“Well, then,” she said, “let us see if this tea can soothe young Danny’s pain.”
Chapter Twelve
Finnan followed Jeannie back to the bed, where Danny still tossed and turned, trying hard to rein in his emotions. What in hell was wrong with him? He had very nearly lost control of his tongue, and his feelings, a moment ago. Wooed, just like Geordie, by a pair of beautiful, wide blue eyes. He had to remember who, and what, she was.
Perhaps not his worst enemy, given the events of this day, but damn near. He cursed the Avries under his breath again. Let them attack him as they would, but falling on an unarmed lad, and one under his protection, just upped the score to be settled.
He would settle Jeannie MacWherter also, no question. But that would be easy and, aye, a mite enjoyable. He could not help but watch the sway of her hips as he trailed her back to Danny, and imagine what lay beneath that plain brown skirt she wore. Smooth and soft, no doubt, round white flesh he wanted bare beneath his hands.
That was not all he wanted. He needed to engage the wench’s emotions and then break her heart, even as she had broken Geordie’s. Turn about made fair play, to his mind. And engaging her emotions would not be difficult. A blind man could not miss the way she looked at him. Tempted already, she was. That blue gaze had been all over his body, had measured the muscles of his chest and arms and trailed the line of red-brown hair that led down into his rough kilt—and that more than once.
Oh, aye, he would have her on her back and screaming his name within the week.
But first he had to cope with these other complications. He’d not figured on Danny being so sore hurt and marooned here. The lad held Finnan’s heart—what little of it remained whole.
“Lift him up,” Jeannie bade him now, “and I will tip the cup to his lips.”
Finnan did as bidden, and rested Danny’s head against his bare shoulder. Ah, but the lad burned with fever. Jeannie leaned in, which brought her very close to Finnan indeed. He could catch the clean scent of her, and the golden shine of her hair.
Danny opened fever-fogged eyes and looked at her. “Ma?”
Jeannie shot Finnan a look of consternation but barely missed a beat. “Yes, son. Drink this for me; it will ease your pain. Then lie back and rest.”
Danny, utterly trusting, drank the potion like a lamb. His gaze never left Jeannie’s face as Finnan lowered him back onto her pillow.
“Ma, I hurt. No, do no’ leave me!”
Jeannie froze in the act of stepping away. Danny’s one good hand reached out, searching, and she clasped it.
“Stay with me, Ma. Where have you been? I searched and searched.”
Finnan’s throat tightened. He knew the story full well: not long before Culloden, Danny and his mother’s nearby farm had come under attack by raiders. When the lad, off hunting hares, came home he found the cottage burned and his mother missing.
He had found her eventually, splayed on the hillside out back, violated and dead.
Jeannie MacWherter drew a breath, but she did not hesitate. “Of course I will stay with you, Danny. But you must lie quiet. I do not want your stitches to tear.”
Without a word, Finnan fetched a stool from the other room and placed it beside the bed for her. She lowered herself onto it, looking every bit the compassionate angel. Finnan, watching as her fingers caressed those of the lad, had to remind himself again of her true nature.
He should not be surprised to find her a clever and deceptive creature. Geordie, despite his air of innocence, had been no fool. No man who had suffered the events and seen the sights they had together could be entirely gullible. And she had fooled Geordie completely.
No matter. He, Finnan, could be as deceptive as she.
Jeannie glanced at him precisely as if she could hear his thoughts, and he gave her his warmest smile.
“Only look how he settles for you,” he crooned, for indeed Danny’s eyes fluttered shut. He added truthfully, “He has wanted his ma for so long. But I doubt she was so lovely as you.”
Some strong emotion touched her features before she schooled them. “She was beautiful, to him. I can tell by the way he looks at me. What happened to her, Laird MacAllister?”
“You do not want to know.”
She gave a grim nod. “I am sometimes reminded that this world in which we live is a terrible place.”
Finnan could not but agree. “Terrible, dangerous, frightening…and beautiful. All the while I was away, the beauty I remembered here in this glen kept me whole and sane.” Partly sane, by any road. It might be argued he had traded, to the demons that rode him, some of his sanity—or his soul.
She gave him another of those measuring glances. “Glen Rowan means a great deal to you. I wonder that you ever left.”
Finnan hesitated. He had no intention of spilling his deepest feelings to her, and so murmured only, “Aye, well, needs must. But the place a man was born seems to always keep a hold on him.”
