“Wot do ye mean?” Perhaps her husband was addled in the head and didn’t remember the events of yesterday.
He looked at her, a forlorn look on his weathered face. “I’ve lied tae ye, lass. I married ye by proxy.”
Ferra’s mouth fell open. This could not be happening. “P-Proxy?”
The older man nodded. “Mah son is in need of a wife. I’ve found him one.”
“Wot is wrong with him that he couldnae come and find one himself?”
Pain flashed across his expression. “He was injured in a battle four months past. He nearly lost his life.” The laird reached out and touched her hand. “He’s all but given up on his life. I’ve tried, lass, tae show him he has much tae live for, but now that he cannae fight, mah son sees no reason tae live.”
Her heart went out to the laird. It was clear to Ferra that he cared about his son very much. “I’m vera sorry,” she said, covering his hand with her own.
“I’m vera sorry I have deceived ye,” he said, looking down at their joined hands.
Ferra drew in a breath. She could tell him how she truly felt about his deception and demand that he take her home, or she could continue this journey to find out what was ailing the true Laird McGregor.
A healer. He needed a healer. Ferra’s breath caught at the prospect. “’Tis alright,” she heard herself saying, her thoughts racing.
She could have a chance to heal someone.
3
Kaiden winced, his hand bunching in the sheets as the healer replaced the poultice on his thigh, the herbs burning the ruined flesh. “’Tis not looking much better, mah lord,” she stated, stepping back. “The skin...it looks dead.”
Forcing himself to draw in a breath to will away the pain, Kaiden glared at her. “Ye said that last time, too.”
She colored. “’Tis the truth, mah lord. If the wound continues tae fester...” She let her words trail off, and Kaiden wanted to throttle her for even thinking of what the outcome might be. He wasn’t about to let her cut off his leg.
He would rather die. “Get out,” he seethed, rising on his elbows. “Out!”
She hurriedly did what he demanded, and he waited until the door was closed before he fell back onto the pillows, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow.
Four months. He had been in this bed for four months while the healer tried to heal his leg.
It only seemed to get worse.
Sighing, Kaiden looked up at the rough-hewn ceiling, feeling the pain slide through his body from the ministrations of the healer. They had tried everything from burning away the flesh where his strong muscle used to be to poultices that had him fighting back tears.
Now he was nothing but a useless man who couldn’t even climb out of bed without falling to the floor. He couldn’t walk properly, his weakened leg buckling the moment he put pressure on it.
His leg was useless, as well as the rest of him.
Kaiden bit the inside of his cheek hard, drawing blood. If only he had not let his guard down that day. If only he had not gotten lax in his training, he could have seen the sword heading toward his leg.
They had survived that battle, and those that were injured limped home for treatment. Kaiden had lost half his warriors that day, the cost of defeat far too high for the likes of his father.
That and Kaiden couldn’t lead his warriors into battle. He was as weak as a newborn babe.
Fortunately, the attacks were abated for now. Erik provided reports daily to Kaiden, no matter how many times Kaiden told him that he didn’t care. What could he do?
He couldn’t fight from his sickbed, or command his warriors while lying on his arse.
Kaiden couldn’t do anything.
It was best if he ended his life now and saved everyone the trouble.
The door opened, and his father strode in. “I’m home.”
