Page 38 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

Grace flushed. She’d never considered that Ewan hadn’t sought attention for the wounds inflicted by the bandits, or the cart. “We were attacked by bandits on the road, not more than a seven-day ago. And only two days ago, he was nearly run down by a cart that escaped a farmer’s control. It bruised and cut his shoulder. The bandits wounded his arm and side. I… I salved the wounds…”

“Should have seen a healer, even so. Salve only does so well.” Megan scowled at her patient. “Stubborn fools, all ye men are…”

The rest of Ewan’s clothing was removed, save for a loincloth, to reveal a stab wound to the shoulder, a second wound to his ribs, an inch or so above the one he’d sustained in the earlier attack, a slash to his left arm, and a glancing wound to his thigh. The sight brought tears to Grace’s eyes.

She swiped them away, swallowing back the churning in her gut and the desire to cry at the sight of Ewan’s wounded body. Tears and sickness would do nothing. Instead, she stepped forward. “How may I help?”

“Get a bowl o’ hot water an’ a clean cloth from the fireside. Then a needle an’ thread from the shelves over there.” Meghan tipped her head in the direction, then glared at Malcolm. “An ye, get me some o’ that strong whisky. I’ve near used me entire stock, an’ the wound needs cleanin’.”

Malcolm nodded and disappeared. Grace did as she was commanded as well, awed by the healer’s brisk efficiency and calm.

The next candle-mark was… difficult. Under Megan’s direction, Grace washed and cleaned the wounds, and helped to staunch the bleeding. She held Ewan’s arm while the spirits were used to cleanse the wounds, whispering soothing words when he shuddered and tried to rise, delirious and no more than half-conscious. She watched and helped Megan prepare poultices, while Devlin coaxed a cup of pain-killing tea and several swallows of whisky down Ewan’s throat to ease him into a deeper sleep.

Sewing the wounds was the worst part. She managed to stay calm, but it was a near thing, as she watched the needle pierce Ewan’s flesh to pull the edges of the deep cut on his side together, as well as the gash to his thigh, which turned out to be deeper than it first appeared. Tears stung Grace’s eyes with each prick of the needle, though Ewan remained mercifully unconscious for the entire ordeal.

Finally, though, the last of the wounds had been tended to. Poultices had been applied to encourage healing, and bandages wound around Ewan’s chest, waist, arm and leg. Devlin had left at some point and returned with a pair of loose breeches to dress the wounded laird in, after which Meghan wrapped him in two blankets.

It was Malcolm who broke the silence that fell in the wake of the healing. “How is he?”

“Exhausted. As much from weariness as from blood loss. He traveled hard, an’ he’s been tak’n too much care o’ the clan an’ his errands fer Laird MacDuff, nae enough care fer himself. He’s fevered, an’ ‘tis a wonder he didnae fall on his face afore now, but he’ll mend.

Grace winced at the words, remembering the storm. She’d been so irritated about everything that night, she’d forgotten to consider how it might affect Ewan’s health. “The day he was injured… there was a storm. We were both soaked, but there was no shelter save for a messenger’s hut…”

“An’ he took a chill, likely as nae.” Megan snorted. “He should have come tae me fer a tisane when ye arrived, but I never met a more stubborn fool. Still, he’s strong, an’ even with all his failin’s o’ late, he’s healthy enough. A few days o’ rest and some time tae let those wounds mend, along with the proper tonics, and he’ll be well.”

Grace heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

Devlin cleared his throat. “Lady Grace… Mm laird said ye intended tae visit yer friend, Lady MacDuff, on the morrow. I ken he intended tae tak’ ye, but if ye still wish fer the escort, I can…”

“No.” Grace shook her head. She couldn’t imagine leaving Ewan while he was so ill, though her mind shied away from examining the reasons for her reluctance. “No. I shall not leave him. I assume a message shall be sent to inform Laird MacDuff of what has happened here?”

“Aye.” Devlin nodded.

“Then please include a note for Lady MacDuff, and tell her I am delayed. I will join her once Ewan is well. I am sure she shall understand.”

“As ye will, m’lady.” Devlin dipped his head, then turned and left, no doubt going to write the promised letter and to see to his men.

Malcolm lingered. “Ye should rest, m’lady.”

Grace shook her head. She was exhausted, and yet, sleep had never seemed further from her mind. “I shall stay a while.”

“As ye will. I’ll send yer lass tae bring ye a change o’ clothing, then, and some food.” Malcolm watched her a moment, then turned and left as well. Grace watched him leave, wondering if she’d imagined the glimmer of approval she thought she’d seen in his eyes. Then she turned back to Ewan.

The warrior lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths. Grace settled into a chair at his side, watching carefully for any sign of waking, or any sign of worsening.

She was so absorbed in her vigil, she never even noticed as the healer quietly shut the door, and went to tend the rest of her patients.

Ewan woke feeling sore and weak, and rather as if he’d been encased in armor and wrapped in a shroud. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of herbs and soothing scents, and he scowled to himself as he recognized the healer’s cottage.

What happened tae me? There was a battle… an’ I was searchin’ fer Grace…

He vaguely recalled that someone had told him Grace was in a room, but the memories were fragmented, shadowy.

Grace…

He started to sit up, but a gentle hand touched his shoulder, and a familiar voice touched his ear. “You mustn’t move too much, until Megan has had a chance to inspect your injuries and ensure your fever has broken.”

Ewan turned his head to find Grace sitting at his side. She looked tired, dark circles beneath her eyes. Then her words reached his sleep-befuddled mind. “Fever?”