The Laird (11 page)

What the hell is she rattling on about?

“Your shoulder still looks bad, but it’s a far sight better now, so...” She gave him another mouthful of broth.

Ah, his shoulder wound. He flexed his left shoulder. It still hurt but not nearly as much as it had just...

“Where--” He cleared the thickness in his throat. “Where is Angus?”

“In the hall. Would you like me to call him?”

“Aye.”

She put down the bowl, ran a tentative hand down his cheek and grinned. “You need a shave, but I guess that can wait.”

Shave? He touched his face and felt stubble. His beard was gone! What the bloody hell is going on here? He struggled to sit, only to find himself too weak to lift more than his head and his good shoulder. God’s teeth! “Angus. Now.”

She smiled. “As you wish, sire.” Too his utter surprise, she placed a kiss on his forehead before leaving.

~#~

“Finally, ye wake.” Angus clasped Duncan’s hand. “Ye know ye verra nearly shent my week by almost dying?”

“Dying?”

“Aye.” Angus dropped his voice to a whisper. “Had it not been for yonder wife, ye well may have. She’s not left yer side but to relieve herself in the garderobe. And why on earth did ye not say yer shoulder was a pestilence?”

Duncan shrugged his good shoulder. “I thought it healing.” Angus raised a disbelieving brow and grunted before glancing at Beth who now stood straight backed and staring out the room’s small window.

“Yer yon ladywife threatened all manner of mayhem when I suggested we bring back the doctor. Said she’d smote the man and then my bonnie self if ‘
the raunchy bastard so much as crossed the threshold!
’ Aye, those were her exact words.”

“I donna understand
raunchy.
” Bastard, he understood just fine.

“Nor I, but her meaning sat clear as well water.” Angus chuckled. “And here I thought ye’d wed a pious woman.”

He had. Hadn’t he? She certainly wasn’t reticent about threatening, but swearing in Angus’s presence? No lady born would hazard such.

“Aye, and how she keened over ye, too, in the wee hours when she thought me asleep at the watch.” Angus shook his head, looking as bemused as Duncan felt. “She didna keen aloud, but silently, tears flowing like a burn, stroking yer brow. And she crooned when she thought herself alone with ye. I didna know her songs, but they were as soft as any lullaby.”

How odd. Not a moment ago Lady Beth had nearly suffocated him by holding his nose.

“And my beard?”

Angus shrugged. “She said ye needed stripping to break yer fever and strip ye, we did, down to the flesh, face and all.”

Was naught sacred to the woman? With trepidation, Duncan raised a shaking hand to his head and found his hair still attached but braided. Praise the saints.

Angus chuckled, “She appeared quite satisfied with uncovering ye face and left it at that.”

“Help me up.”

Angus rested a hand on Duncan’s good shoulder. “Nay. Yon doctor wife would have my sweeties in her fist within a heartbeat. Ye are fevered still, though not as before. I’ve seen yer back, man. ‘Tis still a long way from healed.”

Duncan heaved an exasperated sigh. He had a hundred things he needed to attend to if he’d truly been out like a doused fire for five days. “As yer liege lord, I order ye to help me up.”

“Nay. I’d rather face yer fury on yer next good day, than deal with yon lady’s ire on this one.” He patted Duncan’s hand. “Oblige me by staying put, do as she asks, and mend.”

Angus raised his voice and addressed Beth. “My lady, I take my leave, entrusting my lord into yer capable hands.”

Beth blinked in surprise. Her husband’s second in command was leaving his post? “As you wish—-luste, Sir Angus.” His surprise at her deference registered before he could mask it. “Have a good day, Angus, and thank you for all your help.”

Looking bemused, he bowed.

Beth returned to Duncan’s side. “So, now it’s just you and me against the world, huh? Are you hungry?”  When his brow remained furrowed she made eating motions with her hands.

“Aye.”

“I’ll see what the kitchen has to offer. Hopefully it’s not that dreadful haggis again.” She shuddered, picturing the sheep gut stuffed with oats and Lord knew what all else. She wouldn’t have been the least surprised to learn they packed a pig’s squeak in with its blood.

A few minutes later she returned with a trencher of diced lamb and porridge. When she finished shoveling the contents of the bread bowl into him, she gently dabbed the corners of his mouth.

Glory, you’re a handsome man.

She’d been so pleased to discover a beautifully crafted mouth and square jaw under all the hair. And his lashes were to die for, so long and thick they tangled as he slept. She sighed, reluctant to admit she hovered precariously close to a precipice, one she couldn’t risk falling over, of falling head over heels.

You’d better stop mooning and start focusing on the hard truth, Beth.
Duncan might eventually feel gratitude, but he’ll never feel love. Besides, you’re going to find your way back to coffee, toilet paper—-she still couldn’t get over using Lamb’s Ear leaves--and your little black cases of much-needed Chanel.

“What ails ye?”

She cleared her throat. “Nothing.” She checked his temperature with her palm. “It’s time to sponge you down again.”  He said nothing, which she took as consent and readied the bed.

As she placed sheeting under each of his limbs he started to scowl. When she soaked a cloth in cool water and wiped his face, his gaze never wavered from hers. What was he thinking?

She bathed his neck then his arms. Still he remained mute.

Realizing she’d put off the inevitable for as long as she dared, she lowered the sheet to his hips. Feeling a blush creep up her neck, she glanced away.

She’d thought nothing of touching his body intimately while he lay unconscious--it simply had to be done--but now her handsome husband-in-name-only stared at her, quite aware of where her hands and gaze traveled. She took a deep breath.
Get a grip, Beth, and just do it.

If he has a problem with her bathing him, he’ll let you know in short order. Then you can get huffy and tell him it’s for his own good and to just shut up.

He said not a word as she sponged the broad, muscular planes of his chest and arms. As she readied another cloth to wipe down his well-delineated stomach she dared to glance up and found him staring at her through hooded eyes. She caught a slight twitch of his lips. Suspecting he was near to grinning, she cleared her throat and put on a stern face. Better he think her annoyed by having to do this, than suspect the depth of her embarrassment. Unfortunately, touching him while he was fully aware was a decidedly new experience. Totally unnerving, in fact, since his body was the first adult male’s she’d ever touched, seen naked outside of a movie. And he was breathtaking.

He murmured, “Dosth ye approve?”

Her face suddenly felt like a blast furnace.

She chewed her lower lip. What the heck should she say?
If you were healthy, I’d kill to spend one night in your arms?
Not likely. “Aye, you’re being very good, staying so still.”

This time his lips did curl into a grin.

Duncan,
she wished,
why don’t you just close your eyes and let me finish with this before I expire. Good gravy.

Her hands shook as she wrung cool water from the cloth. She grabbed a lung full of air and placed the cloth on his muscular abdomen. Her fragile confidence wavered when glorious muscle rippled under her hands.

You can do this, she silently chided. Hell, she’d done it for five days. Today should be no different.

Right.

Her hand grazed the fine, curly hairs on his lower abdomen, and a steeple appeared within the sheeting covering his privates. She nearly swallowed her tongue.

Oh, good Lord. Now, what? She couldn’t just stop. He had a fever. Was this...reaction...simply a biological thing that happened whenever cold water came too close to a man’s plumbing? Probably. Yes. It certainly couldn’t be a response to her.

Though the tenting was surely a temperature issue, she retreated, wash basin in hand, to the end of the bed. She lifted his left foot. As her hands rose along his leg, she kept her gaze locked on the cloth in her hand. Minutes later Beth accidentally glanced up to find the steeple decidedly taller.

To her horror, hot blood flair in her cheeks.

God, if you get me through this, I swear I’ll never curse again in my life.

T
o Duncan’s amusement, his ladywife’s complexion bore a strong resemblance to a freshly cut beet. As he watched her labor over his body he dared not laugh for fear she’d expire on the spot or run from the room screaming.

And her hands felt wonderful, as did the cool water she kept applying so carefully. She had a gentle touch. A good trait in a wife.

Wife. Something he’d not wanted but now had, nonetheless.

He felt relief knowing there was a possibility he could bed her, in knowing his cock hadn’t been adversely effected like the rest of his body by the ravishes of Eleanor’s blade.

When Beth’s hands fluttered against the inside of his left thigh, he closed his eyes and nearly groaned. Had he the strength, he would have reached out, pulled her on top of him and gladly tupped her, greasy hair and all, just to relieve the pressure she’d created in his groin. Had he tupped her the night they wed, he might even suggest she use those incredible hands to relieve his anguish, but that, unfortunately, was currently out of the question. Served him right for delaying the inevitable.

“Duncan, please roll onto your good side.”

He opened his eyes. Her color hadn’t faded and she had chewed her lower lip berry red. The color was attractive beneath her slate gray eyes. He grinned. “Ye have good hands, wife.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but she turned an even brighter shade of red.

“Thank you.” She ran a nervous hand to her neck and rubbed. “Would you mind?” She waved in a circle.

Rolling onto his right shoulder took his breath away. Had Eleanor not been already been dead, he’d have found a way to kill her. God’s Teeth!

“
Shh
, just relax.”

He hadn’t realized he’d groaned. With the sheeting tucked under his back from shoulders to hip, he again felt her soft hands. She caressed his back with cool water. After a few ragged breaths he finally relaxed under her touch. As her hands crept lower--massaging the taut muscles of his lower back in slow steady circles--his manhood stained at attention. When she ran her hands around the cheeks of his buttocks, he groaned again.

She leaned over. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nay.” She might yet be the death of him, but certainly not from pain. “Have ye a tale, lass?” Trying to fathom her odd manner of speech might prove distracting enough to ease the pressure in his groin.

“A tail?”

“Aye, a ballad.”

“Ah. That kind of tale.” Her hands slid slowly down his legs. To his consternation, it took several agonizing minutes before she took a deep breath and started.

“Once upon a time a wee lass named Kathy found herself all alone. She didn’t understand—-ken—-why her parents had died or why a lady took her from home and told her she needed to find a new mother and father. Kathy didn’t want new parents, she wanted
her
parents, but she was brave. She didn’t cry when the lady placed her in an orphanage—-a house for lost children. She was told new parents would come and so she waited.

“Many times over the next few years she was paraded before people, but never chosen. Years passed and many adults came and took other children home, but no one ever came for Kathy.”

Hearing her voice crack, Duncan craned his neck to look at his ladywife’s face. She blinked and motioned for him to turn around.

“Kathy eventually became sullen in her resignation.” This time when his wife hesitated, her hands also stilled. True, her tale was sad, but why did she take the child’s tale so personally?

“One day the orphanage closed and Kathy was placed in foster care. She didn’t mind, believing she’d now have a mother and father of her own once again.

“But Kathy soon realized she had only been placed in her new home to help take care of babies. Try as she might, her new parents never offered affection, never hugged or kissed her. She went to school and then came home to care for the babies, day after day. Eventually, her foster parents tired. No new babies came and they sent Kathy to another family.”

Duncan had been fostered to the Campbell as a lad of ten to earn his spurs. He, too, had been lonely on occasion. What affection he did receive came only in the way of backslapping and goodhearted teasing. He’d not been hugged or kissed either. So why was his wife sounding so forlorn for Kathy? As he pondered, her hands began massaging his calves with cool water.

“In her new home,” his ladywife continued, “Mrs. Proctor was kind, but Mr. Proctor tried to corner Kathy whenever he found opportunity. At twelve years, her figure—-body--had started to curve, to look womanly. One day, she came home to find herself alone with Mr. Proctor. He tried to bed her. Terrified, she fought. She got sick on him, bloodied his nose with a lamp, and then escaped. That’s the first time I...Kathy ran away.”

Ah! He now understood the cause of his ladywife’s angst. He hoped the man had been caught and hung; him and any dog, horse or falcon found with him, which ‘tis the law of the land.

Beth sighed as she began removing the dressing around his shoulder. “Having no money—-marks—-Kathy didn’t get far. She was caught and given to a lady named Mrs. Wade, a very odd woman.”

His ladywife stopped her tale. He looked over his shoulder to see her holding a cup of the water over his wound.

“Duncan, this might sting.”

He might have shamed himself by yelling had she not warned him in advance. To his consternation she had the nerve to pour more into his wound. She then murmured, “This will hurt a wee bit more,” and jerked the dressing from his back. He grit his teeth against the agony and wondered what the hell she considered truly painful.