He ignored her brusque manner. His mother could never be accused of soft heartedness. “Can you save Marguerite?”
“I’ve a tea that will help bring down the fever. But you shouldn’t have moved her. When a body grows too cold, it’s better to warm her slowly. You might have killed her by journeying this far.”
Grizel’s abrasive manner made him bristle. “I was trying to save her.” He guided Marguerite to a seated position, supporting her in his arms.
His mother set down the tea and studied them both. “How long has it been since she opened her eyes?”
“Four days.” He didn’t miss the look of resignation on Grizel’s face. She likely didn’t believe Marguerite would live much longer. Even so, she continued her questioning.
“And how have you managed to give her food and water? I presume she can’t drink on her own.”
Color rose to his cheeks, but he admitted, “I put my mouth upon hers and forced her to drink.”
Grizel lifted the tea to him, her expression discerning. “Keep doing the same, to make her drink the tea. And if she awakens, send for me.”
If. Not when. The worry gnawed at his composure, but he forced himself to nod.
His mother’s gaze moved from him back to Marguerite. “She was always too fine for a man like you. But I’ll grant that she had courage.”
He had no reply for her framed insult, for it was true. He could only hope that if Marguerite regained her strength, his poverty wouldn’t matter to her.
As Grizel closed the door, she added, “I am glad you returned, Callum.” With a faltering smile, she departed.
He rested his cheek against Marguerite’s, apologizing for his mother, in case she had overheard any of it. As time passed, he fed her the foul-smelling tea, his lips upon hers to ensure that she drank it.
He continued talking, all through the day and into the night. Telling her about the years he’d spent imprisoned. Of how he’d regained his skill with a bow and arrows, and the nights he’d dreamed of her.
“If I could fight this battle for you, I would,” he swore. She’d done everything in her power to come back to him. The thought of losing her now was like a dull knife within him. He held her feverish body close, feeling the desolation wash over him. Her heartbeat was so frail, her breathing labored.
She might not live to see the morning. The thought was worse than any torture. He’d faced his own death, time and again, until it no longer held any threat over him. Death was inevitable for every man. But nothing frightened him more than losing Marguerite.
“You’re everything to me,” he told her. “Don’t let go.”
And when at last he could stay awake no longer, he slept with her cradled against his heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Her eyes wouldn’t open. Marguerite felt a man’s body against hers, and she snuggled instinctively into his warm skin. Inside, her stomach was aching from lack of food, but she lacked the strength to speak.
She’d glimpsed the peaceful Heaven that awaited her, and the temptation to leave behind the pain and suffering was strong. But he kept talking to her, telling her stories about his boyhood. The familiar voice was chaining her to him, pulling her away from Death’s arms.
“Marguerite.” The voice of Callum broke through her reverie, reaching toward her. She felt his lips against hers, and a cool liquid entered her mouth. Was it water? She tried to taste it, and when she moved her lips, she heard his encouragement.
“Drink, a ghràidh,“ he urged. “That’s it.”
The sweetness of the water reminded her of the waterfalls from the mountains. Clear and pure, it quenched her thirst. Though she couldn’t yet open her eyes, the touch of Callum’s mouth captivated her.
Something else moved against her mouth, and she tasted a broth. This time, she drank too fast, and choked. She coughed to clear her throat, and he rubbed her back, trying to help.
At last, she opened her eyes and saw him holding her. Callum’s face held weariness, and his long black hair hung against his shoulders.
“You look terrible,” she managed. As if he’d been imprisoned once more, his face was gaunt, the sleeplessness etched in the shadows beneath his eyes. “You ought to bathe.”
The thankfulness eased across his face in a relieved smile. “I’ll let you bathe me, a ghràidh, when you’ve regained your strength.”
With that, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. In his embrace, she felt the fierce love, and she tried to lift her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” she said. “I don’t remember what happened after I jumped from the ship.”
“You spent hours without shelter,” he told her. “I didn’t find you until morning, and you nearly died.”
