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Bridgid shook her head and looked down. “Without food…since yester eve, I suppose. Sleep…longer than that. And even then she will not use a bed. She sits over there near the fire.” She pointed to an uncomfortable looking chair positioned not far from where some of the sick lay.

“Of course she doesn’t get much sleep that way.

If someone groans loud, up she goes, tending to them again.

” She sighed. “The missy is stubborn, she is. But her healing has saved many already, God bless her.”

“Aye, well enough is enough,” Duncan growled, more in frustration at Aileana’s stubbornness than in anger with Bridgid. “I am sending her to her bed until morning, unless there’s reason against it.”

Bridgid shook her head. “None that I know.”

Duncan nodded. “Good. Can you manage without her until tomorrow, then?”

Swiping a hand over her eyes, the bailie nodded. “She’s shared with me all she knows of healing those with the plague, and I will carry on fine without her.”

Duncan paused, noticing for the first time that Bridgid seemed almost as tired as Aileana.

Most likely she’d slept as little. He motioned for her to sit.

When she was comfortable, he said, “After you sup, I’ll be asking you to show me the methods Aileana taught you.

Then you’ll be taking to your bed as well.

I will assist your helpers for the rest of the night. ”

Kinnon stepped from the shadows. “I will stay, too. We’ll both do whatever is necessary to help.”

Bridgid started to protest, but Duncan added, “I am commanding you as chieftain of this clan. No more arguments.”

Her mouth clamped shut, though the warmth in her eyes expressed how grateful she was.

Her voice cracked as she gestured them toward the kitchen, shooing them along like the fowl in the yard.

“Off with you to eat, then. When you’re done I will take a quick meal myself and then teach you what I know. ”

Duncan nodded and motioned Kinnon along with him, quickening his pace as they neared the kitchen.

Eating didn’t interest him as much as ensuring that Aileana supped well and was tucked safely into bed before the hour passed.

Strange warmth cut through the worry that had been gnawing at him.

He savored the thought of sitting at table with her again.

When he was gone, he’d realized that he’d missed her fiery looks and the occasional sharp rejoinder she offered when he became overbearing.

Duncan suppressed a smile. Even tonight, tired though she was, she’d managed to incite his anger, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

She was a strange, unpredictable woman; she didn’t hold back from letting her complaints against him be known quite freely, but at the same time, she’d driven herself to exhaustion tending his people, caring for them while he was away.

Another surge of warmth bloomed in him. Her generosity was a surprise, made all the more pleasant for the fact that it was unsolicited.

Be she from an enemy clan or not, she’d made a sacrifice for his people, and because of it, he was going to do something he never thought he would ever do for a MacDonell…

He was going to offer her his thanks.

Duncan strode into the kitchen, more eager than ever to find her. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything. The room was empty.

He stopped so quickly that Kinnon slammed into his back. His cousin careened to the side, muttering a curse, and without looking, Duncan held out his arm to steady him. He was too busy searching the chamber for sign of Aileana. “Where the hell has she gone off to now?” he grumbled.

Kinnon brushed off his sleeve and scowled. “Most likely she’s at the well, or in one of the pantries. Don’t worry, cousin—I’m sure she’s no plot to starve us.”

“It is not the food that concerns me,” Duncan snapped, as he crossed the length of the chamber in search of her. “I just want to make sure she is—”

“Sweet Jesus.”

Duncan froze mid-step at Kinnon’s exclamation, his heart in his throat at the tone in his cousin’s voice.

Everything seemed frozen for an instant, suspended in time.

He twisted his head and saw that Kinnon was leaning over something.

Nay, leaning over someone . Someone slender and pale, with flaming gold hair…

“Aileana.” Her name whispered past his lips, and he spanned the distance between them in a few strides, falling to his knees beside her and lifting her onto his lap.

Her head lolled lifelessly, and though the shallow rise and fall of her chest assured him that she lived, her body’s heat burned into him, even through their layers of clothing.

“Ach, lass.” He rocked her gently, ripping off his glove to touch her brow, her cheeks, and the back of her neck.

But it was all the same. She was burning with fever.

“Christ, Kinnon, she’s come down with the plague.

” His fingers tingled and his throat ached with dread.

Scooping her up, Duncan cradled her against him and strode out of the kitchen, toward the steps leading to their bedchamber.

“Get Bridgid and tell her to bring everything she has to help.” His final command was uttered in a half growl. “Hurry, dammit.”

Cold twisted in his gut as he held Aileana close, murmuring in her ear, trying to elicit some response from her.

She was so quiet, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed from the fever.

His anxiety intensified, building with every step he climbed.

But as he reached the top of the stone staircase, something broke inside him.

It had long been crusted over, but it was released now by the surging flood of feeling that consumed him.

When it had happened, he didn’t know, but it was clear as day in this moment.

He cared deeply for Aileana MacDonell. It was too confusing to make sense of right now, but he knew one thing with certainty: he’d fight with every ounce of strength in him to keep the hand of death from pulling her down into the shadows.

Duncan bowed his head. His lips began to move in an almost forgotten stream of words. He’d sworn never to do it again, vowed to deny it as a worthless waste of breath and time. But he did it now, and with every bit of energy that was in him.

For the first time in thirteen years, Duncan prayed.

“What else? Just tell me what else can be done, and I’ll do it.

Anything.” He grasped Aileana’s burning hands in his own and laid his forehead against them.

He wasn’t sure that he’d spoken aloud, but Bridgid stepped forward.

Through a haze of exhaustion, he saw her approach, her hands twisting in her apron.

“There’s nothing more that I know of. If I did, I’d be telling you, I swear I would.”

He didn’t answer, but he felt her hand on his shoulder as she tried to urge him away from Aileana’s bed.

“You’ve got to rest, now, laddie—you haven’t slept in two days.

I promise I’ll stay here, sitting by her to bathe her forehead.

If she wakes, I’ll be quick at sending someone for you right away.

” When he didn’t respond, she added, “If you don’t rest, you’re going to end up as sick as the missy.

Please, let me take over for a little while. ”

“Nay.”

Duncan sat up and reached for the basin.

“No one will tend her but me.” As he’d done a thousand times in the past two days, he felt the temperature of her skin, sought the swellings that would mark the apex of the disease in her slender body.

She remained hot, but the area on her neck and near her groin showed what seemed to be an inflammation where none had been before.

The discovery sent a shock through him, making him sit upright.

Aileana moaned and twisted as he examined her, and he wanted to cut off his hands for hurting her. But he had to be sure. Satisfied, he sat back.

Joy mingled with incredible fear; the presence of the swelling showed that the pestilence had almost spent its course, but it also brought them to the crucial point. She’d live or die in the next twelve hours.

“Give me the salve, Bridgid.”

“Is it time already?” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Duncan glanced at her. “Aye. I have to apply it now. And bring the wine for her, too.”

With a sharp nod, Bridgid left, leaving him alone with Aileana. He reached out, smoothing the thick, red-gold tresses from her brow. God, she looked so small in his bed. Helpless. Vulnerable.

He twisted the cloth in the mint water and unfolded it across her forehead.

His eyes burned, and his teeth clenched as he worked, hating that he couldn’t take the ravages of the disease onto himself for her.

But tending to her and treating her was the best he could do, and he vowed to make the healing work.

“Here.” Bridgid pushed through the door and hurried forward with the pot of salve. Kinnon followed close behind with a skin of wine. As Duncan reached for the ointment, Bridgid held back.

“I’m thinking you might want me to do this part, laddie. It’s not a pretty sight, what happens, after it is spread over them.”

“Just give it to me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and, handing the pot to him, Bridgid sidled out of the way. Wordlessly, Kinnon untied the wineskin and set it near the bed.

Duncan propped Aileana in his arms and prepared to help her drink. “You can both leave now.”

Lifting his gaze from Aileana only long enough to catch Kinnon’s concerned look and Bridgid’s frightened stare, he added, “I’ve got everything I need here. Go now.”

As if they both understood the strange force that drove him, they turned to leave. But before Kinnon stepped out he said, “If you need me, just come to the door and call. I’ll be sleeping in the hall, a little way off.”

Duncan nodded, not moving as his cousin shut the door behind himself.

Then it was quiet. Gently, he laid Aileana back down.

He washed his hands, readying himself to apply the salve that Aileana had mixed herself before she fell ill.

If it went as he’d been told, she would resist the ointment, but once applied to the swellings it would immediately begin to take effect.

She would most likely vomit, and the convulsions might start again.

Within a few hours, the engorgements would either subside or burst, but with a different outcome for each.

The first meant life, the other death.

Steeling himself for the suffering he was about to inflict on her, Duncan removed the thin linen sheet.

He worked with efficient speed, trying to hold her still long enough to smooth the ointment along her neck and on the swelled places below.

He cursed when the stiffness in his crippled hand made the task more difficult, berating himself for the additional pain his clumsiness surely caused her.

Perhaps he should have accepted Bridgid’s help.

But suddenly he was finished. Aileana lay still. Her cheeks remained flushed, though the rest of her was ghostly pale. Moving gently, Duncan covered her again with the linen sheet and set an empty basin near the bed.

Then he waited.

He didn’t need to wait long. With a sudden motion, Aileana jerked, her body heaving as she retched from the effects of the ointment.

Duncan supported her, tipping her sideways and holding her hair from her face as he murmured soft words of reassurance until the violent sickness passed.

Then he laid her back against the bolster and bathed her face with cool water again before giving her a few more sips of wine mixed with water.

When she was quiet, he pushed himself up from where he’d knelt by the bed.

His legs protested the cramped position of the past three hours, and he stumbled as he walked to the hearth to drag a chair back to the bedside.

He sat there like that, not moving except to bathe her face periodically with mint water and encourage her to take sips from the wineskin.

The night faded away. His legs grew numb and his eyes stung.

And still he sat. He studied her face, the beautiful, noble features that shifted from wrenching pain to peaceful serenity and back again, more times than he could count as the hours slipped by.

Aileana was in truth nothing like her sister, now that he took time to notice.

Where Morgana’s beauty had been cold and precise, Aileana glowed with inner strength and goodness.

He prayed to God for the joy of looking into her vibrant eyes again, vowing to fight any battle, face any enemy for the privilege of it.

He’d even go willingly to the bow els of the Tower again and suffer the tortures of the damned.

If only she could live.

For in those still, empty hours of the night, when death hovered round him like a curse, Duncan realized something startling.

Somewhere along the twisted path of hatred and revenge, he’d changed.

The sweet enemy had come quietly, secretly, tying him with silken chains more solid and irrevocable than any walls that had ever held him prisoner.

And he knew that come heaven or hell, he would give up his life to keep Aileana MacDonell safe.