“Nay,” she said soothingly, “but you are very sick, Conal. You must not fret. Duncan, Murdoc, and the men are hunting. There are already two deer and a dozen grouse in the cold larder. By October you will be ready to hunt again with them.” She spooned the last of the broth into his mouth. “There. You’ve eaten it all.” She dug into the pocket of her gown, drawing out one of her pills. Setting the bowl and spoon aside she fetched the wine, pouring it into his cup. “Here, take this,” she said.
He took the pill and swallowed it down with the wine, handing her the empty cup. “One of your evil potions?”he teased her weakly.
Adair nodded with a small smile.
“Why can’t I get up?” he wanted to know.
“You are still sick, Conal, even though your fever is gone. Your chest is filled with evil humors, and you have not yet rid yourself of them. Now lie back. I want to rub some of this ointment on your chest.” Reaching for the jar on his bedside table, she removed the lid and yanked his nightshirt up.
“The damned stuff stinks,” he complained as she smeared the unguent over his skin. “What the hell is in it?” Her hand on his chest felt wonderful.
“It will help you to cough up the sickness from your chest,” she said as she finished. “Go back to sleep, Conal. I’ll be back later,” Adair promised as she re-capped the jar and set it back on the bedside table. Thenshe was gone before he could protest any further. She hurried to the kitchens, and washed the oily ointment from her hands.
“How is he?” Elsbeth wanted to know.
“Complaining,” Adair answered with a small smile.
“Then you’ve beaten his sickness,” Elsbeth replied.
“Not quite yet, but I am close to success,” Adair said.
Conal Bruce improved daily, and after a few days Adair allowed him to spend part of his day in the hall by the fire. By month’s end he was fully recovered and planned to join his brothers hunting on the first day of October.
Adair had not been sharing his bed while he had been ill, and he intended to tell her that she was to return to him that night.
They sat at the high board that bright morning. Flora and Grizel brought the small round bread trenchers of porridge, setting them at each place. A bowl of hard-boiled eggs, a pitcher of cream, a hot cottage loaf, sweet butter, and cheese were placed on the board. Fresh cider was served in the polished wooden goblets. The laird thought it seemed quiet that morning. The women servants were subdued. His brothers hardly opened their mouths. He listened for the sound of distant thunder, but heard none. And then as he prepared to leave the hall the storm hit.
“I won’t be here when you return, my lord,” Adair said quietly. “It is October, and my year-and-a-day period of servitude is now concluded. I will be returning to Stanton. Elsbeth has decided to remain with you, and both Flora and Grizel are competent to manage your household.” She curtsied. “I thank your lordship for his kindness.”
Conal Bruce’s mouth fell open with his initial surprise.
And then as she made to turn away from him he began to shout. “What the hell do you mean, you wicked vixen?
You cannot leave me. I will not permit you to go!”
“Permit? You will not permit me to go? I have been your slave for a year and a day, my lord. I have served out my term of bondage. I have given you good service, and I am now free again. Free to do what I wish to do.
To go where I choose to go. You have no rights over me, Conal Bruce. None at all.”
“Why do you want to leave me?” the laird asked her, attempting to calm his anger and his wildly beating heart.
“Why should I remain?” Adair replied softly.
“I have offered you marriage. Is that not an honorable proposal?” he said.
“You want an unpaid housekeeper,” Adair answered him.
“Then I will pay you to remain. Six groats a year, your board, and two gowns,” the laird offered her. “The coins payable today, October first, each year you remain with me. You may make the gowns whenever it pleases you from the cloth in the keep’s storage chamber.”
“So you admit that all you wanted of me is to be your housekeeper. You are insulting. I was born the Countess of Stanton, not a servant. Farewell and good hunting, my lord,” Adair said angrily.
“How do you propose to get back to Stanton?” he demanded of her.
“I have feet,” she said scathingly. “I managed to find my way from London to Stanton without anyone’s aid.”
She looked defiantly at him.
“You’ll be killed, raped, or worse,” he told her. “A woman alone, tramping over the hills to England. Have you lost whatever wits you had? You aren’t going anywhere!”
