Page 24 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

The wounded hall was quieter than usual that morning.

The storm had passed, but left a trail of fever and aching bones.

Lily moved slowly between the cots, her hands steady as she checked every man.

She paused near a cot where a young maid held a damp compress against a soldier’s brow.

The man groaned faintly, and Lily leaned closer to examine the work.

“Hold on,” she said softly, placing a hand on the maid’s shoulder. “Shift it just a bit higher. See? The cloth is sliding too low. The coolness must reach the temple as well.”

The maid flushed, adjusting the compress. “Like this, me Lady?”

“Aye,” Lily replied, a smile on her face. She pressed the cloth into place for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction. “Now he will feel the difference. Always cover the full line of the head, as the fever rests there.”

The maid’s eyes brightened with relief. “Thank ye, me Lady. I wouldnae have thought of that.”

“Ye will in time,” Lily assured her.

She turned toward the long table, where a pot of roots simmered gently. The faint scent of herbs clung to the air, sharp and clean, and she reached for the spoon, stirring with care, when Daisy’s voice cut through the hall.

“Me Lady!” Daisy called, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Look who I found by the castle gates.”

Lily turned at once, the spoon slipping back into the pot. Her breath caught as her eyes landed on Timothy.

He stood leaning on a crutch, his foot wrapped in clean linen. His face was pale, but he managed a bow. “Me Lady.”

“Timothy,” Lily greeted, crossing the room swiftly, joy flooding her chest. “It is good to see ye again.”

Timothy nodded, and Lily’s eyes shifted to his foot. “And ye have changed the bandages, I see.”

Timothy nodded. “Aye. Every night without fail. It is all thanks to ye. If ye hadnae been there that day, Dr. Moseley would have amputated it. Ye are the reason I still have a foot to worry about.”

Lily shook her head. “Daenae thank me.”

But then Timothy’s words registered.

“What do ye mean, worry about ?”

He swallowed, shifting his weight with care. “I have tended it well—truly, I have. I change the bandages each night, and I never put me weight on it for long. But the pain has grown somewhat sharper. Practically unbearable, unlike before. These last two days, I couldnae go to work.”

Lily’s brow creased, and she gestured toward an empty cot near the wall. “Sit down, Timothy. Let me see it.”

“Me Lady,” he protested, “I wouldnae take yer time. There are others here in greater need.”

“Ye came to find me, did ye nae?” Lily asked softly.

Timothy lowered his head. “Aye, but I thought ye would just give me some herb so I can be on me way.”

“Sit,” Lily ordered.

Timothy obeyed without further protest, and Lily knelt and untied the bandages. The wound was clean, the skin drawn together at the edges. She studied it with a careful touch, then looked up.

“It is healing well,” she said. “The pain is part of that. The skin is only tightening as it mends.”

“So, ‘tis normal?” Timothy asked, the hopefulness in his voice rather evident.

“Very. All ye need to do is keep yer leg elevated at night. Place it straight against the wall if ye can, and that should ease the strain.”

Timothy let out a breath. “So I have nothing to fear?”

“Nothing but impatience,” Lily replied, a smile on her face as she rose and dusted her hands. “I shall give ye roots for the pain. Steep them in hot water and take them before bed. Over time, the pain will fade.”

He nodded gratefully.

“And how is Clara?” Lily asked. “That is her name, is it nae?”

Timothy’s eyes widened. “Ye remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“She is well,” he said quickly. “Stronger than I hoped. And the bairn grows fast. She is nearly eight months along now.”

Lily’s lips curved. “Then ye will be a faither any day.”

“Aye.” His voice carried both pride and fear. “But I am nae sure if I am ready. At least, nae truly.”

Lily sat beside him, her voice low and kind. “Nay one is ever ready for parenthood. Even those who seem to be arenae. Ye learn as the days go by. The child will teach ye as much as ye teach him or her.”

Timothy looked down, smiling faintly. “I pray that is true.”

“It is,” Lily said. “And when Clara’s time comes, send word to me. I will come to her meself.”

Timothy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Me Lady, ye cannae. Ye are the lady of the clan. It wouldnae be right for ye to wander to the homes of folks like us.”

“Rubbish,” Lily said firmly. “If a woman is in need, I shall go. It is as simple as that.”

“But—”

“Would ye rather drag Clara here while she labors? Make her walk five miles with pain tearing through her body?”

His cheeks reddened. “Nay. Yer way is fairer.”

“Of course it is.” Lily signaled to a maid across the hall. “Fetch some roots and give them to Timothy. Make certain he has enough for several nights.”

The maid nodded and hurried off.

Lily turned back to Timothy. “Ye may go when ye are ready.”

He bowed his head. “Thank ye, me Lady.”

Lily excused herself then, slipping through the side door and climbing the stairs to her chamber. She felt the weight of the day pressing on her shoulders as she reached her door and pushed it open.

Daisy was already there, preparing the bath. Lily crossed to the window and pulled it open for air. The sky outside was dull and heavy with clouds.

Her gaze fell on the courtyard below. Alasdair stood with Nathan. Their voices did not reach her, but their faces told the tale. His eyes were hard, and Nathan’s jaw was tight.

Lily’s chest tightened. What were they talking about? Had something else happened?

Then, Alasdair lifted his head, catching her completely off guard, and his eyes found hers.

Her breath caught. She pulled back at once, pressing her spine against the wall, hidden from view. Her heart was pounding so hard that she feared Daisy might hear it. How could a simple look from him suddenly make her heart jump?

“For the love of God,” she breathed.

She remained there until Daisy entered again, a sheen of perspiration on her brow. “Yer bath is ready, me Lady.”

Lily nodded quickly. “Thank ye,” she forced out in a steady voice.

But her thoughts were not steady at all, the image of Alasdair looking up at her burned into her mind.

The study was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Alasdair leaned back in his chair, his thoughts racing. He was trying once again to piece together the attack in the woods.

He had relived the moment in his head over and over: the way the arrow had cut through the air, the way Lily’s scream had shaken him to his very core, and the way his rage had driven him to end the archer’s life. No matter how many times he went over it, he still found no sense in it.

Nathan had been clear that morning when he said that he had some leads. Apparently, he had heard whispers from the village about a few men who had left the tavern at strange hours, and about one who had not been seen for days.

“I will take some men and look into it,” Nathan had promised that morning and had left with purpose in his steps.

Alasdair trusted him, yet the sense of dread refused to leave his chest. He rose and walked to the tall window of his study. The garden below stretched wide and green, the last drops of rain still clinging to the grass. His eyes searched the far end, where Sorcha walked with Lily.

They moved slowly, bending to gather flowers from the edge of the beds. Sorcha said something that made Lily laugh, and the sound reached him even from a distance. Her laughter was soft but full, and it struck him harder than he had expected. He folded his arms across his chest and breathed deeply.

A knock sounded at the door. His eyes darted away from the window, and he turned. “Enter.”

The door opened, and Finn stepped inside. He closed the door behind him with a small nod. “How are ye? Coping well enough?”

Alasdair’s lips pressed together. “What do ye think, Finn?”

Finn gave a small shrug. “Fair enough. It was a stupid question.”

Alasdair left the window and returned to his chair. He lowered himself into it with a faint groan, the wound in his shoulder pulling when he moved too fast.

Finn lingered near the desk, his expression unreadable.

“I came for two things,” he began. “First, to apologize for the other night.”

Alasdair lifted a hand. “Nay. What ye do in yer own time is yer business. I willnae bother ye for it.”

Finn inclined his head. “Then I thank ye. The other thing is more pressing. I was in the village this morning, and I heard talk.”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes. “Talk of what?”

Finn leaned forward on the desk. “Of her. Yer wife.”

Alasdair’s lips parted. “Of Lily?”

“Aye,” Finn said. “They are saying she is a witch.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Alasdair gripped the arms of his chair. “A witch?” he repeated slowly.

Finn nodded. “The tale of the man she brought back to life apparently spread fast. But the story was twisted. Many still respect her, but some people believe she cast a spell. Others say she drew the soul of an animal and placed it in him.”

Alasdair pursed his lips. “What?”

Finn shrugged. “Oh, ye ken. Men with too much time on their hands never go well with too much ale.”

Alasdair dragged a hand down his face. “And they believe this? That she… what, drained life from an animal? Truly?”

“Ye would be surprised what folks choose to believe when their fear is stronger than their reason,” Finn answered.

Alasdair groaned into his palm. “For the love of God.”

“And let us nae forget. They havenae all accepted ye as their Laird. At least, nae yet. Some think ye came out of nowhere to seize the clan, and that makes it easier for them to believe that yer wife has a dark hold over ye.”

Alasdair shook his head, his anger flaring. “After everything I’ve done? This is how I’m repaid? What else did ye hear?”

Finn’s eyes flickered. “Well, and I wouldnae count this as anything, but a group of drunken men said ye were preparing the village for a sacrifice. They laughed, aye, but the words were spoken.”

Alasdair’s chest tightened. He rose to his feet and walked back to the window, his eyes fixed on the garden.

Lily was still there with Sorcha, her gown trailing over the grass as she bent to pluck a flower.

She looked soft, untouched by the poison of rumors, and he hated that the village spoke her name with such lies.

“These are only whispers,” Finn added, following his gaze. “But whispers turn into something more when enough men believe in them. It only takes a few people angry enough to do something before disaster strikes. Ye ken this more than anyone.”

Alasdair turned back to him, his eyes sharp. “I was attacked in the woods. Trust me, I ken a disaster is brewing.”

Finn said nothing, and Alasdair exhaled again, the faint scent of the burning logs from the fireplace hitting his nostrils.

“I just hate that she is being dragged into this.”

Finn stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “Ye want me advice? Daenae tell her about it.”

Alasdair frowned at him, but Finn continued anyway.

“Ye cannae let her suspect a thing. If she panics, her mind willnae be steady, and the men she is trying to heal will suffer for it. She must believe the attack was a one-time thing, and ye must make her think the worst has passed.”

Alasdair’s fists clenched. He hated the thought of lying to her. Yet he knew Finn was right. Lily’s heart was fierce but restless. Her worry for others would consume her if she believed she was the cause of danger.

“And one more thing,” Finn added softly, leaning closer. “Daenae dwell on this more than ye must. We will watch the leads Nathan gathers and silence the rumors when the time is right. But for now, focus on the upcoming cèilidh. That is the only thing that needs yer focus. Nothing else.”

Alasdair exhaled slowly and sat back in his chair. His eyes were heavy, and he rubbed his injured shoulder. The silence stretched until he finally spoke.

“What have I dragged her into, Finn?” he asked, his voice raw.

Finn had no answer, and the crackling fire was the only sound that filled the room.