“Devils!” he swore, forcing himself out of the water.
If he didn’t get out then, he was sure his body would sustain irreparable damage. He quickly donned his clothes and boots, then made haste to the castle.
It was quiet when he stepped in, and he was thankful for it. His people tended to worry for his health, and no doubt they would fuss over him needlessly, when all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts.
He turned a corner and spotted Cohen coming from the opposite direction. He cursed under his breath. No doubt the man would fuss over him now.
Damnit!
“Me Laird!” Cohen exclaimed when he saw him. “Where have ye been, and why are ye wet?”
“I went swimmin’ in the loch,” Darragh answered, pushing his wet locks off his forehead.
“Do ye want to catch yer death?” Cohen gasped. “If ye wanted a bath, ye could have called a maid to draw ye one.”
“I didnae need a bath,” Darragh growled. “I wanted to go for a swim.”
Cohen sighed. “I will have to ask Amber to bring ye ginger tea, or ye will catch a chill before the morn.”
“I daenae fall ill so easily.” Darragh continued his trek to his chambers.
“I daenae ken what troubles have pushed ye to the loch so late at night,” Cohen muttered with a frown, catching up to him. “I thought ye were at peace now that the lass was here. Is the search for a husband nae goin’ well?”
“It is goin’ well,” Darragh muttered.
Too well, in fact.
And that was the problem, but he would never admit it to Cohen, or the man would make an absurd suggestion.
“Then ye should be busy planning how to spend yer inheritance.”
Darragh sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Indeed.”
He did not trust himself to say more, or he would confess his mistake.
“I can sense yer exhaustion,” Cohen noted. “I shall leave ye to yer rest.” With that, he left.
Darragh finished the short trek to his room in silence, but when he lay down to sleep, his dreams were plagued with the sweet sounds Talia had made while he had devoured her mouth.
Devils!
12
“Ye need to keep yer foot elevated for two days.” Talia applied the poultice to the man’s swollen ankle.
The smell permeating the air reminded her of home, calming her. She had made the poultice after finding the right herbs along the stream’s borders. Ayaan, her first tutors had often told her how the best healers sourced their own herbs and made their own tonics and brews. After years under his tutelage, she had adapted his sentiments.
She rolled out gauze in front of her, lowered the man’s foot onto it, and began binding it. She loosened it when she realized it was too tight, then tightened it when she realized it was not secure enough. Mr. MacLeod, the blacksmith, was in too much pain to notice her blunder. She could even feel his ankle throb.
She hissed when she realized she had forgotten to add a splint.
It took a day for Darragh to agree to let her set up a workroom. She had selected a room on the first floor of the east wing, off the corridor the servants frequented most, which allowed easy access.
While the maids transformed the room into the airy and bright place she now occupied, she had acquired a boat, crossed the stream, and gone foraging for herbs. She was given a worn oak desk, a cot, and an unused wardrobe that had been converted to a shelf to display her herbs.
A mahogany low table stood to the side—the only new thing in the room—where she could write prescriptions on the occasion her desk was cluttered with experiments. Its shelves were used to hide materials of more importance. The key hung loosely beneath her bodice.
People had immediately flocked to her once they realized she would not charge for her services. Some had even come with problems they had been ignoring for a year because they could not afford treatment.
