Page 12 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

The clouds were heavy when Lily stepped out of the castle and made her way toward the hall. She looked up to examine them. They were the kind of clouds that promised a storm before nightfall. The air was still, but there was a weight to it that made her chest tighten.

She turned to Daisy. “We must be quick today. If the storm breaks, anyone well enough to walk should be sent home before the rains catch them here.”

Daisy smiled faintly. “Ye need nae fret, me Lady. It seldom rains in this season. The clouds will pass.”

Lily was not so certain, but she quickened her pace all the same. The smell of herbs and broth drifted faintly as they entered the hall, and the sound of men’s voices filled the air.

Unlike the day before, there was less groaning. The wounded sat straighter in their beds, some even laughing together. A soft warmth spread in Lily’s chest. Already, they looked more alive.

Sorcha rose when she saw her. “Me Lady,” she greeted, wiping her hands on her apron.

“How are they?” Lily asked, stepping forward.

“They fare well,” Sorcha responded, her voice clear. “One of the men had a fever in the night, but we cooled it with compresses and gave him a tonic to strengthen him. It broke by dawn, and he is resting now.”

Lily frowned. “Ye ought to have woken me.”

“After everything ye did yesterday, ye needed yer rest,” Sorcha answered firmly. “It wasnae so grave anyway, and we managed well enough.”

Lily breathed deeply, then nodded. She knew Sorcha meant well, yet the thought of not being needed still stung.

She moved between the cots, greeting the men. A few smiled, and others lifted their hands weakly. Their cheer gave her strength. She knelt beside a cot where a young soldier grinned at her.

“So this is the lass the new Laird has taken for his wife. A gift from heaven, aye?” He laughed.

Lily looked up at him as the men around them chuckled, but she said nothing.

The soldier then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And if he only hired ye to say it, ye can stop lying. Ye are safe here.”

A tense silence fell as Sorcha stiffened, anger flashing across her face. She stepped forward, but Lily lifted her hand, bidding her to stand back. Her lips quirked up, and she met the soldier’s eyes squarely.

“And who are ye?”

“Ian,” he muttered, his grin faltering a little.

Lily tilted her head. “Well, Ian, are ye married?”

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.

The maid who had entered earlier lingered by the door, wringing her hands. “Me Lady, the Laird and the council await. They demand yer presence.”

“Tell them to wait,” Lily snapped without looking up. “Or send them away. If they ask why, tell them I am stopping a man from dying. That should be reason enough.”

The maid hesitated, then bobbed her head and ran.

Lily bent close, whispering to Ian as he writhed beneath her hands. “Hold fast, lad. Hold fast a while longer.”

The storm outside swelled, and the light streaming through the windows darkened.

Alasdair paced the length of the dining hall like a hound on a leash.

His boots struck the stone floor hard, the sound echoing through the room, and the maid who stood before him jumped in fright.

The same one he had asked to fetch Lily.

She stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her.

“Tell me again,” he ordered, his voice sharp.

The maid swallowed. “Me Laird, she said to tell the council to wait. Or to come back another time. She said she is stopping a man from dying, and that should be reason enough.”

Heat flared up Alasdair’s neck. “She said that?”

“Aye, me Laird.”

He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

His councilmen sat around the long table, their faces contorted with impatience. His uncle Thomas, a grey-haired man with a rather tense demeanor, leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

“It seems ye have an entitled little spitfire for a wife,” he commented, his voice carrying through the hall.

Alasdair’s head snapped up. “I’ll thank ye nae to speak of me wife in such a manner, Uncle. If she couldnae make it, then something grave held her.”

“Something more important than the council?” another man asked, his tone biting.

Alasdair turned slowly toward him. His voice was low, but the weight of it cut through the air. “Aye. Me men are more important than the council’s demands.”

The man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing in response.

Alasdair, however, continued pacing in the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. He heard thunder rumble outside but paid it little mind. There had been threats of rain in the past few days, but never rain itself. The stormy clouds would pass.

Finn sat at one end of the table, watching him, but even his friend knew better than to speak at this time. Alasdair let the silence linger before he drew a breath.

“Would any of ye care for food while ye wait?” he asked.

“Nay,” one of the elders said curtly. “What we would like is to speak to yer wife. But it seems that’s nae possible.”

Alasdair’s teeth ground together, and he forced his voice to remain calm. “She is with the wounded. She is tending to them, keeping them from death. If that is an inconvenience, then like she said, ye will have to wait.”

“Daenae be so self-righteous, me Laird,” another man snapped. “The war has touched all of us.”

Alasdair stepped forward, his eyes cold. “Really? Has it touched ye?”

The man swallowed, but Alasdair continued anyway.

“How many limbs did ye lose? Tell me. How many wounds do ye bear?” His voice rose, hard as steel. “The men in the hall are fighting for their lives, and me wife is doing her best to save them. Daenae speak to me of inconvenience .”

The man opened his mouth again, but Alasdair cut him off.

“Another word, and I will have ye removed.”

Silence fell heavily, and for the next minute, nothing could be heard. Not even the sound of a throat clearing.

Alasdair let his gaze sweep the table. “Has anyone else something foolish to add?”

No one answered, and the air grew thick until Thomas cleared his throat and spoke again, slower now. “Ye heard him. He is the Laird. His word is law. We will come back another time.”

One by one, the men rose and bowed stiffly. “See ye again, me Laird,” they said in turn before filing out.

The hall emptied, and their footsteps faded down the passageway.

Alasdair’s jaw ached from clenching it so hard. He stood still, his fists balled, his chest heaving. The council was dismissed. His pride was intact. But his anger, his worry, burned hotter than before.

By evening, he could not contain it anymore. He headed to Lily’s chambers, each step heavy with fury. The torches along the walls lit his way with ease. He pushed the door open without pause and stepped inside.

The sight before him stole his breath.

She stood by the window, her back to him. The moonlight spilled across her figure, illuminating the thin shift she wore. The fabric clung to her, practically transparent.

He swallowed, letting his eyes trace the curve of her hips and the slope of her shoulders. His body went still, and his heart pounded. For the next moment, his mind went completely blank.

She spun when she heard him, and her eyes widened, fire flashing in them. “Have ye come to finish what ye started the other night?”

The words struck him like a slap, snapping him out of his haze.

He stepped forward, his voice rough. “First, ye wear the gowns I asked to be returned. Then, ye disobey me by nae attending the council meetin’. Do ye ken the fight I had on yer behalf today?”

She lifted her chin, unflinching. “A man’s life was at stake. If I had gone to sit with ye and those old men, Ian would be dead. I did what I must.”

His hands curled at his sides. “And what of me? What of the laird whose word ye flouted?”

Her eyes blazed. “If ye think a title means more than a man’s life, then I fear for this clan’s future.”

“Ye should have found a way.”

“There was nay way.”

“Or ye just didnae want to come in the first place.”

They stood close now, their voices sharp. Every word drew them nearer. Her chest rose and fell.

“I told ye that I am here for one thing and one thing only.”

“The point, Lily, is that ye are here already. Ye must abide by me rules.”

His breath mingled with hers, but neither stepped back.

“Yer rules? Who made ye God?”

The space between them shrank until only a hairsbreadth remained. Alasdair’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then rose to her eyes again.

“As long as ye’re in me castle, that is exactly what I am to ye.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye. Very much so.”

His heart hammered when her lips parted, soft and trembling. Without thought or care, he reached out and grabbed her waist. He pulled her tight against him and backed her up against the wall.

“And whatever I tell ye to do…” he added, his voice almost a growl. Her eyes bored into his, unreadable, and her chest rose and fell rapidly, almost expectantly. “Ye do.”

He sealed his lips over hers and felt the heat flood his body. His lips moved hard against hers, rough and hungry. Her hands pressed against his chest, then clutched him instead, dragging him even closer.

She kissed him back fiercely .

The world faded away, and only the wall at her back, the moonlight on her skin, and the fire that burned between them remained.