There was something in the tone of Duncan’s voice that caught the captain’s attention. “I see,” Adam said grimly.
Jeannie looked back and forth between the two men, realizing she’d missed something. But now that she’d made her decision, she was anxious to have it done. The sooner she got him back on his feet, the sooner he would be on his way. She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. “Adam, have your men show our guest to the tower. We will put him in the empty chamber in the garret.”
The significance occurred to her too late. Her chest squeezed. It had been her son’s chamber.
Adam lifted his brow in surprise, but did not question her decision to place a guardsman in the tower house. “Aye, my lady.”
“I will find the healer.”
“I saw her in the garden earlier,” one of the younger guardsmen offered.
“Thank you, William.”
The handsome warrior beamed at her praise and that she’d called him by his given name. But it was not a sign of particular favor; Jeannie made it a point to know everyone in the castle.
She thought Duncan’s eyes narrowed, but she turned her back on him and went in search of the healer. Did he think William was something to her? Let him.
By the time she’d found the healer and they’d started to make their way into the keep, her mother-in-law had had plenty of time to be apprised of the situation. Not surprisingly, Jeannie found her path blocked at the entry.
“I told you no good would come of this flight of fancy of yours,” the Marchioness said.
Jeannie gritted her teeth. “So you did. But as you are no doubt aware, a man has been shot and is in need of the healer.”
“You shot him.” It was a statement, not a question.
“An accident.” This time. “I thought he was another ruffian.”
And before the Marchioness could issue another one of her I-told-you-sos, Jeannie brushed past her and led the healer up the stairs to the top level of the tower house.
A small landing separated three small chambers. Adam occupied the largest, the one with the view of the surrounding countryside so he could keep apprised of any attack, the nursemaid slept in a mural chamber next to it, and then beside hers was the small chamber that had belonged to her son and was now crammed full with towering, muscle-bound, mail-clad warriors.
She stood at the door as the healer attempted to squeeze around the blond brute. His icy Nordic looks sent a chill running through her. Which was a good thing as it was hot as Hades in here. She didn’t know what it was with men—especially warriors—but they seemed to radiate heat.
Duncan lay on the small bed, his feet hanging well over the edge. His face was flush and his eyes, burning with pain or hatred she didn’t know, fixed on her.
“Your men will have to leave,” she said firmly.
The two henchmen drew themselves up to their full height—barely missing the wood-raftered ceiling—and squared their prodigiously broad chests like two over-protective bears who had every intention of digging in their heels. She met the burly red-haired man’s—an Irishman by the sound of him—gaze and smiled sweetly. “I promise not to do him any more harm.”
He stilled, then let out a bark of laughter. Something she would wager he did quite a bit of. His rough, ruddy countenance seemed prone to joviality—a foil to Duncan’s dour darkness. “Aye, lass, you’ve a wicked sense of humor.” He shook his head. “Hurt him?” He laughed, then turned to Duncan for confirmation.
Duncan nodded. “Go. See to the horses. I’ll be fine.”
The men moved slowly. The blond one turned to her at the door. “You’ll let us know…”
“As soon as the healer has looked at him,” Jeannie assured him.
He nodded and the two men left. The room seemed infinitely larger—and blessedly cooler.
Mairghread, the healer, was already at work. She examined him for a few minutes before looking up at Jeannie. “I’ll need to remove his cotun and sark, my lady.”
His men must have helped him remove the leather plated cuirass he wore over his chest. Knowing he was watching her, Jeannie held her expression and tone even. “I’ll help you.”
She pursed her lips together, steeling herself for the unpleasantness.It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, she told herself. If only he wasn’t watching her so intently, those cool, unforgettably blue eyes leveled on her—unflinching and unnerving.
Her hands shook as her fingers worked the leather buckles of one side of his quilted leather cotun studded with bits of metal as Mairghread worked the other. Furious, she forced herself to steady and focused on the task at hand, not on the man, and certainly not on the intimacy of the act to which she was involved. But leaning over him like this, his scent reached out to grab her in its familiar hold. Beyond the warm leather and the faint coppery hint of blood, she caught the sea and the wind—and the elusive masculine spice that had always been uniquely his.
It was really him. All these years and he’d finally returned. A hard wave of longing washed over her, dragging her back.
