Flora was now nodding in her chair. Adair gently touched her shoulder. “Go to bed,” she said softly. “You have been a great help to me.”
Conal was moaning and tossing in their bed. Adair poured a small cup of wine and, sitting on the edge of his bed, tried to awaken him, but he was caught in the throes of the fever and just muttered her name. Putting an arm about his shoulders she raised him up, and with her other hand pushed two of the pills into his mouth.
Then she took the cup, holding it to his lips, and encouraged him to drink. He took two swallows and then coughed, but she saw the pills had gone down. She tried to give him another sip, but he pushed her hand away.
“Adair,” he managed to say.
“I am here, Conal. You are very sick. Sleep now, my love,” she told him.
“Do not leave me, Adair,” he moaned.
“I am here, Conal,” she reassured him. “I will not leave you.”
“Ever?” His voice was a whisper.
“Go to sleep, Conal,” Adair said, and loosened her grip on him, lowering him back to the bed. She sat by his side the entire night, and he slipped deeper into his delirium. In the morning she sent his brothers and their men to the coldest running stream in the area with orders to bring back enough icy water to fill the oakenbathing tub. And when it was full, before the water could warm, Duncan Armstrong carried his brother from his bedchamber and lowered him into the tub he had brought from its alcove.
The icy water partially roused the laird, and he struggled to arise, but Murdoc and Duncan held him in the tub until Adair told them to take him back upstairs. Together they dried him with rough cloths. At first he began shivering violently, and then the fever returned to hold him in its fierce grip. The laird attempted to fling off the coverlets they kept piling upon the bed, but they would not let him, and Conal Bruce poured sweat.
“We’re either going to kill him or cure him,” Duncan Armstrong said grimly.
Adair nodded. She was very pale, but her look was a determined one.
She loves him, Duncan Armstrong thought.She reallyloves him.
And then the laird’s fever broke, and he grew quiet again as they changed the soaked bedclothes and his sopping night garment. Adair rubbed his chest with a mixture of goose fat and camphor, covered it with flan-nel, and pushed several more of her pills between his lips, making him drink the wine she poured into the goblet. And then Conal Bruce grew quiet. His breathing was normal. His skin was cool to the touch. Looking out of the window Adair saw the sun was close to setting.
“Go and get some rest,” Duncan said. “You’ve been at this for two days. He’s safe, and you must take care of yourself now, Adair.”
“I’ll send Grizel to sit with him for a few hours,”
Adair said. “You must be tired too, Duncan. Thank you for your help. I could not have done it without you.”
He nodded and gave her a warm smile. Then he said,
“You’re a headstrong lass, Adair. I admire your courage, but do not allow your pride to overrule your good sense.”
“Tell your brother that,” Adair replied softly. “Aye,Duncan, I love him. But I must know that he loves me before I can wed him. It cannot be for the sake of the child I carry. It must be because he lovesme. Loves me first, and before all others. I cannot otherwise be happy or content.” Then she left the chamber.
Duncan Armstrong stared after her. He could only imagine what their child was going to be like. Then he chuckled. Certainly this episode of serious illness would bring Conal to his senses, and he would admit to Adair what was in his heart: that he loved her, and would love no other. They could not go on like this. Could they?
Conal Bruce awoke the next morning feeling as weak as water, but he also felt better. Adair was dozing in the chair by his bedside, and he remembered through his confused thoughts that it had been she who had struggled so hard to break the burning fever that had gripped him. “I love you,” he whispered softly, but she did not stir, and he was relieved. He was obviously still weak from his illness. His eyes closed, and he fell back into sleep. When he awoke again Adair was gone from his side, and it was Flora who sat at his bedside. “Fetch Adair,” he ground out to the startled woman.
Flora jumped up. “Yes, my lord, at once,” she said, and scampered from his bedchamber.
He lay back against his pillows and waited. When she finally entered the room she was carrying a bowl and a spoon. “What’s that?” he demanded by way of greeting.
“I’ve brought you some broth,” Adair said quietly. “It will help you to rebuild your strength, Conal. And later Elsbeth has nice milk custard for you.”
“I want meat!” he told her.
“You would spew it before it reached your belly,” she answered him quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Now open your mouth and eat your broth.” And she pushed the spoon between his lips as he opened them to protest. “There. Isn’t that tasty? We had to killa chicken to make the broth, but it was old and had ceased laying.”
“You are treating me like a child,” he grumbled, but the soup was good, and he was hungry. He did not think anyone had ever fed him in all his life.
“You have been very sick, Conal, and you are not strong enough yet for many things. It will take several days before you can leave your bed, and it will be a week or more after that before you are strong enough to venture forth again.”
“I am not some elder,” he said irritably.
