“Bluidy Romans,” Colban interjected, frowning. “They sound as bad as the English.”
“Far worse,” Doctor assured him. “At any rate, Lady Octavia decided she would rather be homeless than wed to the knight so she left her keep with me and her favored guard in tow.” He jabbed a finger toward the dark-haired man who was saying nothing. “That right there is her trusted soldier, Sir James Bellamy.”
Angus grunted. He was pleased the lady was unwed. Moreover, ‘twas best for Sir James had he never taken her to the bed sheets. Leastways, the laird would kill him if he had. Angus had decided to keep her from the moment he saw her. He had denied that fact to himself for mayhap a minute, but when his mind was made up, ‘twas set in stone.
“Did you run from Lady Octavia?” Angus asked. “You saidtheywere coming for you and you didn’t have the sound of a mon who wished to be found.”
Doctor was silent for a moment as if working out a complex riddle in his mind. The laird frowned. “Dinna tell me a lie.”
“No, no, of course not! I just wonder how much of the story I should leave to milady to tell you.”
“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
“Very well. I was assuming the evil knight and his men would come for me. They wanted my healing capabilities, you see. I left her for fear the knight would find her whilst looking for me.”
“What is the name of this knight?” Colban asked.
“He is known only as Xenocann.”
“’Tis an odd name.”
“What? Oh yes. Yes it is.”
“Mayhap he’s dead now.”
Doctor sighed. “You seem to think most people are dead or dying. Still, one can but dream.”
The laird had had enough of their banter. His attention was focused back on Lady Octavia. “Mayhap the lady needs more to eat and drink,” Angus decided. “I canna see another reason for her to take a faint.”
“You’re probably correct,” Doctor said tentatively. “And forgive this old man for forgetting to thank you for the fine venison. It is most delicious.”
The laird grunted his approval of Doctor’s contrition, but said ought else. ‘Twas the lady who held his rapt attention now. He but prayed she awoke the soonest so he could feed her more meat.
Octavia awoke in the giant’s arms to the feel of him pushing a bite of venison into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed, wondering what exactly she’d missed. “Dinna speak, milady,” the laird’s deep voice commanded. “Let me get more food in you afore you attempt to say ought.”
She nodded, her eyes as round as saucers. The translation device had worked! It had obviously knocked her on her ass, but it had worked regardless. Speaking of the device, where was it? Her hands were empty.
James’ groan of misery put a speedy end to that mystery. She cocked her head in time to see him fall to the ground, as out of commission as she’d once been.
“For the love of the saints,” the laird said, his exasperation obvious. “See what is the matter, Colban.”
Octavia opened her mouth to speak, which earned her another bite of venison. She felt like a baby bird being fed by its much, much larger father. She stayed quiet and chewed, uncertain how to explain the predicament she and James shared.
“He looks dead,” Colban returned. “Aye, verra dead.”
“There’s nothing dead about him!” the doctor argued. “My God, stay away from me. You’ll have me buried in a grave at the first hint of a sneeze.”
Colban ignored him. “He’s breathing mayhap. Think you he too succumbed to the vapors?”
Octavia took umbrage at that. Okay so maybe she had fainted, but she couldn’t have anybody talking about one of her men like that. “He’s fine!” she snapped. “We’ve barely eaten in days.” That much was true at least. “Having so much food after having so little obviously caused both of us to fall ill.”
“You speak Gaelic?”
Her face flushed. She reached for an answer. “I-I didn’t know who you were or if you meant me harm until you rescued me.”
The laird grunted. Her answer had apparently appeased him. “Eat,” the giant demanded, shoving cheese between her lips. “’Tis good for you, this.”
She obeyed, though mostly because she was too awestruck not to. It was weird hearing her own voice speak in Old Gaelic as if she’d known the language her entire life. The tongue came to her now as readily as twenty-first century English. She was glad James was enduring the process too because nobody else could comprehend what she was going through. Putting the translation sensation into words just—she couldn’t. But soon, when he awoke, James would understand.
