Page 28 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

28

“’ T is a nasty habit, ye savin’ me all the time.”

Alison’s eyes did not leave Duncan’s face as he carried her. She could not begin to describe the overwhelming relief that had washed over her when he had burst through the door of the study.

She had wanted to sob, but she knew that if she began crying, she would not stop.

“Ye werenae goin’ to save yerself this time?” Duncan asked, a glimmer of humor dancing in his eyes as he entered the chambers in the north wing.

Alison winced as he shifted her and lowered her onto the bed. Every bit of her body felt beaten and bruised.

Her mind was addled, still foggy from being so long without air and from hitting the ground when Johnson had yanked her down. Her muscles were screaming in protest from the strain of fighting him off.

Every time she spoke, it felt like knives were driving themselves into her throat.

And yet, after all of that, I’m still alive. Because of him.

Tears sprang to her eyes when she thought of how quickly the life that she found so precious could have been taken from her.

Duncan stood after he laid her on the bed, and she quickly swiped her hands across her cheeks, wiping away her ill-timed tears. She hoped that her husband had not seen them, but her hope was quickly dashed when he furrowed his brow in concern.

“Are ye in much pain?” he asked.

Alison was glad she could use her wounds as an excuse, so she nodded. It was not entirely a lie. She was in quite a lot of pain, even if that was not the reason for her tears.

Malina appeared at that moment, carrying her medical bag.

“Milk of the poppy,” Duncan commanded the moment he spotted the healer. “She says she’s in a lot of pain.”

Malina simply nodded, setting the bag on the bed beside Alison. The sound of tinkling glass filled the air as she rummaged through the vials. Pulling one out, she made quick work of unstopping it and passing it to Alison.

“Only half the vial,” she instructed, and Alison nodded. “It willnae put ye to sleep, but it’ll numb the pain.”

Alison put the vial to her mouth, the glass refreshingly cool against her skin. The grainy texture filled her mouth, but she swallowed past it.

After two gulps, she lowered the vial, eyeing it to ensure that she had consumed the amount Malina had indicated. Satisfied, she handed the vial back to Malina.

Malina took the vial and placed it back in her bag. Then, she began assembling what she would need to fix Alison’s stitches.

Duncan came to stand beside Alison’s head. “About this habit of yers,” he said, drawing her attention.

“Aye, the habit of needin’ ye?”

Duncan nodded, and Alison choked out a laugh.

Malina gave her a warning, advising that she was going to start cleaning her wounds and fixing the stitches. Suddenly, Alison found herself quite glad for the distraction that her husband provided.

“I couldnae have handled this one on me own,” she admitted, smirking up at him.

The milk of the poppy had done wonders. As Malina began to work, Alison felt her touch but not much of the pain. Her head felt fuzzy, as though she had consumed a bit too much whiskey, but she still had her wits about her.

“Ye couldnae have handled the last one on yer own either,” Duncan quipped.

“Nae true.” Alison shook her head slowly, careful not to disturb the delicate work that Malina was doing. “The other man was as skinny as a starved cat. I could have handled him. Another hour and I would have been on me way home.”

Duncan snorted. “Aye. Mayhap ye could have handled the one man, but what would ye have done with the twelve others who were outside that cabin?”

Surprise rushed through her. “Were there truly twelve?”

Suddenly serious, Duncan nodded. “Aye. They were nothin’ for me men to deal with, though. That much is for certain. And I handled more than a few of ‘em meself on me way into the cabin.”

Silence fell over them for a moment.

Alison’s mind began to spin. She was unsure if it was the tincture she had been given or if it was just the events that had unfolded during the past hour. Whatever the reason, she found herself suddenly at a loss for words.

“Ye said he was the one who murdered Lucy?” Duncan prompted.

A small gasp sounded from Malina’s direction as she heard the news for the first time, but Alison did not look at her. She could tell by the tugging sensation that her friend had begun fixing the stitches, and Alison did not think she could bear to see the needle piercing her flesh.

“Aye,” she said, giving her husband a quick nod. “He admitted as much. He said his name was Johnson Blake. Said he was Laird MacKimmon’s man-at-arms.”

Duncan furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why would MacKimmon’s man-at-arms kill Lucy?”

“He said he was in love with her,” Alison explained. “He claimed that ye had corrupted her with yer marriage. He didnae say much more than that, but if I had to guess, he likely thought that there would be more honor in her bein’ dead than to bein’ married to a man he deemed his enemy.”

Duncan was quiet again, his expression turning pensive. Alison assumed that he was digesting what she had divulged. She did not interrupt his thoughts, only studying his face intently while he considered her opinion.

“All finished,” Malina announced.

Alison finally mustered the courage to look down.

The skin around the wound was still angry and red, but the stitches were neat and tidy, and not a drop of blood marred her skin.

“Thank ye,” she said gratefully, looking up and holding her best friend’s gaze. “Nae just for this, but for everythin’.”

Malina gulped, and Alison could have sworn that she saw tears in her eyes. Her skin tingled as she felt her friend’s hand wrapping around her own.

“I would do it again a thousand times,” Malina said in a hushed, reverent tone. “But I really hope I willnae have to.”

The two shared a shaky laugh, gratitude flowing from every pore of Alison’s being.

After a few moments, Malina excused herself. She left another full vial of milk of the poppy on Alison’s nightstand.

“Drink the whole vial afore ye go to sleep,” she instructed. “It’ll help yer body get the rest that it needs.”

Alison nodded, watching as Malina left the room.

Duncan turned to her. “Would ye like me to take ye to yer chambers?” he asked.

Alison nodded. “I dinnae want to be carried, though. I can walk.”

Surprisingly, Duncan did not argue. Instead, he bent his head, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck for leverage. He helped her as she stood up, making sure to keep a firm hand on the small of her back so she did not have to strain.

As they walked, he remained by her side. He held his arm out to her, allowing her to use it as a crutch. It was slow-going, but they eventually arrived at her bedchambers.

A hearty fire was already crackling in the hearth. Alison smiled at the warmth it offered. She felt quite unsteady as they walked to her bed, her head swimming as the tincture took effect.

“I need to change me clothes,” she said, glancing at her husband.

“I can help. Where do ye keep yer night garments?”

Alison stared at him, contemplating his offer. She was not sure why, but she suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.

His eyebrow rose at her silence. “I saw ye mostly undressed when Malina was sewin’ ye back up,” he pointed out.

“I ken,” Alison answered, but her reticence was obvious in her tone.

She looked down at her dress, which was now stained with blood. Underneath it was a wound, one that her husband had already seen.

But it felt different now. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, wondering if she could even get undressed on her own.

Perhaps I can send for Malina again.

Duncan did not give her any longer to think. Instead, he ushered her along so she could prop herself against one of the reading chairs.

He went to her armoire without speaking, rifling through it while she watched him wordlessly. It did not take long until he took out one of her nightgowns and turned to her.

He held it up. “I’m helpin’ ye.”

It was not a question, but she found herself shaking her head all the same. “I can dress meself.”

“No. Ye cannae.” His tone brooked no argument, although she felt a dull flicker of defiance at his domineering demeanor.

“I dinnae need ye to coddle me,” she fired back, although the words lacked her typical ire. “I can take care of meself, despite what ye may think.”

He snorted a sardonic laugh. “We’ve had this fight already, wife. As much as ye might like to think that ye could have, ye ken that ye couldnae have gotten through that if I wasnae there to help ye. If I want to help ye, I’m goin’ to help ye.”

They stared stubbornly at each other.

Alison did not want to give in, but a wave of dizziness suddenly washed over her.

I’ll fall over if I dinnae let him help me. I have nay choice in the matter.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

Duncan walked forward and gently began to help her undress.

“Where’s Rosie?” Alison asked, hoping for a distraction as her dress slipped down her slender figure. It pooled at her feet, and she took Duncan’s hand to steady herself as she stepped out of it.

“Effie and some other maids are watchin’ her,” he explained.

Duncan allowed Alison to use his back for support as he bent, scooping her ruined clothing away from her feet before bringing her nightgown underneath her.

“She keeps askin’ about ye,” he added.

Rosie would be terrified if she knew what happened. Worried, she asked: “Does she ken what happened?”

He shook his head, pausing for a moment as he helped her pull the gown up to her shoulders.

“Nay,” he said. “We just told her that ye’re still hurtin’ from what happened at the village and that ye need to rest. We dinnae want to worry her anymore.”

Alison nodded, remaining silent while her husband helped button up the back of her nightgown. When they were finished, she allowed herself to be led to her bed.

Once she was tucked in, she looked at Duncan expectantly, waiting for him to announce that he was going to leave. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at her.