“It wouldnae have mattered to me save that it would be one more hurt to make him pay for.” He lightly traced her bruised cheek. “He will pay for each and every bruise he put on ye. I swear to it.”
“He isnae one to fight fair, Parlan. Ye mustnae think he will face ye square like an honorable man.”
“Och, I ken that weel enough. Fear not for me, little one. I have fought snakes like Rory Fergueson before. I ken their ways weel.”
“Dinnae go,” she cried when he tried to draw his hand from her grasp.
“Now where would I be going with a great hole in my leg?” he teased gently. “Ye rest, Aimil. ’Tis the surest cure.”
“I cannae seem to do aught else,” she murmured even as blackness yet again embraced her.
While she slept, he studied her closely. It seemed a miracle that she was still alive let alone had been able to get free of her prison. Carefully, so as not to touch any of her wounds, he ran his fingers over her waist, tracing the side of the area that held his growing seed. So too was it a miracle that all she had been through had not robbed them of that precious gift. Their child clung to life with all the stubbornness his or her parents had. If Rory had known of the child or had held Aimil any longer, Parlan was sure the child would have been lost.
“Is it right for her to sleep so often, Meg?” he asked when the old woman returned with a cold meal for both of them.
“’Tis a natural sleep,” she reported after a careful look at Aimil. “’Tis the wee lass’s way of healing. The bairn could have a wee bit to do with it.”
“Ye mean ’tis hurt in some way? I thought ye said the bairn was fine.” Parlan wondered how he could panic so over a creature he had not even known existed until only a few hours ago.
Old Meg rolled her eyes in disgust. “Keep still. ’Tis natural for a woman to sleep a fair bit at the start.” She set a plate of bread and meat before him and pushed a tankard of ale into his hand. “Eat up, laddie. I think ye will need your strength.”
“’Tisnae a matter of jest,” he grumbled. “Do ye think she will be all right? Such a wee lass to be beaten so badly.”
“Aye, she will be fine and bear ye a bonnie bairn. The lass is a wee one, but there is steel in her bone and sinew. This has lain her low for now, and there will be a scar or twa upon her fair back, but she will be hale before too long. That be when ye will have a great deal of trouble.”
Parlan chuckled. “Aye, keeping her from carrying on as ever. And what do ye think of my choice of wife?”
“As if ye care what this old woman thinks. Aye, but I will tell ye despite that. She be a good lass and she willnae cower before your every scowl. Ye couldnae abide a weak woman. More important, she has the approval of your people. They have all asked after the lass, fashing themselves over her.”
That left Parlan feeling quite content. He did not let his clan rule his life to the extent where they could choose his wife, but their approval of Aimil meant a lot. It would, if nothing else, make life much easier for her. She would have no trouble finding a place for herself at Dubhglenn.
Lying beside her, lightly holding her hand, Parlan contemplated the step he planned to take. With marriage and fatherhood staring him in the face, he was surprised to feel no qualms. He was, in fact, quite content. It seemed natural to picture the future with Aimil in each scene.
Aimil stirred restlessly, reliving the recent horror of being Rory’s captive in her dreams and calling out fretfully, “Parlan! Parlan, where are ye?”
He spent several moments easing her fright with murmured words of reassurance that finally penetrated to her sleeping mind then, glaring at the ceiling, hissed, “Ye will pay for putting the darkness in her dreams, Rory Fergueson. I swear it. Ye will pay dearly.”
Chapter Sixteen
A grin broke out upon Lagan’s face as he entered Parlan’s chambers. The two invalids were playing dice, and Parlan’s grumbling told him that Aimil’s good luck at the game was holding true. He then recalled what he was there to announce and frowned slightly.
“Lachlan Mengue is in the hall and ready to see Aimil.”
Parlan saw Aimil shiver as the shadow he had seen several times before passed over her face again. He had wondered what troubled her but, with uncharacteristic patience, had held off asking her about it. That it would be revealed in time had been enough to restrain him.
“Weel, send the man up. Ye best disarm him.” Parlan propped himself up on his pillow to await the visitor.
“Ye arenae intending to stay here, are ye?” Aimil gasped as a chuckling Lagan left and Parlan gave no indication that he would also leave or even get dressed.
“’Tis my bed and do ye forget that I am sorely wounded?
My leg, ye recall.”
“As if I could forget that tree stump. Parlan, ye cannae stay here. What will my father think?”
“That we are twa invalids sharing a bed so as to ease the work of our nurses?”
She thought his innocent look far too overdone. “Ye ken verra weel what he will think when he sees us abed together and naked.”
