Iain couldn’t feel the cold, but he knew the night would be freezing.
Returning to the pallet, she drew up his kilt and tucked it in around him.
“You’re cold. You take it.”
“I have blankets.”
Picking up the side of the covers, Iain grinned. “Perhaps we can both be warm this night.”
A pink flush grew in her cheeks as she seemed to be weighing his suggestion.
She offered him a shy smile but shook her head. “No, it’ll only make you hotter, and we have to bring the fever down, not make it worse.”
He sighed, knowing she was right. Closing his eyes, he hoped she would keep him company in his dreams.
Chapter 15
Abby awoke to Iain thrashing from side to side. Shaking the sleep from her brain, she sat on the side of the bed as he grated out words, mumbles, really, she couldn’t decipher.
The cold air brought goose pimples out on her arms, but he was so hot and sweaty. She shivered and wrapped her now dry cloak around her, noticing the fire had died down. She quickly threw more peat into the fire until flames began to warm the room once more. The morning light was gray . . . again.
Before the heavens opened, Abby hurried to the stream and fetched another bucket of water, all the while wondering if she should have made Iain swallow as much broth as she did the night before. Maybe she had made him even sicker. What was the old saying? Feed a cold, starve a fever or feed a fever, and starve a cold? She had a worrying hunch that it was the former.Great. Way to go, Abby.
Back in the house, she scrubbed strips of cloth as well as she could and stretched them out by the fire to dry before taking off her shirt and underwear and washing them. Shehoped they would dry before Iain awoke. She paused. If Iain awoke. No. She wouldn’t think like that. He had to survive. He had to get better, and soon.
She wrung a cloth out in the freezing water and began bathing him with it. She wiped his face, neck, chest, and as far down as she dared. As she redressed his wound, she was certain the infection was lessening. The redness around the edge of the wound was gone, and it wasn’t as swollen as the night before.Please let him be all right. Please.
Between bouts of crazed shouting and thrashing around on the bed, Iain dove into unconsciousness. No matter what state he was in, however, the fever racked his body. How he could be so hot and look so blue as if he were freezing, she didn’t know, but it worried her. The only thing she could do was wash him with the wet cloths and pray.
She wasn’t a religious person, but she believed in a higher power, a place where the deceased crossed over. Abby just hoped it wasn’t Iain’s time to go to that place. She was just getting to know him, and she liked him. A lot, if she was honest with herself.
She reheated the meat broth and boiled the kettle. She made a mug of Mary’s tea for herself and a bowl of Mary’s herbal tea for Iain.
Forcing herself to eat, she watched the rise and fall of Iain’s massive chest. His face had relaxed somewhat, and his mouth hung open a little in what looked like a peaceful sleep.
She put her bowl down and, whipping another cloth out of the bucket of cold water, she squeezed out most of the water. With it still dripping a little, she placed it over his forehead. He groaned but this time, he didn’t appear to be in pain. It was more a happy groan, if there was such a thing.
She wiped the cloth down over his face and neck and opened it out over his chest. The short black curls coiledtighter as they moistened. In a circular motion, she rubbed gently.
Feeling watched, her gaze darted to his face. He was awake, and his lips were slanted in a sexy smile. Her hands froze.
“You’re awake.” Stupid. Of course he was. Did she always have to state the obvious?
“Aye.”
Feeling his forehead with the back of her hand, her heart flipped. The fever was gone. “You don’t have a fever.”
His eyes slid down her throat and widened. “Nay.”
She glanced down and pulled her cloak together. “Stay there.”
He chuckled. “Aye.”
She scooped up her shirt and hurried to a shadowed corner of the room. Facing the corner, she said over her shoulder, “Turn your head away.”
“Nay.”
Figuring he wouldn’t see much, anyway, Abigail quickly disposed of the cloak and pulled the shirt over her head. When she turned around, Iain was trying to sit up.
