Page 42 of Cottage in the Mist (Time After Time #3)

She was just a woman. It wasn’t as if he’d never had another.

Most lasses seemed to find him fair of face.

Leastwise they offered themselves often enough.

And he’d been more than happy to return the favor.

But not a one of them had ever made him feel the way he felt about Lily.

As if she’d become a part of him. In truth, without Lily his life would mean nothing. She was his heart. His soul.

She was everything.

He stared into the water, trying to conjure her image. See her face. Surely if she were here somewhere, he’d feel it. Know it.

Behind him the silence was broken. Harsh cries and the clank of metal against metal. Bram frowned, scrambling to make sense of the sounds as the reflection of something over his shoulder shifted, took form.

Not Lily.

A Comyn—claymore held high.

It seemed the choice was made, the battle at hand.

“How’s he doing?” Jeff asked, dropping down beside where Lily had resumed her position holding Robby’s head in her lap.

“He’s still breathing, which I’m going to take as a positive sign, but he hasn’t regained consciousness.”

It had been several hours since they’d cauterized the wound. The bleeding had stopped, although the injury was still fiery red, and from the feel of things Robby was running a fever. His head thrashed and he mumbled something too low for her to be able to make out the words.

Across the way, Fergus was tending the fire while William turned a spit holding roasting rabbit.

William had snared the animal, and although a small part of Lily rejected the notion of eating Thumper, hunger and the need to survive held sway.

Besides, the rabbit could be used to infuse a nice broth for Robby when he came to.

If he came to , a voice deep inside her goaded.

As if answering her thought, Robby moaned again, but his eyes remained closed.

“Do ye think you can get him to take a sip, lass?”

Lily looked up to find Fergus standing next to Jeff. “I can try,” she offered. “He’s still out, but he seems to be at least peripherally aware of what’s going on around him.”

Fergus nodded and handed Jeff a pewter tankard. “’Tis tea steeped from yarrow and some other herbs. Katherine always uses it when someone is in pain. And it’s also supposed to suppress bleeding and help prevent putrification. Although I canna say that I believe wee plants can do all of that.”

“Katherine did her dissertation on the use of Medieval plants. Funny how it’s always the oddest pieces of information that turn out to be the most useful.” Jeff shrugged. “I’m told she’s turned into something of a healer.”

“’Tis true,” William said from across the fire. “She saved my leg and my life.” His green eyes glittered with devotion. “I owe her everything.”

“Well, now, lad, I think Iain might have something to say about that,” Fergus said, his voice stern but kind.

William’s face flushed a deep red—the color at odds with the fiery orange of his hair. “Well, I’d give my life for her, that’s for sure.”

“As would we,” Jeff agreed as he gave the tankard to Lily.

Again she was surprised at the pang of jealousy their words brought.

But then, that kind of dedication had to be earned.

And Katherine had clearly surpassed the mark.

Maybe someday she’d prove herself to these people as well.

The thought brought her up short. It implied long term relationships, and to do that she’d have to stay. But if Bram didn’t want her…

She blew out a breath and shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on Robby. Sliding an arm beneath his shoulders, she lifted him up and pressed the rim of the tankard against his lips.

“Robby?” she crooned. “Can you hear me? I’ve got some tea for you. It’s meant to make you better. Fergus made it.” Robby was still, his eyes closed, his mouth shut.

“Come on then, lad,” Fergus urged. “It’s meant to help with the pain. Just one sip.”

But again nothing happened.

Lily’s eyes met Jeff’s, telegraphing her worry. “He’s got to take it. He’s burning up.”

Jeff leaned over Robby and cleared his throat. “Drink the tea, damn it.”

Robby moaned once and obediently took a sip.

“Clearly you have the touch,” Lily laughed, urging Robby to take another sip and then another. “Hopefully this will do some good.” Robby groaned and she stroked his hair, trying to soothe him. “I feel so helpless.”

“Naught left to do but wait,” Fergus said, pushing to his feet and taking the tankard. “Might as well leave him be, and come have something to eat. Ye canna help him if ye make yourself sick.”

“Fergus is right.” Jeff nodded in agreement. “Robby needs to sleep and you need to eat. So settle him in and come have a bite.” He too pushed to his feet, then after a last firm look, followed Fergus over to the fire and the roasting rabbit.

Lily watched as the three men talked in obvious camaraderie.

The sun was almost gone, shadows lengthening with the advent of evening.

The wind was cold, and she pulled her plaid closer around her, then carefully shifted Robby’s head so that it rested on the makeshift pallet they’d constructed of piled leaves covered with a blanket.

It wasn’t much, but it was a far sight better than before they’d found him.

Robby moaned then mumbled something. Lily leaned closer to try and hear. He thrashed to the right and then seemed to settle, but his eyebrows drew together as he fought against something only he could see. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Shush,” Lily soothed, laying her hand over his. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Nay,” Robby shook his head again, obviously lost in a dream. “Nay. ’Tis a sorry friend I turned out to be.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lily said, unable to stop herself.

“Traitor,” he whispered, his words dying away and Lily shivered, her mind suddenly presenting her with a memory.

Bram telling her about his father’s death, and his friend’s.

Robby. Surely then this was Bram’s oldest friend.

And the man wasn’t dead at all. But what did he mean ‘traitor’?

Bram had said that there must have been a traitor.

Someone who helped Alec Comyn. Did Robby know who it was? Or worse still, was Robby the traitor?

She looked down at the man, discarding the thought even as she had it.

When they’d first found him he’d mentioned being betrayed.

Someone else was the traitor. And she’d lay odds he was responsible for Robby’s injury.

Anger flashed through her. Bram had lost so much.

And now the fate of his oldest friend lay in her hands.

And honest to God, she had no earthly idea what she was supposed to do.

But one thing was certain; she sure as hell wasn’t going to give up.

The brush beneath the trees around the clearing rattled ominously.

Shifting to protect Robby, she rose to her knees, watching as Fergus, William and Jeff reached for their weapons.

Then suddenly, the clearing was full of men, all of them brandishing weapons.

She reached for an arrow from her quiver, instinct alone helping her to lift and arm her bow.

Pulling back, she centered her sights on a towering man holding a claymore.

For a moment the world narrowed to just the two of them. His green-eyed gaze met hers, his wild blue-black hair framing a face that was the masculine equivalent of her own. Air whooshed out of her lungs, but she held her position and stared defiantly into his eyes.