He looked at her. “I think I might feel faint.”
“Let me help you.”
“This may last several months.”
She rolled her eyes, then looked at him critically. “You look better. At least you’re not drooling any longer.”
“Blame his wee lordship there for anything untoward I’ve done in the past twenty-four—”
“Forty-eight,” she corrected.
He had to take a deep breath, then he shot Patrick a look of promise over her head. “Whatever he gave me over the pastforty-eighthours almost finished off what Simon Fergusson began.”
Patrick looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I’ll cook something for you,” he said, “and put the rest in the fridge.”
“Mrs. McCreedy sent along soup,” Emma said. “She said it was very helpful for those recovering from a shock.”
“That woman,” Patrick said with a smile. “She knows more than she lets on.”
“I don’t want to think about what she knows,” Nathaniel said with a sigh. “I think I need some fresh air. Emma, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Notice he doesn’t ask my leave,” Patrick said sadly. “The lack of respect is truly a comment on the state of affairs these days, isn’t it? Emma, did Nathaniel tell you that he thinks we might be cousins, bastard though he is—”
Nathaniel thought it best to leave the kitchen before he killed Patrick MacLeod. He shot him a murderous look before he put on a coat and went outside to breathe in the air of freedom.
It was glorious.
•••
Theafternoon was waning as he woke from yet another in a series of naps he couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking and saw Emma standing near his stove, putting on the kettle for tea.
“Ah, a proper Scottish lass you are,” he said with a smile. “Tea for her man. Now, when you begin to forgo the tea and go straight for the appropriate liquid, I’ll know something has truly changed.”
She turned to look at him. “You don’t drink very often, do you?”
“Not anymore,” he said lightly. “I had my brush with too much drink after my mother died. But I’m surprised to find that an abrupt trip to the past has an immediate effect on one’s alcohol consumption.” He pushed himself to his feet, swayed, then walked over to her. He put his arms around her and sighed deeply. “Have I thanked you properly for the rescue?”
“I don’t think so.”
He smiled. “You cut your hair and braved a medieval forge. I’m not sure there are adequate thanks.”
“The forge was a cakewalk. It was that dungeon that was really disgusting.”
He smiled, because they’d already discussed that more than he supposed either of them wanted to during the parts of the afternoon during which he’d actually managed to stay awake. Staying on his feet with any success was a bit more difficult, so he didn’t argue when Emma pushed him over to the couch and told him to sit down.
He accepted tea, drank, then leaned back against the sofa. He waited until she’d joined him before he spoke. “I have an invitation to extend,” he said slowly.
She curled her feet up under her and turned toward him. “What?”
“I had a phone call with your father today.”
“Did you?” she asked. “Before or after Jamie almost drove him to a heart attack in the lists?”
“After,” he said pleasantly.
She smiled grimly. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”
“Well, I did and we worked a few things out. You may not like them.”
