Davinia was roused enough to sit up in bed and demand, “What! Why? D’ye think it’s because he likes ye? I cut me finger on a nail in the window casing once, and all he did was hand me his washcloth to stem the flow of blood. D’ye think he likes ye more than me?”
Emer, now stripped down to her shift, wearily climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her ears, saying, “Nay, he’s just kind and a gentleman, Davi. Go to sleep.”
And with this enigmatic remark, Davinia had to be content.
* * *
The next four weeks at the Maclachlan keep were trying ones. One by one, the staff and castle inhabitants succumbed to the sickness, with only a few of the more active ones spared. Caillen, who spent his days riding around his lands and in discussions with neighboring chieftains, stayed healthy. Gawain wisely moved himself to an inn at the nearby town of Lachlainn.
The physician laid strict instructions on the household for no one but the old Laird’s personal servant to enter his chambers, and his food was to be prepared separately in a hastily constructed makeshift kitchen in the tower turret.
But their caution was unnecessary. No one died or suffered a lingering convalescence, and one by one, the weak but finally healthy staff returned to work.
Emer and Davinia were two of the first invalids to leave their beds. Emer had caught a milder infection from her sister, and they had had the elixir to help them through the worst of it. When Emer returned to work upstairs, she found Mistress Burroughs still reluctant to forgive her and decided to spend as much of her time as possible doing the chores Caillen had tasked her with.
These were many. Since she had taken to her bed, the new Laird had been very busy in and around the keep. Interior walls were being knocked down and re-erected in the very latest style. The stark stonework was covered over with elegant wainscoting and silk wall hangings and fitted out with elaborate Baroque sconces and fireplaces. In the short time Emer had been away, the medieval appearance she associated with the Maclachlan keep had almost disappeared, and in its place, a sophisticated, graceful manor house was taking shape.
The changes were even more marked when she went outside. Builders were constructing long mews on one side of the castle wall, and the courtyard cobblestones were being ripped up and replaced with herb gardens and a pebble driveway. She saw small citrus trees waving in the ornamental garden and newly planted rhododendrons lining the drive up to the castle gates.
It was as if a fairy godmother had waved a magic wand and swept away the last five hundred centuries.
A footman passed her and commented when he saw her amazed face, “Ye would hardly say it’s the same place, would ye? Laird Maclachlan has hired every stonemason, craftsman, and architect on the island! Ye’ll never guess what’s going on inside, lass...they’re installing flushing privies in place of the auld garderobes! Fully as lavish as the ones the auld queen had made for herself.”
Losh! This must be costing the clan a pretty penny. That must be the reason why Caillen is flying about the countryside-trying to raise the money to pay for all this.
He had not been too busy to stop by Emer’s bedchamber a few days ago, to politely ask how she and her sister were doing.
Emer could only be thankful the worst of her illness was behind her, and she was able to sit on the old armchair next to the window with her dressing gown wrapped around her, occasionally using Gawain’s lace kerchief to blow her nose. Davinia, always apt to take longer getting better, was sleeping soundly in her bed when the gentle tap sounded on the door.
Who could it be tapping the door at this hour?
She sent up a silent prayer. It was not Mistress Burroughs back to scold her some more. She looked at her reflection quickly in the mirror by the washstand. It showed her a pale face with slightly sunken cheekbones and dark circles under her eyes, but her hair was neatly tied to one side in a long braid, and her skin was fresh and clear.
She was no Laird or Lady, able to command someone to enter or leave at her whim. Emer went to the door and pulled it open.
Caillen was standing there at the entrance.
She stood staring at him in surprise for a moment before he broke the spell and asked,
“Well, are ye nae going to invite me in?”
He said the words quietly; he had already seen her sister asleep in bed from the vantage point of his superior height.
“Er...aye. I mean, please come in, me Laird,” she whispered. Emer was suddenly acutely aware that her dressing gown was threadbare enough to be almost transparent. She was holding the thin material together in front of her breasts, but it drooped invitingly off one shoulder and allowed any visitor to get a glimpse of her petite feet. It was an entirely appropriate outfit to wear to let in a maid bringing up a tray of soup, but hardly the right thing to have on when it was your employer, a man, and a Laird.
He stepped into the bedchamber, and Emer was again reminded how tall, well built, and dangerous Caillen could look whenever he wanted to. He had spurned the regalia of a Highland Laird once more and was back in his well-worn, supple leather trews, boots, and jerkin.
It feels as if a buccaneer has stepped through the door! With his hair tied back in that knot and his jaunty air, I wouldnae be surprised if he demanded me baubles and trinkets from me.
“What thoughts are crossing yer mind, Emer?” Caillen teased her as if he knew she was judging his outfit. He brought his face close to her own and whispered intimately, “I swear I’m only here to wish ye a speedy recovery. Can I get ye anything from town? Would ye like me to bring an apothecary or physician for yer sister?”
Emer was a little startled by Caillen’s change from teasing her to offering her help. He really was the most unpredictable man.
“Nay thank ye, me Laird,” she whispered back to him, having to stand on tiptoes in her bare feet to reach up high enough to say her words in his ear, “I have everything I need.”
Caillen twisted his head around so her lips were no longer poised next to his ear but were now opposite his mouth. For an instant, Emer thought he was going to say something very important to her, but Davinia stirred and murmured in her sleep, and the moment passed.
Caillen did not retreat when Emer opened the door politely for him to leave. Instead, he stepped inside the room, went to the washstand, and lifted her soap to his nose. He seemed to drink in the fragrance before placing the small bar back down on the stand. Then he moved back to where Emer stood, bending his head to whisper in her ear again. He lifted the thick braid with one hand so he could reach her ear with his lips. A shiver of pleasure ran through her body as the touch of his lips caused her body a momentary thrill.
