But Skye refused to leave his side.
So, Helena and the servants did what they could by bringing more clothes, food for Skye, and broth. But nothing seemed to help. Arran’s fever raged, and he remained unconscious.
At midnight, Skye broke down.
“He isnae getting better, Maither! I fear we will lose him. Has anyone heard ought from Braewell?”
“Nothing yet,” Nellie said, as tears ran down her cheeks. “Nothing yet.”
Skye kept on with the treatment. Once she thought the dark streaks had retreated. But then, another time she thought they grew longer. In the flickering candlelight it was hard to tell for certain.
Toward dawn, Helena came to check on her daughter. She found Skye kneeling by Arran’s bed, her head resting against her clasped hands. Helena eased down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Skye turned to her mother. “I’m afraid I’m losing him,” she sobbed. “And we’ve scarce had a chance to see how we are together.”
“Ye’re doin’ all ye can,” her mother comforted her. “Will ye let me watch with ye for a while.”
Skye nodded. “If ye can. I’d be grateful.”
The sun was just peaking over the horizon, when Ava came into Arran’s bedchamber.
She unpacked her bag, laying out a variety of herbs, powders, and tinctures. She mixed a potent concoction and carefully administered it to Arran, her hands steady and sure.
“Now we wait,” she said, her voice soothing. “The medicine is strong. If it’s going to work, we will see improvement soon.”
The hours ticked by. Skye fell asleep in the chair again, her body bent over the bed. She woke up just as the afternoon sun shone through the windows, and saw Arran’s face covered in a sheen of sweat.
His fever has broken!
By evening, he’d sipped some broth, and Skye gave him a warm sponge bath. His skin, though still pale, had regained some color. As she gently stroked his limbs with the warm cloth, she whispered words of encouragement.
A soft sound came from his lips.
Her heart leaped, and she leaned in close. “Arran, can ye hear me?”
He didn’t open his eyes, but the smile on his face grew wider. Ava’s medicine was working, and for the first time in hours, Skye allowed herself to believe that he would live.
Ava entered the room. “Is he doing better, Skye?”
Skye nodded. “He’s through the worst of it,” she said softly.
That night, she slept beside Arran, and she slept soundly. She opened her eyes at dawn to see his own eyes fluttering open.
“Good morn, wife,” he whispered.
“Good mornin’ to ye, husband,” she replied. “I’m glad ye are fully awake.”
Arran looked around, seeming confused. “How many days since we went to Aberray?”
“It’s been almost two,” Skye said solemnly. “Arran, ye were very sick. Ye almost died.”
Arran’s eyes widened. “Almost dead? Really?”
Skye nodded her head.
“Well, I dinnae feel almost dead now,” he drawled, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he looked down at her through mischievous eyes.
Skye’s mouth dropped open, but she had no words. Arran pulled her close by her hips and moved his hands to her breasts, squeezing them gently. He breathed on her neck, knowing that the sensation drove her wild, and pressed himself against her.
