“I ken,” Fergus said gently. He knew that Aiden wished to marry Lottie, and Fergus was taking it under consideration. All he wanted was for her sister to be safe, close by, and loved. Aiden would do that.
Jeane came out of Lottie’s room, interrupting the two men.
“I gave her some medicine. It should help her rest. The more rest she gets, the quicker she will heal,” Jeane said.
“What medicine? How long before she’s better?”
Jeane held out her hands as if in defense. “Some medicine to help her cough up the fluid. I cannae tell ye that. I’m doing everythin’ I can, but she might not be well for some time.”
“I will give ye a fortnight?”
Jeane stared at him. “Ye cannae put a deadline on this kind of thing, Me Laird?—”
“Nay,” he agreed. “But I am, all the same. Ye’ll have a fortnight to make her better.”
“Or what?” Jeane asked, her brown eyes cool as she looked up at him.
He did not answer.
“Are ye up for one more visit?” he asked.
Jeane stared at him for a long moment but then simply nodded, and Fergus followed Aiden out to his horse, riding toward the staff’s quarters, where Aiden had put his mother and youngest brother.
“Daenae worry,” Fergus said gently. “Jeane will help him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Jeane asked.
“Same as Lottie but worse. Cough, fever. Waking up at all hours of the night.”
Fergus was not so sure that she could help, but he wanted his friend to have hope. The boy was much worse off than Lottie was.
“His name is Ian,” Aiden explained.
Fergus walked close behind her, trying not to stare at the lines of her body. The lass was terrified of nearly everything. There was no way she could ever love a man like him, a man with his face, but it was a happy thought at least.
He did not want her getting away, not just yet.
He knew of Laird McKay, and he had not heard much good about him. He had only heard of how harsh he was with his wife and child, how power-hungry. It was no wonder that Jeane did not want to go back.
They walked to the staff quarters with Jeane and Fergus following Aiden inside.
The bed was set up in the foyer near the windows.
“Thought the fresh air might help,” Aiden’s mother said, worrying her skirt between her hands.
“Aye,” Aiden said. “I’ve brought a healer, Ma. Let her take a look at Ian.”
“I’m… Liliana,” Jeane said haltingly.
“Ada Jones,” Aiden’s mother introduced herself.
The boy was asleep, sweat across his brow, much like Lottie. He was small, looked about eight years old, but Fergus knew the boy was going on twelve, just sickly and small for his age.
Jeane kneeled next to him, pressing her head against his chest. The boy stirred and coughed once, twice, but did not wake.
Jeane frowned, standing up straight. She looked at Aiden’s mother.
“Has he been coughin’ up anythin’?”
