, and she admitted, “For a while there in the woods I feared ye were done for. I thought I’d be a widow ere ye even married me properly.”

“The waterfall,” Geordie breathed as his memories finally coalesced in his head, filling his mind briefly. Setting out the plaid. Turning to find Dwyn gone. Her scream from the woods that sent him running. The man she was struggling with when he found them. A short battle with him, and then he’d turned to Dwyn and a bloody sword tip was sticking out of his chest.

Geordie frowned at the memory. He had no idea where the second man had come from. He’d only seen Dwyn and the man she was trying to get away from when he’d run up on them. So the blow had more surprised him than actually hurt. He would have sworn at first that someone had punched him in the back, so was shocked when the blade appeared, slicing out of his chest. It had hurt a hell of a lot more when it was pulled out, and the moment it was gone, he’d turned on his attacker in a rage and—

Geordie grimaced as he recalled hacking off the man’s head. His aim had been a little off. He hadn’t intended to behead the bastard, just kill him, but—

“Ye remember, then?” Dwyn asked quietly.

“Aye,” Geordie managed, though his voice was raspy. “How long?”

“Ye slept fer two weeks,” she said solemnly. “Well, really, ye were awake but feverish most o’ the first week, but then in a sleep so deep we could no’ wake ye this last week. Rory said yer body had shut down to allow ye to heal, and ye’d hopefully wake soon.”

She paused then, but he saw something flicker in her eyes and the worry pulling at her lips as she peered at him, and he asked, “What?”

Dwyn hesitated, but then admitted, “Rory said ’twas possible the sleep was due to yer brains boiling from the fever, and ye may no’ be quite the same when ye woke,” she admitted reluctantly, and then asked a bit anxiously, “Do ye feel any different?”

“Nay,” Geordie assured her, but wondered if that were true. The lass was sitting there on the bed with him and he was feeling no urge to tup her. He was quite sure that never would have been the case before the wound and fever. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her prior to that. Dear God, what if the fever had taken his manhood from him?

“Oh, good,” Dwyn sighed out on a relieved breath, unaware of the worry suddenly plaguing him.

His gaze slid immediately to her chest to see if she’d unseated her breasts and her nipples might be poking out at him. Surely his interest would return then? But the neckline of her gown was so high there was no chance of them escaping. Before he could comment on that, she was up and heading for the door. “I’d best go let Rory ken ye’re up. He’ll want to see ye. I’ll fetch ye some broth too while I’m below.”

Geordie watched the door close behind her, and then glanced fretfully around the room, trying to tell if there was any damage to his mind. He didn’t know. How would he be able to tell? Would he be able to? He was still fretting over the issue when the door opened again and his brother entered. Rory wasn’t alone, he saw as he turned his gaze that way. Aulay was with him. Both looked relieved to see him awake.

“How are ye feeling?” Rory asked as he reached the bed, and looked him over.

Geordie grunted noncommittally and waited as Rory bent to listen to his heart, and then held his eyes open to peer at them briefly.

“Ye seem well,” Rory decided, relaxing a bit. “Do ye remember what happened?”

“Aye,” Geordie growled, and then turned to peer at the drink on the bedside table.

Getting the message, Rory held it for him to drink. He was more cautious even than Dwyn though, and allowed him only two sips before setting the goblet back, and asking, “How does yer chest feel?”

“Like it had a sword shoved through it,” Geordie said dryly, but then admitted, “No’ as bad as I’d expect though.”

“Ye were lucky. It slid between yer ribs rather than smashing through them, and it missed yer heart or anything else o’ note. I worried at first that it might have nicked yer one lung, but if it did, it healed itself up well enough and quickly because other than when ye first arrived ye’ve no’ seemed to have trouble breathing,” Rory told him, and then added, “And too, ye’ve missed the worst of the healing since ye were out o’ yer mind the first week and slept the second,” Rory said solemnly.

Geordie nodded, and then asked reluctantly, “How will I ken if the fever damaged me brain?”

Rory’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something specific ye’re worried on?”

He hesitated, his gaze sliding to Aulay and away before he admitted, “I’m no’ feeling like tupping Dwyn.”

A startled laugh of disbelief burst from both men, but Rory stifled his quickly, and used his most patient voice when he said, “Geordie, ye just woke up, and ye’re still healing from a terrible injury that could have killed ye. I’d be more surprised if ye were feeling up to tupping yer wife.”

Geordie relaxed at that and asked, “Where’s Dwyn?”

“She went to the kitchens to fetch ye broth as we came up,” Aulay explained as Rory pulled the furs down and then the linens to reveal his bandaged chest. Moving around the bed, Aulay climbed on to kneel beside him and lifted him to a sitting position and then held him there so that Rory could remove the bandages that ran around his chest and back. It was obviously something he’d done many times. Rory hadn’t even had to ask.

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