“Stellan, how do ye feel?” She reached for the cup of cider the healer had left for him, first in a line of them. She was to ensure he drank every one by the time the healer came back from her rest.
“Better,” he said and rolled to his side on his good arm. “More sleeping draught?”
“Nay, just cider in this cup. Ale in the next. I’m to send for some warm broth and start ye on yer way back to eating.”
“So no sleeping draught.”
She started to hand him the cup, thought better of it and set it aside. “Do ye want to sit up?”
He thought for a moment, pushed up on his good arm and swung his legs off the bed. The sheet moved with him, keeping him covered, and he straightened to sitting. And wobbled.
Mariota put her arms around him to steady him. Despite his enforced inactivity, his muscles bulged under her hands and his skin was taut and warm. Not hot, thank God. He felt big and solid in her arms. A man she could count on to protect her when she needed it, and care for her when she needed that, too.
He rested his head on her shoulder, bringing tears to her eyes. “I thought I was going to lose ye,” she told him as she rubbed his back, careful of the wrappings around his torso holding the healer’s salves against his wounds. “Anders said ye were too mean to die. I prayed he was right.”
“He was. He is,” Stellan said against her neck, then lifted his head. “Cider?”
She reached for the cup and put it in the hand he held out, her gaze flicking to his broad chest and etched muscles of his abdomen. He was so much more imposing upright than he had been, lying unconscious, while she watched over him.
She wanted to trace every curve and ripple of muscle she could see. To brush her fingers over his nipples and see if they reacted to her touch as hers did when he had kissed and held her. To pull the sheet askew and admire every inch of his body. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away from the temptation he presented.
“What were ye thinking, fighting Alber alone?” She asked while he drank.
He emptied the cup and handed it back to her. “He ambushed me. I didna have a choice.”
“Where were yer men? They should have been with ye.”
“Hunting him. My orders. Too bad he found me, instead.”
Mariota nodded, at a loss for what to say to that.
“But he’s gone now,” Stellan continued and took the next cup she offered. “At least I think I remember finishing him.” He drank.
“Ye did. Anders was there in time to see the end of the fight. Damn my father for no’ dealing with him as he should have long ago.”
Stellan set the empty aside and cupped her face. “If he had, we never would have met, or not until ye were wed to my brother.”
She shuddered. “I dinna want to imagine that. I like Anders as a brother, but ye are the man I love. Ye must hurry and get well so we can marry.” She paused, not knowing whether she should tell him of the missive she’d recently received, but Stellan needed to know. “Else, Seamus may send for me.”
“Back to MacKay? Nay!”
“Word has come that Mar has taken Dingwall, claiming Ross. Yer da kens. Seamus worries Domnhall will come at Mar via MacKay.” Should she have stayed? For a moment, she allowed herself to feel torn. But nay. She belonged here now. “Seamus can handle whatever happens. I will never leave ye.”
CHAPTER 21
Stellan walked slowly down the stairs to the great hall. It had felt good to spend his first night in his own bed since returning wounded from MacKay. Anders waited at the bottom of the stairs, ready to assist him if he needed it. He was determined to prove he could handle himself. Most of his injures, the shallow ones Alber had inflicted with his sword, were well healed, a new set of pink scars decorating his torso, arm and leg. The arrow wounds were slower to close, but the healer judged them well on the way and dismissed him from her care, save for daily visits to allow her to watch for infection setting in.
Also at the bottom of the stairs, hands clenched over her heart, eyes wide, Mariota stood waiting for him. Each day, she became more beautiful to him. More precious. Not just for her care of him during the last sennight, but for the love she bestowed so fully and openly to him. The wisest decision he had ever made was to switch places with Anders and escort Mariota back to MacKay. There, he’d learned he loved her and did not want to live without her, and she felt the same for him.
“Finally ready to break yer fast, are ye?” Anders chided. “’Tis time for the midday meal and ye arrive all slugabed.”
“Dinna listen to him,” Mariota advised with a laugh as he reached the floor and she came into his arms. “’Tis only a little past sunup.”
“Either way, I’m hungry,” Stellan told her and turned her within his arms. He walked her to an empty table, Anders following behind.
In moments, food and drink arrived. Anders must have signaled from behind his back, Stellan mused. “Thank ye, brother. I am truly famished.”
“No doubt, having spent a sennight subsisting on cider, ale and broth.”
