Her trembling fingers splayed on each side of his face to hold him steady while her remorseful tears had dripped down her chin and onto his blond hair flecked with bits of grass.
The memory of him chewing upon a green blade rushed back to her now, along with that of his smile and his easy laughtershehad silenced—aye, how could she not feel fully responsible for what had happened to him?
Agonized, Rowen folded the towel in half and placed it upon Alec’s forehead, his face so ashen that she wondered if indeed, he might die.
Simeon busied himself next to her, too, with pouring between Alec’s pale lips some concoction from a small vial, and murmuring that it would ease any pain. Rowen wasn’t surprised when Alec’s throat convulsed as if he was choking.
Fearing for him, she gently lifted his head and the spasm stopped, a gasp escaping her when she saw Alec’s eyelids seem to flicker.
“A good sign, Lady Mackay. Mayhap he is soon tae wake.”
Rowen held her breath, watching, waiting, but Alec’s eyelids didn’t open, which only filled her with fresh despair.
With great care she laid his head back upon the pillow and ran her fingertips across his stubbly cheek that felt cool…but thankfully not as cold as death.
A fresh wave of guilt struck her, too, her eyes burning from crying like she had never done in her life.
She had always believed that weeping was a weak feminine trait to be avoided. She had never shed a tear—no, not once, even after all the bumps and scrapes she had endured trying to keep up with her older brothers. Gaira had been so surprised to see her crying, staring at her so strangely, that Rowen had almost sent her from the room.
Now she couldn’t seem to stop her eyes from growing blurry with moisture as a ragged groan burst from Alec and he jerked slightly upon the bed.
If he had bumped his head so severely, what other malady might be plaguing him now? She remembered one of her father’s men had been injured in such a manner, and he was never the same afterward.
Would Alec be able to walk and talk again? Ah, God, she could not bear the thought that he might know some impairment for the rest of his life.
Alec was a strapping Highland warrior, powerful and strong…or at least he had been before her clansman with his sling had appeared out of the trees and caused what to most, must appear an accident.
Yet the doubt and suspicion in Alec’s clansmen’s eyes had told her that they didn’t trust her any more than they would trust anyone from Clan Sutherland, and why should they? Had her marriage to Alec erased years of enmity and mistrust overnight? Not at all, and she would have felt the same if walking in their boots.
If only there was some way for her to send a message to Errol—aye, and the rest of her family, and tell them never again to threaten Alec’s life and that she accepted the marriage God had granted her…
“Ah, lady, you should get something tae eat and drink. You’re as pale as your husband.”
Rowen shook her head at Simeon, who she knew meant well, but she wasn’t leaving Alec’s side. “I must stay here…for when he wakes.”
The old man gave a nod, though he sighed as if uncertain when that might be, which made a fresh wave of tears cloud Rowen’s eyes.
“Dinna distress yourself so,” Simeon tried to soothe her, reaching out to squeeze her hand with gnarled fingers as Rowen sank down onto the chair placed next to the bed. “I have seen worse and everything righted itself. Och, Laird Mackay is as strong a man as any in Scotland. Pray for his healing and mayhap heaven will hear you. Aye, we can hope.”
Simeon’s bleary brown eyes held such sincerity that Rowen nodded at him, but she had no voice with which to speak, her throat felt so constricted.
Guilt, regret, even loathing herself at that moment—och, she had never felt such gut-wrenching emotion in her life. Would heaven have pity on her, too? Her lips moved in soundless entreaty as she leaned forward to turn over the cloth on Alec’s forehead, only to hear a low knock at the door.
She didn’t spare a glance over her shoulder, but continued to stare at Alec’s face as light footsteps approached the bed.
“The cook asked me tae bring up a tray with some broth for the laird—ah, no, is he dying?”
Rowen met the stricken gaze of a young woman she recognized from the wedding feast, the buxom maidservant who had refilled Alec’s ale cup—and hers.
“Och, Sheena, dinna disturb your lady at such a distressing time,” chided Simeon, who gestured toward a table at the opposite side of the bed. “Set down the tray and leave us?—”
“Youdid this tae him!” the maidservant cut him off, her dark eyes ablaze as she glared at Rowen. “He was hale and healthy until you came along and now look at him lying there as pale as a ghost!”
Stunned, Rowen didn’t know what to say and stared back open-mouthed at her, though Simeon had already hastened around the bed to take Sheena by the elbow.
“You overstep yourself, lass. I said you must leave.”
“No, she will hear me now that I’ve seen what she’s done!” Breaking free of Simeon’s grasp, Sheena set down the wooden tray with a jarring thunk and whirled around to face Rowen. “You meant tae kill him. You dinna want tae be here any more than the rest of us want you here—and now you’ve found a way tae run back tae your accursed clan!”
