Page 16 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G race stared, too stunned to move, as Ewan crumpled to the ground at her feet.

He’d kissed her. She’d been startled when he came through the door, looking like a madman, all covered in blood and soot. He’d been saying her name, and then…

He’d kissed her. Her hand touched her lips, her mouth still tingling with the feel of his rough lips on hers, the taste of smoke and iron lingering on her tongue.

Then she saw the blood, beginning to form a small puddle on the stones, and her mind snapped back into focus. “Ewan!”

Her cry brought Devlin and Malcolm to the door. Both men looked as battle wearied as their laird did, but they moved quickly enough. Within moments, Devlin was crouched across Ewan’s fallen figure, his hands careful as he turned Ewan onto his back to examine his wounds. “Fair folk curse the fools who…” He bit off the exclamation and turned to his fellow Scotsman. “He’s bleedin’ too much, an’ he’s out colder than a man after a cask o’ ale. We’ll need tae carry him tae the healer.”

Malcolm nodded, and the two men bent to lift their wounded laird into their arms. Grace hurried after them, her own weariness and weakness forgotten in the wake of Ewan’s peril.

They reached the healer’s hut within moments, men stepping aside with a haste that would have been comical at any other time as they crossed the courtyard. The door was open, and Devlin shoved his way inside, his voice rising as he did. “Megan! Megan!”

The inside of the healer’s hut was filled with men, and the stench of mingled blood, fire, and medicinal herbs. The woman who came toward them was only a few years older than Grace, but she was calm, and collected, her eyes flickering over the group with a practiced ease that only experience could bring. “Put him on the cot in the back room… ye there! Help the man out o’ that bed an’ tip him intae his own. Some brandy tae ease the ache o’ his head an’ a poultice tae help with the rest. I’ll see tae him further taemorrow.”

The bed was quickly vacated, two men helping a third stagger out the door, and Devlin and Malcolm eased Ewan into it. The healer, Megan, began to remove his clothing with brisk and almost ruthless efficiency, muttering as she went. “Head wound… bleeds freely… an’ a stab tae the side… what the devil?”

She lifted her head. “When was m’laird wounded afore? An’ where?”

Grace flushed. She’d never considered that Ewan hadn’t sought attention for the wounds inflicted by the bandits, or the cart. “We were attacked by bandits on the road, not more than a seven-day ago. And only two days ago, he was nearly run down by a cart that escaped a farmer’s control. It bruised and cut his shoulder. The bandits wounded his arm and side. I… I salved the wounds…”

“Should have seen a healer, even so. Salve only does so well.” Megan scowled at her patient. “Stubborn fools, all ye men are…”

The rest of Ewan’s clothing was removed, save for a loincloth, to reveal a stab wound to the shoulder, a second wound to his ribs, an inch or so above the one he’d sustained in the earlier attack, a slash to his left arm, and a glancing wound to his thigh. The sight brought tears to Grace’s eyes.

She swiped them away, swallowing back the churning in her gut and the desire to cry at the sight of Ewan’s wounded body. Tears and sickness would do nothing. Instead, she stepped forward. “How may I help?”

“Get a bowl o’ hot water an’ a clean cloth from the fireside. Then a needle an’ thread from the shelves over there.” Meghan tipped her head in the direction, then glared at Malcolm. “An ye, get me some o’ that strong whisky. I’ve near used me entire stock, an’ the wound needs cleanin’.”

Malcolm nodded and disappeared. Grace did as she was commanded as well, awed by the healer’s brisk efficiency and calm.

The next candle-mark was… difficult. Under Megan’s direction, Grace washed and cleaned the wounds, and helped to staunch the bleeding. She held Ewan’s arm while the spirits were used to cleanse the wounds, whispering soothing words when he shuddered and tried to rise, delirious and no more than half-conscious. She watched and helped Megan prepare poultices, while Devlin coaxed a cup of pain-killing tea and several swallows of whisky down Ewan’s throat to ease him into a deeper sleep.

Sewing the wounds was the worst part. She managed to stay calm, but it was a near thing, as she watched the needle pierce Ewan’s flesh to pull the edges of the deep cut on his side together, as well as the gash to his thigh, which turned out to be deeper than it first appeared. Tears stung Grace’s eyes with each prick of the needle, though Ewan remained mercifully unconscious for the entire ordeal.

Finally, though, the last of the wounds had been tended to. Poultices had been applied to encourage healing, and bandages wound around Ewan’s chest, waist, arm and leg. Devlin had left at some point and returned with a pair of loose breeches to dress the wounded laird in, after which Meghan wrapped him in two blankets.

It was Malcolm who broke the silence that fell in the wake of the healing. “How is he?”

“Exhausted. As much from weariness as from blood loss. He traveled hard, an’ he’s been tak’n too much care o’ the clan an’ his errands fer Laird MacDuff, nae enough care fer himself. He’s fevered, an’ ‘tis a wonder he didnae fall on his face afore now, but he’ll mend.

Grace winced at the words, remembering the storm. She’d been so irritated about everything that night, she’d forgotten to consider how it might affect Ewan’s health. “The day he was injured… there was a storm. We were both soaked, but there was no shelter save for a messenger’s hut…”

“An’ he took a chill, likely as nae.” Megan snorted. “He should have come tae me fer a tisane when ye arrived, but I never met a more stubborn fool. Still, he’s strong, an’ even with all his failin’s o’ late, he’s healthy enough. A few days o’ rest and some time tae let those wounds mend, along with the proper tonics, and he’ll be well.”

Grace heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

Devlin cleared his throat. “Lady Grace… Mm laird said ye intended tae visit yer friend, Lady MacDuff, on the morrow. I ken he intended tae tak’ ye, but if ye still wish fer the escort, I can…”

“No.” Grace shook her head. She couldn’t imagine leaving Ewan while he was so ill, though her mind shied away from examining the reasons for her reluctance. “No. I shall not leave him. I assume a message shall be sent to inform Laird MacDuff of what has happened here?”

“Aye.” Devlin nodded.

“Then please include a note for Lady MacDuff, and tell her I am delayed. I will join her once Ewan is well. I am sure she shall understand.”

“As ye will, m’lady.” Devlin dipped his head, then turned and left, no doubt going to write the promised letter and to see to his men.

Malcolm lingered. “Ye should rest, m’lady.”

Grace shook her head. She was exhausted, and yet, sleep had never seemed further from her mind. “I shall stay a while.”

“As ye will. I’ll send yer lass tae bring ye a change o’ clothing, then, and some food.” Malcolm watched her a moment, then turned and left as well. Grace watched him leave, wondering if she’d imagined the glimmer of approval she thought she’d seen in his eyes. Then she turned back to Ewan.

The warrior lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths. Grace settled into a chair at his side, watching carefully for any sign of waking, or any sign of worsening.

She was so absorbed in her vigil, she never even noticed as the healer quietly shut the door, and went to tend the rest of her patients.

Ewan woke feeling sore and weak, and rather as if he’d been encased in armor and wrapped in a shroud. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of herbs and soothing scents, and he scowled to himself as he recognized the healer’s cottage.

What happened tae me? There was a battle… an’ I was searchin’ fer Grace…

He vaguely recalled that someone had told him Grace was in a room, but the memories were fragmented, shadowy.

Grace…

He started to sit up, but a gentle hand touched his shoulder, and a familiar voice touched his ear. “You mustn’t move too much, until Megan has had a chance to inspect your injuries and ensure your fever has broken.”

Ewan turned his head to find Grace sitting at his side. She looked tired, dark circles beneath her eyes. Then her words reached his sleep-befuddled mind. “Fever?”

“You took a chill the night of the storm, an between that and weariness, coupled with the battle, you were ill for a few days.”

“How many days?” Ewan swallowed, then coughed. His throat and his chest hurt. Grace immediately gave him some water.

“Three.” Grace’s voice was soft as she helped him drink.

“Three! I have tae…”

“Ye have tae do nothing save rest an’ regain your strength.” Grace’s voice was firm.

“I cannae…”

“Ye’ll listen tae yer lass, or ye’ll listen tae me, but ye’ll be in that bed fer one more day, an’ resting in yer own fer another day whether ye wish tae or nae.” Megan’s no-nonsense voice stopped him from trying to sit up again. “Did ye ken ye took an infection from tha’ cart accident a few days ago? An’ with wood splinters in the wound as well.”

He recalled his shoulder had felt stiff and sore, but he hadn’t thought he’d been wounded that badly. Not as badly as he’d been hurt in the bandit attack a few days before that. “Didnae feel too bad…”

“It was, an’ ye did yerself nay favors with all the travelin’ an’ gettin’ caught in rainstorms an’ the like. An’ then goin’ tae battle as ye did. So ye’ll heed me orders, me laird, or there will be enough valerian in yer tea tae make sure ye have nay choice.” The healer’s voice was stern, and Ewan knew she was likely to do as she said she would.

A woman with enough steel in her spirit to be the healer for the MacTavish clan would likely do whatever she thought was best, no matter who tried to stand in her way. Ewan grimaced, but allowed himself to be pushed back against the pillows. If he was honest with himself, he knew he was in no shape to move, not when he felt like his limbs were encased in stone.

He let Megan fuss over him, but his eyes went to Grace, to the shadows in and under her eyes. “Were ye hurt? Or ill? Ye dinnae look well.”

“She’s been after fussing o’er ye since ye were brought here. Hasnae left yer bedside, fer fear ye’d worsen afore she could return.” From the way Grace blushed, the healer’s blunt speech was the truth.

“Ye… took care o’ me?” He blinked, surprised.

“I… I did. I was concerned for you.” Grace’s blush deepened. “Besides, I felt responsible for your condition. If you had not protected me on the road…”

“’Tis nae more than any man would have done.” Ewan would have waved a dismissive hand, had it not been for his aching wounds and the healer at his side.

“But it was you who did so, and I would feel ungrateful and rude, had I not tended to you in your hour of need. Besides… I…” Grace stopped, biting her lip.

“Aye?”

“It is nothing. It will wait. I should not like to incur the healer’s wrath by agitating you overmuch.” Grace shook her head.

Megan scowled at her. “If ye wish tae avoid me wrath, lass, then ye’ll go straight inside and get a hot mug o’ broth, an the tisane I prepared fer ye, then straight tae bed.”

Grace blinked. “I said I would…”

“Ye wanted tae look after him until ye were certain sure he was on the mend. Fever’s broken, and his wounds are healin’. The infection is drawn. Time is all he needs now, an’ I dinnae need another patient when ye keel o’er from a lack o’ rest.” The healer made an impatient motion toward the door. “Off with ye, unless ye want me tae dose ye an’ have Master Malcolm carry ye tae yer chambers.”

Grace rose, then paused, glancing at Ewan in silent question. There was a part of him that wanted very much to ask her to stay. Then his gaze fell on her pale cheeks, and the dark smudges under her eyes, and he realized, despite the fog in his mind, that he did not want her health to be endangered for his sake.

Grace’s presence was sweet, and filled him with warmth, but he’d no desire to have her there at the expense of her own well-being.

He waved a hand. “It seems we’ve both tae obey the healer, Grace. Go tae rest, an’ ye can come tae visit me when I’ve been allowed tae return tae me own rooms.”

Grace blushed a deep crimson, then dipped her head and hurried away. Ewan stared after her, confused by her sudden departure, and the blush. It wasn’t until he was drifting off again, helped along by a tisane from Megan, that he realized what he’d suggested, and how it might be understood by anyone who heard it.

It was far too late to call Grace back and explain what he’d meant, but the knowledge drifted into his thoughts and filled them with a sense of warmth and desire that followed him into his dreams.

He dreamed that night of Grace, and his dreams were sweeter than he could ever remember them being.