“About a day or so after I woke. An annoying deep throb and real pain when I tried to lift my head on my own. And, even though I had been sleeping for a couple of days, I still felt tired.”
“I have too much to do to lay about for even longer than I have.”
“Ye either lay about or ye land on your face when ye try to go somewhere.”
Iain sighed. “Then I guess I will adopt a slothful attitude until the aching eases. Do ye think Mrs. O’Neal has anything to ease the ache?”
“I can ask but I dinnae recall her giving me anything,” said Matthew.
“She might have just felt like torturing you as I recall her being verra angry that ye were even up in the tree. But, aye, do that. I am also starting to feel hungry.”
“There will be a tray brought up soon. Mrs. O’Neal will bring it up. Seems ye upset Emily.” Matthew frowned at him. “Ken ye feel miserable but . . .”
“I said nothing to upset her. One moment she was smiling and making a joke then she went all quiet and sad and left.”
“Ah. Then it must just be because ye didnae die.”
“I only had a bullet burn on my head. That doesnae usually kill a man.”
Matthew shrugged. “She was a wee bit teary-eyed when she came down the stairs and then she hurried out to fetch the boy. So, Mrs. O’Neal figured ye had snapped her head off about something.”
“Naturally.” Iain frowned. “Why would she get all teary-eyed because I wasnae dead?”
“Because ye can be a right bastard and she was sorely disappointed that we wouldnae be playing the pipes over your grave?”
Iain wished he had enough strength to at least slap the grin off Matthew’s face. “Verra funny. Her change of mood just didnae make any sense.”
“Nay? Ever hear of weeping for joy?” Matthew shook his head and looked at Iain sadly when his brother just looked confused. “The lass has sat with ye for three whole days just watching ye sleep. Then, ye wake up and she realizes ye are truly no longer in danger and she cries. That was what it was.”
“Oh.” Iain thought about that and smiled. “So happy tears, as our mither used to call them.”
“That was what I figured it was. Must have been hard on the lass sitting here for so long just checking that ye kept breathing. Ye aren’t the most interesting thing to look at.”
After one sharp rap on the door, Matthew hurried over to let in Mrs. O’Neal. The woman carried in a full tray of food. Matthew helped Iain sit up against the pillows and she put the tray on his lap. Iain noticed that, although there was plenty and it was hearty, filling food, it was also the kind of food that sat very easy on a stomach. Since Iain’s stomach was definitely uneasy, he appreciated the woman’s efforts.
“Eat what ye can, son, and pleased ye came back,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “We will have you up and about real soon.” She pointed at a glass with some milky-looking liquid. “This might help your aching head. Always keep some on hand for when I get a bad head. Ain’t tasty so be ready for it,” she warned as she left, assured that he could manage the simple meal on his own, and busy arguing with Matthew about why she had not given that cure to him when his head had ached.
Iain gave into the demands of his growling stomach. He ate slowly and took drinks of Mrs. O’Neal’s potion in between. When he realized he was full and there was still food left on the tray, he was surprised. It embarrassed him that he had not finished the food the woman had made for him. He had, however, finished her headache potion.
Matthew returned and helped him to the chamber pot. Iain was feeling too sick and weak for that to bother him but he knew it would as he healed and regained his strength. He was back in bed and falling asleep when Mrs. O’Neal came up to collect the tray. She left some water on the table next to him and he mumbled a thank-you, falling into a deep sleep even as she shut the door behind her.
* * *
Emily crept back into the room and sighed when she found Iain asleep. She had wanted to talk to him more to reassure herself that he was healing. Unfortunately, she had had to flee the room as soon as possible before making a fool of herself by crying like a child. Scolding herself for weeping when the man had actually woken up, an event she had been waiting for for three long days, had not helped.
She sighed as she thought on her weak moment. It had to have been because she had been so worried and afraid. The fact that he had revealed he was recovering had just been too much for her after the long wait. The funny thing was she had been so happy, so completely pleased to see his eyes open. It was as if some dam had broken inside her.
Emily picked up the lap desk Matthew had made for her and set out her writing tools. It was time to write to her grandfather if only to tell him the truth about the boy he had raised. Now that Albert was gone she felt free to write to anyone and had already sent out two letters to some cousins she had been close to, including her closest friend. She hoped they would read them. After not hearing a word from her in almost four years she really would not blame them if they just tossed the unopened letter in the fireplace, but she prayed they were more forgiving than that.
It took her a long time to even start the letter to her grandfather. There had to be some way to gently lead in to speaking of Albert’s possible death and his crimes, to let him know what happened to David and Annabel, but the words were not coming for her. She finally gave up on thinking of something profound yet comforting and just began to write. He had once told her he liked her chatty letters because he could hear her talking, that it was almost as if she had come to visit. He had said his wife had written letters in the same way and she had been so flattered. Emily was not sure she believed that but decided he had said it so that was what he would get again. She just hoped the news about Albert did not break his heart.
“Who are ye writing to?”
Iain’s voice suddenly sounding in her ears startled her and she left a blot on the letter. “Wait just a moment. I have blotted the paper and want to write a little apology for that.” Once she was done, she looked at Iain and smiled. “I am writing to my grandfather.”
“Telling him about Albert?”
“Yes. I can only hope that in these last few years he has come to learn more about Albert and so will not be too heartbroken, that he knows the man is a killer. It is still hard news to tell him because he raised him. He took him in when his parents were murdered and they seemed to get along together just fine.”
