Page 18

KERR AWOKE TO a blinding headache.

Rising from the darkness with a groan, his eyes flickered open. Firelight burned his pupils, and he winced.

The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Wherever he was, it wasn’t brightly lit. Nonetheless, his eyes watered, and the thumping in his head intensified. Unbidden, another groan tore from his throat.

“Good. Ye are awake,” a woman’s soft voice greeted him. “Are ye thirsty?”

“Aye,” he croaked.

“Here … lift yer head a little.”

Kerr did as bid, even though the movement made his pounding forehead hurt even worse. An instant later, the rim of a wooden cup nudged against his lips. He took a few grateful sips of what tasted like stale boiled water before sinking back down against the pillows.

His left shoulder twinged painfully then, and he muttered a curse. “What happened to me?”

“Don’t ye remember?”

The woman’s voice intruded, and Kerr stilled.

Rose MacAlister sat at his bedside, her proud face bathed in firelight. She was watching him closely, a groove furrowed between her brows.

Kerr stared back at her, his mind scrabbling through the pain to claw back his memories.

A heartbeat later, it hit him with the force of a charging bull.

Cursing, he closed his eyes once more.

Riding through the valley, weaving in and out of pines, following the trail The Wolves had left north. They’d all been wary, the entire company had fallen silent as they traveled. But the attack had come as a surprise, nonetheless.

Arrows had flown in all directions, peppering the company, and knocking two of Kerr’s men from their horses. The rest of them had swung down to the ground, drawing their weapons as they went.

But The Wolves were clever, they continued to fire arrows from the shadows, and when they’d taken down another three of The Guard, they burst out of the undergrowth and ran at Kerr and his men, howling like banshees.

The fight had been violent and swift.

Kerr had managed to bring one of them down—a big bastard with a pike—but then something punched his shoulder, throwing him forward. A second blow knocked him off his feet, and he remembered no more.

“The others?” he eventually croaked.

“I’m sorry, Kerr,” Rose whispered. “Ye are the only survivor. They took yer horses, stripped ye all of weapons, and left ye to bleed out in that clearing.”

Pain lanced across his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against grief so powerful it threatened to claw him apart.

He’d grown up with many of those men, and three of them—Ronan, Tavish, and Coby—were recent recruits.

They’d all trusted him with their lives, and he’d led them to death. What a cruel twist of fate that they’d all die while he lived. The sorrow was almost too much to bear—and yet underneath it, rage flickered to life.

It had been a trap. They’d lured Kerr and his warriors into that clearing, had lain in wait for them. The Wolves wanted to assert their dominance over this corner of the peninsula.

“Whoresons,” he growled as rage pulsed through him like the pain in his head. It was a salve, galvanizing him. “I won’t rest until I impale each of their heads on pikes.”

It was a bloodthirsty thing to say, yet he didn’t care.

Jaw clenched, Kerr finally opened his eyes again, to find Rose watching him, her gaze shadowed. “Yer brothers and the rest of The Guard are hunting the outlaws,” she assured him.

“I should join them,” he ground out.

She pulled a face. “Ye are in no condition to go anywhere. The arrow wounds in yer shoulder risk souring, ye have a fever … and ye have just awoken from a massive knock to the skull.” She paused there, her cheeks flushing, as if embarrassed by her response.

“The healer wants ye to stay here for the meantime.”

Kerr frowned—a mistake, for the expression made the throbbing in his forehead grow worse still. Swallowing a moan, he tried to breathe through the pain. “I can’t stay here,” he muttered.

“Those are Malcolm’s orders, Kerr,” Rose replied with a sigh, rising to her feet. “I have broth simmering over the fire. Would ye like some?”

“Aye,” he grunted. In truth, he wasn’t hungry. All he wanted was to get up and go in search of The Wolves. But his body felt frustratingly weak, and it did seem overly warm inside this cottage.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t lost on him that he was imposing on a woman who couldn’t stand him. Another bitter irony.

He watched Rose ladle broth into a large wooden cup. She then carried it over to him, setting the cup down on a ledge by the bed. “We’d better ensure ye’re sitting up for this,” she said briskly, avoiding his eye as she reached for the pillows. “Come on.”

Kerr did his best to aid her, although the act of pushing himself up a little made him break out in a sweat. He sank back against the wall, heart pounding, his shoulder throbbing. Dizziness swept over him, a high-pitched whine starting in his ears.

“Kerr.” Rose’s voice sounded as if it were coming from down a long tunnel. “Are ye well enough to take some broth?”

He opened his eyes to see she was watching him now, her face taut, her lovely pine-green eyes shadowed. He could have almost believed she was worried about him—if he didn’t already know the truth of things.

Grateful the dizziness was passing, he eventually forced a nod.

Wordlessly, Rose picked up the cup and perched next to him on the bed. She then raised the cup to his lips and lifted it so he could sip.

He choked it down. The broth was tasty enough, yet he had no stomach for it. However, if he wanted to regain his strength and get out of this bed, so he could go after those who’d killed his men, he needed to drink every drop.

Kerr was in a bad way. He was doing his best to hide it, yet the pallor on his cheeks and the pain in his eyes told the truth. He’d reacted as Rose had expected to the news that the rest of his company was dead. Badly.

The raw grief that had rippled across his face moved her—although his rage was worrying.

He shouldn’t blame himself for what happened, yet it was clear he did.

Those men were his responsibility, and Captain Mackay was a man who took his duties seriously. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. There was nothing she could say that would put things right.

“Did Iver find me?” he asked eventually, sinking back onto his pillows. He’d drunk the broth she’d given him, although his eyes now had a haunted cast to them.

“No,” she murmured. “I did.”

Kerr glanced her way, his features tightening. “Didn’t I tell ye to keep indoors?”

Rose held his eye. “Aye, but when have I ever heeded ye?”

He snorted and then winced.

“When ye didn’t return as ye’d promised, I knew something was wrong,” she continued. “So, I sneaked out just before dawn and went looking for ye all.”

Kerr nodded, swallowing. He was likely imagining the scene she’d found upon that carpet of ferns. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to describe it to him. She wanted to forget the grisly sight, not relive it.

“Ye were fortunate they left ye for dead,” she said after an awkward pause.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Aye,” he growled. “Although I’ll make The Black Wolves regret it soon enough.”

“How is he faring?” Ailis whispered, casting a glance over at where the hanging had been drawn across the corner.

Rose grimaced before taking the bowl of stew Kenna passed her. “His fever worsens,” she murmured, trying to ignore the knot of worry that had lodged under her ribcage. “He’s sleeping now.”

“A fever is not uncommon after such an injury,” her aunt said, careful to keep her voice low. “He’s had a shock … and those arrow wounds need to settle.”

Kenna’s tone was reassuring, yet it didn’t ease Rose’s tension.

She’d once sworn to hate Kerr forever, and yet here she was, concerned about his welfare.

However, her perspective had altered of late.

Things weren’t quite as black and white as they had been.

These days, she couldn’t dredge up the venom she had in the past. Her aunt was right—Kerr Mackay wasn’t the devil.

And if she was honest, he’d done her a few kindnesses over the years.

She’d just been blind to them.

Rose took a mouthful of stew and forced it down. In truth, she wasn’t hungry. The laird and his men hadn’t yet returned from hunting the outlaws, and she feared they might meet the same end as Kerr’s company had.

But her disquiet was deeper than that. Different.

Searching her thoughts, she realized that she felt guilty.

Her aunt’s reprimand months earlier had stuck with her. And with the passing of the weeks, and the worst of her grief for the loss of her father and brothers blunted, she was able to see clearly again.

The truth was she’d been desperate for someone to blame for their deaths. But her menfolk had known what they were doing. They’d set out to kill MacDonalds so they could steal their cattle.

It was a reprehensible act, and the fault was theirs alone. Kerr wasn’t responsible for it.

After supper, Rose took the dirty dishes out to the burn and washed them. It was a cool, foggy evening. Tendrils of milky mist crept down the bottom of the valley, swirling around her as she worked.

The days were longer now, although dusk was closing in.

There was still no sign of Iver Mackay and the warriors who’d followed him.

Rose’s mouth thinned. She hoped grief and rage hadn’t made the laird reckless.

Filling a clean bowl of water from the burn, Rose returned indoors. She found Ailis laying out a sheepskin near the fire. All three of them would sleep out here tonight, for they couldn’t move Kerr from his current position.

Yawning, Rose put away the dishes on a shelf near the tiny window, where Hazel still roosted. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and exhaustion was finally catching up with her. However, she couldn’t retire just yet.

Rose ducked around the hanging. In one hand, she carried the water and drying cloth, and in the other, a small lantern. Careful to be as quiet as possible, she hooked the lantern above Kerr’s head before running a critical gaze over her patient.

He’d thrown off the sheet covering him. Naked to the waist, the skin of his torso and arms gleamed with sweat.

Rose’s brow furrowed, worry fluttering up. Aye, a fever had him in its grip. But, the Lord willing, it would burn itself out overnight.

Seating herself on the edge of the bed, she wet the cloth in the cold water and squeezed it out. She then leaned forward and gently wiped the sweat from his brow. The purple lump there had gone down slightly. Nonetheless, she kept her touch as light as possible.

Kerr let out a soft moan and then murmured something in his sleep.

Rose halted her ministrations, observing his face. She’d never seen Kerr this vulnerable before. It brought up unsettling sensations within her.

Waiting until he settled once more, she wiped the sweat off his face and neck before rinsing out the cloth. Yet as she smoothed it over the heavily muscled expanse of his bare chest, careful to avoid the bandage that protected his shoulder, Rose’s cheeks warmed.

There was an intimacy to this—one she’d taken on without question. Indeed, she hadn’t given Kenna or Ailis the opportunity to look after Kerr. Why hadn’t she?

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to regain her equilibrium as she dipped the cloth into the water once more. Goose, get ahold of yerself.