“Could ye kindly push that chair closer to the bed?”
Sergeant Fletcher nodded and quickly did as she asked. She sat down and cradled the bowl of broth in her hands.
“That’s enough talk for now, captain—”
“Please,” he cut her off, his expression sobering, his eyes serious. “Garrett. And I’d be honored if you would allow me to call you Madeleine.”
Madeleine stared at him and then shrugged. ‘Twas no harm in it, she decided. She would humor him, for now.
“Very well, Garrett. Glenis’s orders were for ye to eat this broth, but only a little at a time.” Ignoring his unsettling gaze, she concentrated on holding the spoon to his mouth and tilting it. He swallowed weakly and smiled again.
“That’s good. More, please…Madeleine.”
She almost laughed out loud in spite of herself. “I told ye, Glenis said slowly.”
His hunger was a good sign, she thought as she fed him more. She blushed anew when she spilled some broth on his upper chest, the liquid disappearing beneath his bedshirt.
“I-I’m sorry,” she said uncomfortably, setting down the bowl. “‘Twas so clumsy of me.” She undid the buttons and wiped his chest and tautly muscled abdomen with a linen napkin, not daring to look at his face. Her fingers shook as she refastened his shirt, and she fumbled with the last few buttons.
“It’s no matter, Madeleine,” Garrett said softly, bringing his hands up to cover her own. She started, meeting his eyes, and for an instant she was lost, aware of nothing but his touch and the heated expression in his gaze.
Sergeant Fletcher’s embarrassed cough finally broke the spell between them. Madeleine’s heart thundered as she slid her hands from beneath Garrett’s and reached for the cup of tea. “Glenis said ye’re to drink this down. It’s her special remedy.”
“What’s in it?” Garrett asked with a smile. He sniffed the dark, clouded liquid and eyed her skeptically.
“Never ye mind. Now drink. ‘Tis no longer hot, so it winna burn yer throat.”
He took a sip and grimaced. “I’d say there’s a bit of Scots whiskey in this tea.” He wheezed, his eyes smarting. He took a longer draft. “I’d swear to it.” He lifted the cup and gamely finished it off, presenting it to her with a small flourish. “You must tell Glenis I enjoyed the broth and the tea very much. And I especially enjoyed your kind assistance, Madeleine.”
Flustered by the quiet intensity in his voice, Madeleine rose to her feet. “Ye must rest, Garrett. Could ye ease up a bit so I might fix yer pillows?”
Garrett leaned on one elbow as she plumped the pillows. Suddenly he winced in pain, his hand flying to the knot on his head. He touched it gingerly.
“That’s where the bloke hit you, captain, whoever he was,” Sergeant Fletcher said, looking at his commanding officer with concern. “We searched the entire area around the house, but there was no trace of him, not even footprints. It’s like he was swallowed up by the moor.”
Madeleine’s eyes widened. If the sergeant only knew how close he was to the truth. She bent over Garrett and tucked the tartan bedspread around his lean waist, very much aware that he was watching her. She felt a shiver and stepped away from the bed. “There now, Garrett. Ye can lie back.”
He did so, exhaling sharply, and it was clear to Madeleine that his small movement had taxed him greatly. He would no doubt remain bedridden for several days, which was fine with her. While Garrett was recuperating she could resume her raids without fear of his personal intervention.
Now that he was feeling better, her conscience was soothed. Well, only somewhat, she admitted to herself. Yet Glenis and Sergeant Fletcher would have to see to Garrett without her now. She had to plan her raids. Just last night Ewen had sent word to her through Duncan, who had passed himself off as a blacksmith looking for work, asking when they would ride again. She would no longer make her kinsmen wait.
She picked up the tray and turned to leave, but stopped when Garrett gently touched her arm.
“Would you sit here with me awhile, Madeleine?” he asked quietly, staring into her eyes. “Please. I’d appreciate your company. Fletcher will take the tray back to the kitchen, won’t you, sergeant?”
Before Madeleine could refuse, the sergeant walked over and took the tray from her. “It will give me a chance to fetch some lunch for myself, if you don’t mind, Mistress Fraser,” he said. He moved briskly to the door. “I’ll be back shortly.” Then he was gone, leaving Madeleine standing awkwardly beside the bed.
“Please…sit down,” Garrett bade her.
Madeleine sighed softly, then sat, deciding there was no harm in lingering for a little while. She stared at her folded hands, not knowing quite what to say. She hadn’t expected this at all.
“Sergeant Fletcher told me I’ve been out for four days,” he said, breaking the silence. “I can hardly believe it. That must have been some bump on the head.”
Madeleine winced. She coughed slightly and raised her head. “Aye, ye gave us quite a scare…” She faltered, her cheeks suddenly very warm. “I mean yer men, they’ve been worried sick for ye, and Sergeant Fletcher—well, Glenis and I thought for sure he’d fall ill himself when ye became delirious. He was so upset that we had to send him outside for fresh air.”
He chuckled, and she smiled. His face looked so boyishly handsome when he laughed, so honest and open. If not for the fact that he was a redcoat, she might have liked this man.
Madeleine looked away, disturbed by her thoughts.
