Braden sprang to his feet, water dripping from the bunched sleeve above his elbow onto the tabletop and floor. “Nay, ye mustna. How am I, one day, to lead these lads, if my sister complains I’m no’ able? They’ll be my men, and they must respect me and ken I’ll do what I can for them, even if it means taking a few blows now.”
“But does it always have to be ye, Braden? Taking all the errant blows Archie can deliver?” She gestured for him to move to the next bucket and pulled the stool along behind him.
“No’ for the next three days, nay,” he told her and grinned. “Dinna fash, Sister. I’ll be more careful.”
“See that ye do.”
“And I noticed ye cut me off just before I called ye ‘sister.’ Our guest doesna ken who ye are?”
“The laird’s bastard? Nay.” And after today, it would be even harder to tell a man who kissed her the way Jamie did exactly who—and what—she was.
“Ye are more than that,” Braden insisted, as she indicated for him to dunk his elbow. “When I am laird, ye will be respected and honored. I ken how hard ye work for the clan. How little yer mother left ye to work with.”
“Jamie is helping with that, actually.” She brought over the journal and a page of Jamie’s notes. “He understands at least some of what she wrote, and he’s making it plain for Neve and me so we can use her knowledge in the future.”
“Good.”
“I wish ye had a better idea what he did to yer arm. Did ye notice how he stood when he turned away from ye?”
“Nay. What do ye mean?”
“He cradled his arm, just as ye did, but only for a moment.”
“In sympathy for my pain?”
“Perhaps.” Aftyn frowned, then nodded. “Aye, perhaps exactly that.”
11
“What have ye been doing?” Niall sat up as Jamie entered his chamber. “Ye look fairforfochen.”
“I am spent, aye. Most recently, from helping the laird’s heir,” Jamie told him and rubbed his elbow. “Broken in careless swordplay on the practice field.”
“Ye are doing too much, ye ken. If ye are no’ careful, someone will notice. Someone like Aftyn.”
“I was careful. I wasna going to do anything, but Aftyn’s determination to help him—even sending lads for buckets of cold water from the loch to bring down the swelling—convinced me I couldna let the lad suffer for weeks. Or lose the use of his arm. He’s to be laird, and he will need it.”
Niall stood, poured a cup and handed it to Jamie. “Aye, well, just be careful, aye?”
Jamie took a sip. Ah, good, sweet cider, not ale or whisky. “Anything left on yer tray to eat? Somehow I missed another meal.”
Niall brought the remains of his meal, a slice of bread and hunk of cheese and a small apple.
“Thanks. That will help.”
“How soon do ye think I can walk out of here for good?”
“Bored, are ye?” Jamie took a bite of cheese. “With a cane, this evening. If ye can limp convincingly, ye could join the rest for the evening meal in the great hall.”
“For the sight of something other than these four walls, aye. I’d crawl, if need be, but ye are a few hours late. I did that this morning. I was quite convincing, judging by the sympathy I got from the serving lasses.”
Jamie could imagine how Niall had enjoyed the female attention. He finished the last bite of bread and held out the cup for a refill, then gulped that down, too. “Did Rabbie find ye a cane? Or a stout branch to make one?”
“He did. He’ll be here soon. Ye go get more to eat from Cook, then rest a wee. I can see yer arm still pains ye.”
“I will. Yer bandage is secure, aye?” Jamie looked forward to his bed and the dreams that would accompany his sleep this night. Aftyn in his arms, her lips under his, had been even better than the fantasies that inhabited his dreams up to now.
“Aye.” Niall tapped it. “And the wound is nought but a shallow trench, well healed.”
