Jaime was startled by his own capability for duplicity. Deceit had never been his way, nor had he thought he had the wit for it. He merely nodded as Alexander talked, giving no hint of any deals or promises made. He still hoped to put a stop to it, but if he could not, he would do nothing to mar what little time Ailis had left with Alexander.
When Angus arrived with a wet nurse, Alexander finally relinquished the care of his son. He made his way to his bedchamber to take Kate’s place at Ailis’s side. Instinct told him there would be a few rough days ahead, but he was not pleased when his instincts proved correct.
Ailis often cried out for him when delirium seized her, and he was needed to calm her. She was clearly tormented by visions of his death prompted by her last word of him as having an arrow in him. Due to her fever, she had little memory of returning to Rathmor, and Alexander was often hard-pressed to convince her that he was all right. He almost felt guilty when she revealed such signs of how she cared for him, and they touched him deeply despite his efforts to fight their allure.
The hardest thing he battled was her continued fears for their son. In her fevered mind she would see Donald MacCordy carry out his vicious threats. Alexander found her visions unsettling and worked unceasingly to put a halt to them.
There really was little to be done. Ailis was kept warm and clean, forcefully fed a hearty broth whenever possible, and kept calm and resting as much as could be. Alexander had never felt so utterly helpless. He could do little more than watch as she fought with an enemy that had no fear of him or his sword.
The day after Ailis and Alexander’s son arrived at Rathmor, he was christened Moragh Tamnais MacDubh. He was loudly proclaimed heir to the Laird of Rathmor, but any celebration over that long-awaited event was delayed until Ailis was well again. Alexander kept his promise to Ailis and held the priest at Rathmor, all the while praying that it would be to perform a wedding and not a funeral. The sympathy and prayer he got from others revealed that Ailis had gained a goodly amount of loyalty from his clan despite her MacFarlane blood. It surprised Alexander a little, but he was glad of it. It would assuredly make her life a great deal easier as a MacDubh.
Alexander was alone with Ailis when, after nearly a week, her fever finally broke, and he was fervently glad of it, for he discovered tears on his cheeks. For once he made no excuses to himself for the show of emotion. When he felt suitably under control, he dragged Kate from her bed so that she could help him tend to Ailis. As soon as that task was completed and Kate was gone, he shed his clothes and joined Ailis in bed. For the first time in far too long he fell asleep—quickly and deeply.
Ailis slowly opened her eyes. She looked around her in confusion. When she caught sight of the golden-crowned head next to hers and looked down at the elegant hand gently cupping her breast, she smiled as her memory came rushing back. Her dangerous trek had been successful.
“Ailis?”
She turned her head and smiled into Alexander’s clearing eyes. “I made it.”
“Aye—barely.” He could not bring himself to be angry or to lecture about the risks she had taken, for he fully understood what had driven her to it.
“Well, aye, I did grow a bit ill.”
“Oh, aye—a bit.”
“Our bairn!” she cried and clutched him by the arm as some of her fears returned.
“Hale and hearty and properly christened.”
“What did ye name him?”
“Moragh Tamnais MacDubh.”
“A good strong name. What do ye think of your son?” she asked with a hint of shyness, for although she had no doubt about his wanting the child, she still felt a deep need to hear him actually say so.
He answered her with a kiss so full of tenderness it left Ailis speechless with some hope for the future. It seemed to her to be impossible for a man to kiss a woman so if he felt absolutely nothing for her. Although she scolded herself for succumbing to the allure of such speculation, she was unable to stop herself.
“There isna a fairer lad in all of Scotland,” he said.
“He has your eyes,” she said in a voice still husky from his kiss.
“Aye, and my temperament.”
“The poor wet nurse,” she murmured, her eyes bright with laughter. “The woman will never survive until he is weaned.”
“Witch.” He gave her a brief hard kiss. “How do ye feel?”
“Ravenous.”
“Aye.” He brushed his thumb over the tip of her breast until it grew taut. “I ken that feeling.” He quickly left the bed, for he knew that he would try to make love to her if he did not, and he knew she was not ready for that.
“Where are ye going?” she asked as she watched him dress, keenly feeling his loss at her side.
“Away from temptation. I am also off to fetch a meal and the priest.”
“Alexander, I am not dying. I am getting better.” She watched as he strode to the door. “I need no priest.”
“Ye do if ye are to be wed, lass.”
