Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (35 page)

Leith threw his leg swiftly over Beinn's rump. "Here, John." He ran to where the man already lifted young Eve from the wagon. "Another blanket. Fiona Rose would never forgive me should yer bairn catch a chill."

"Aye, me laird." John nodded, but his face was strained, showing the same expression Leith had seen on the others.

They thought he had lost his sanity. But in fact, he had found it. And with it, Rose would live.

"Inside. Hurry now," he ordered and John went, carrying his wife who carried the tiny babe, still naked and clasped close to her breast beneath the blankets.

"Lass! Wee nun!" Leith called, taking the steps by threes. "Fiona!" For one horrendous, shuddering moment fear gripped him in dark hands and he stopped, his heart faltering as he stood immobile in the doorway.

"Me laird," Roman said, his round eyes catching Leith's. "I think—mayhap I saw her fingers move."

It was said with the blind, unquenchable faith of a child who has seen a lifetime's worth of pain, and yet dares to believe in the triumph of good.

Leith's heart thumped to life as he sped across the floor and clasped the boy to his chest in a crushing embrace. "Ye are surely sent from heaven, lad. Surely so.

"Come in. Come in," he called, setting the boy aside and motioning to John. "Put them under the blankets with me lady."

"Under..." John blanched at the words, terrified of placing his wife and son beside a woman who was surely dying, and abruptly shifting his gaze to the window ledge where Silken waited. But Leith only smiled and shook his head.

"Fear na, John. The lass willna die. For ye understand, she owes me a year, promised by her own lips, and she is a woman who will move heaven and earth to keep her vows." Putting his hand to his chest, he gripped the small cross beneath his shirt. "As God is me witness," he murmured huskily, "I willna be shortchanged."

Turning to the bed, his face stern, but his hands atremble, he reached out to shake the wounded girl.

"Fiona," he called, his tone harsh and loud. "Awake, lass."

She moaned once and turned her head, but he would not relent and shook her again.

"Awake, I say. Do ye think God has sent ye here for na purpose but to sleep? Think ye to wrest wee Somerled into this world then leave him with na care? Surely ye owe him more than that."

She moaned again, the sound anguished, and Roman reached out, grasping Leith's arm with both his small hands. "Nay!" he rasped, his lean face filled with terror. "Dunna hurt her."

"Quiet, lad," said Leith. "Dunna try to stop me, for I shall use any means to bring her back. Any means at all.

"Awake!" he ordered gruffly, shaking her again.

"Do ye na think Eve has suffered enough? Must she lose this bairn too because of yer lack of spirit?"

From midnight folds of deepest sleep, Rose saw a tiny face peering at her. It was wrinkled and reddened, with eyes of charcoal-blue and fists hugged close for comfort.

Somerled—that innocent babe, forced too soon into a world so wrought with hardships. He needed her. But she was tired. So very tired. She slipped back, called into the darkness.

But the voice came again and again, growing insistent and hoarse.

And there was crying—dry, heaving sobs from a child.

Roman.

She knew it suddenly. Roman—who had not shed a tear since coming to Glen Creag. Roman, with the unquenchable spirit and sunset-bright mop of hair, was crying. Weeping as if his heart would break. Dear Roman, who had suffered too much. She would comfort him, hold him until the tears stopped.

When her lids finally lifted, tiny dew-drops of empathy had already formed at the corners of her eyes.

"Roman." She lifted her right hand, touching the boy's bowed head. "Is it Dora?"

Roman's small, ginger-topped pate lifted slowly. His eyes were afloat with tears. "Me lady!" he choked, clutching her arm to his narrow chest as if he would hold her forever lest she escape again into a place where he could not follow. "Laird," he whispered, his liquid gaze not leaving her face, "she is returned."

"Indeed."

For the life of her, Rose could not read Leith's tone. It sounded husky and rather strained, as if he had been ill for a long while and had just now found the strength to speak.

"My laird?" She looked to him and noticed that his eyes too were moist. Indeed, she reasoned, he must have been very ill. Shame on her for leaving him to fend for himself. "Ye are well now?"

He took her left hand in his, lifting it ever so gently to his chest. "Verra well, wee lass," he said hoarsely. "Verra well now."

She relaxed somewhat, letting her gaze drift and seeing Dora scoot over the bed plaid toward her. The dog was well. Roman was fine. And it seemed Leith had recovered from his apparent illness.

Her lids fluttered downward. Darkness called.

"Nay!" Leith demanded, his tone so sharp it startled her to wakefulness. "Nay, lass." He gripped her hand harder, as if to hold her forever in his world. "Ye canna sleep. Wee Somerled is failing. And there is none other who can save him."

"Somerled?" Rose murmured.

"Aye. And ... and yer cat has been worried."

"Silken?" Rose breathed, and managed to turn toward the window, where Silken's whiskered face peered warily around the frame.

"Aye. Silken has been waiting on the window's sill."

Rose's lids fluttered down.

"Fiona," Leith called urgently, startling her awake once more. " 'Tis unseemly that the cat sit there. 'Twill make any passersby think this place is enchanted."

"Enchanted, my laird?" she said softly.

"Aye." Leith nodded, feeling relief and hope like the stab of a dagger. "Call the cat forth, Fiona. For he loves ye."

Rose slowly drew her gaze from Leith's. "Silken." She lifted her right hand. "Come."

The cat moved with lithe caution, but he came. Miraculously, Dora remained as she was, comfortably pressed against Roman as Silken moved to the bedside and warily sniffed Rose's wounded shoulder. His eyes, golden as the first rays of morning sun, lifted to Rose's. For a moment absolute stillness held the room, and then he licked the torn fabric near her wound—just one quick swipe of his abrasive tongue before he settled himself onto his haunches to await her recovery.

Chapter 27

During the following weeks Rose rarely raised her own hands, though she did much to instruct others. And though Leith had spoken eloquently of wee Somerled, it was
her
wounds he had seen to first, tenderly and thoroughly performing whatever functions she proclaimed would cure her injuries.

He had done well, she mused now, lifting her left arm gingerly. Pain spurted through her shoulder and chest, but the limb was still mobile and her fever subdued.

Roman, with his gap-toothed smile and sudden need to hold her hand, had told her how Leith had never left her bedside except to fetch Eve and her babe.

And that babe... Rose smiled to herself. Wee Somerled—no bigger than a weanling pup—was already nursing on his own. It must be his stubborn Scottish blood that made him fight so to survive, she reasoned, easily dismissing her own efforts to save him—feeding the tiny lad through a softened and lubricated reed every few hours, waking painfully from those grasping folds of oblivion to Leith's tender voice and supportive hands, seeing his eyes fill with warmth and hope as she ministered to the bairn.

Aye, Leith was a strong laird and a good man, but he was no longer her lover. Each night he slept beside her for a brief while, carefully avoiding touching her except to tend her wounds, but then he always removed himself to a nearby bedchamber, where he spent the remainder of the night. She craved his more personal attention. Desired his caresses. His husky laughter. His... everything. God's teeth, she loved him. More than life. But he was being very difficult.

Laughter sounded from the next room. Rose smiled, knowing Hannah was sitting by her sister's bed, easing Eve's boredom as the new mother warmed the baby with her own body's heat.

Life could be so good here, if only...

Footsteps trod softly in the hallway. Rose glanced expectantly toward the door, but the footfalls passed. She sighed, closing her eyes and searching for sleep again, only to wake to the sound of Leith's voice coming from the hall. It was low and harsh, the words barely audible.

"Ye slink about like a wolf on a scent," he hissed. "What do ye want from her?"

Silence.

"Damn ye, Harlow!" Leith growled, his voice trembling with rage. "Why are ye here?"

Hannah!
Rose thought suddenly.

The image of the girl's lovely face flitted through Rose's sleep-muddled mind like an autumn leaf in the wind. Harlow was there because of his love for Hannah.

Rose understood love now. It made people act foolishly. It made
Harlow
act foolishly—risking his laird's temper to be near the woman he adored, the woman he would never be allowed to have because of the boyish crimes of his past. The theft of Hannah's father's apples, if castle gossip was correct.

Stiffly pushing the blankets aside, Rose swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing with the movement. Beside her, Silken jumped from the mattress, then watched as she touched her bare feet to the floor and stood.

Daggers stabbed at Rose's chest, but she moved toward the door, her nightrail billowing behind her as she opened the portal. "Leith."

He stood with his fist clutched in Harlow's saffron shirt. Rose's gaze flitted from the lad's reddened face to Leith's hard expression.

"Leith," she repeated, clutching the doorjamb. "I feared there was something amiss.”

"Nay." Leith loosened his grip, trying to soothe the anger from his face. He had done his best to keep Rose from worrying. "Nay, lass, I was only rankled that Harlow had left his duties. Nothing more." It was a poor lie, but it made no sense to worry her with his own suspicions that Harlow was involved in the attack on her.

Holy Jesu! How could it be that she had been pierced with an arrow and yet they could not determine the culprit? Or did he have the guilty one here by his shirtfront even now? "Ye should na be out of bed, lass," he said. "Ye will open the wound."

Leith was still angry and thought Harlow might be guilty of wounding her, Rose sensed easily. But... She needed time to think, to figure things through before Leith did something which they would all regret. "I had a frightful dream," she said quietly. Her lie was no better than his, but she needed to draw on Leith's softness for her, to keep peace until facts became clear in her mind. "Might ye come sit with me for a spell?"

"Lass," he said gently, turning abruptly from Harlow, "there is naught to fear."

She sucked in her lower lip, seeing that warm kindness in his eyes and remembering with aching clarity the times he had taken her in his arms. "There is nothing to fear," she whispered, "when you are near me."

Jesu, he loved her! Ached to lie beside her again.

"Harlow," he said, not looking to the lad, "go about yer business. I will speak with ye later."

Leith closed and barred the door behind them.

"Come to bed, lass," he said softly, taking her arm in his. "Ye should na be wandering about."

"I heard you in the hall."

"I will be sure to tread more quietly in the future," he said, his expression somber.

"Just stay beside me instead," she said, catching his eyes with her own.

In his was an emotion so intense it all but seared her heart, and she held her breath, waiting.

"I would stay by yer side forever if I could, lass," he murmured huskily. "But I have yet to avenge yer injury. And until that day comes, I canna rest."

She wanted to kiss him, to hold him in her arms and confess her love, to tell him not to worry, for all would be well. But he did worry, and there was a strong possibility that he might accuse the wrong man.

"About Harlow," she began, but Leith turned her toward the bed and pressed her gently onto the mattress. "Do not be too harsh with him," she advised.

A muscle jumped in Leith's jaw. "Dunna speak now, lass. Rest."

"Leith." She reached up with her hale arm, touching his sleeve. "The lad means no harm."

" 'Tis na for ye to worry on. Though I have failed ye in the past, I willna do so again." His face was tense, as was his tone. "Ranald guards yer door, and at every hour men watch the castle. Na one shall come in without me knowledge and permission. Ye are safe here."

"Safe?" She smiled, wanting to soften his mood, to feel his gentle hands on her, to hear his voice low and husky in her ear. "I never doubted that I was safe under your care."

Their eyes caught again, but he shook his head. "Ye forgive me failings too easily, lass."

"And you expect too much of yourself, as usual."

"Nay," Leith said. "For I am—"

"I know, you are laird."

"Aye. And I will keep ye safe. None will harm ye again, for ye will stay within these walls, where none shall come without me own permission."

Rose lifted her brows. "You plan to lock me away like a prisoner?"

"I but mean to keep ye safe. Ye will na be a—"

"Shh." Placing a finger gently to his lips, Rose smiled. “I do not mind being imprisoned for a time," she whispered, letting her fingers drift slowly down his broad throat to where the upper portions of his massive chest showed through the laced opening of his shirt. "So long as you are my jailer."

"Lass." He sucked in air through his teeth and closed his eyes. "Ye are tempting me."

"Am I?" She bit her lip, trying to look innocent. "Tis a shame. But I... " She shrugged, pressing her right palm beneath his shirt and over his sensitive nipple. "... I am starved for companionship."

"Keep this up and ye shall get more than companionship," he vowed, his voice low as he caught her arm.

Her brows rose again. "Such as?"

"Ye know verra well."

"Show me," she whispered.

"Lass, ye have been sorely wounded, and I dunna wish to worsen the injury."

"You think I am so frail?"

"Aye," he admitted, nodding gravely. "That I do."