Ceci Giltenan(16)

Once again they set out with Niall cradling Katherine on his lap. The storm had blown itself out during the night. The day grew fine and warm, but by midmorning she shivered in his arms. Closing her eyes against the bright sun, she snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth. Her flushed face felt hot and dry to his touch. He realized, in spite of all his efforts, fever had set in—she was desperately ill. When they stopped at midday, he tried with little success to get her to eat or at least drink something. She curled up on a plaid and slept. He said to his men, “If we ride hard, we can reach Brathanead by this evening.”

Alan asked, “Do ye think she can tolerate traveling any faster?”

“I think if I don’t get her into the hands of a healer soon, I might lose her,” Niall answered, his voice unable to hide the anxiety he felt.

Niall pushed as hard as the horses could tolerate, Katherine burning up in his arms. They reached Laird Malcolm MacLennan’s keep, Brathanead, at dusk. The MacLennans had been staunch allies of the MacIans for as long as Niall could remember. Niall had trained under Malcolm’s father and he had enormous respect for the old laird.

Malcolm and Niall’s father, Alastair, had been good friends. Niall and Fingal thought of him as an uncle. Now, just as his father had, Niall considered him to be his most trusted ally. Malcolm met them in the courtyard. A flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw the limp, feverish lass in Niall’s arms. He issued orders to see to their comfort and sent for the clan’s healer. “Give her to me, lad.” Malcolm reached to lift Katherine off Niall’s lap. Niall hesitated. “Lad, I won’t break her. Ye have to get off that horse.” Niall lowered her into Malcolm’s waiting arms and dismounted. “God’s teeth, lad, where did ye find this waif and what in the hell happened to her?”

“She is my wife, Malcolm.” At his shocked expression, Niall added, “It’s a long story.” He took Katherine back in his arms, and they entered the keep. Fingal followed carrying a sleepy Tomas.

“Who is the other urchin?” Malcolm asked lightly as he led them up the stairs into one of the towers containing bedchambers.

“A clansman,” answered Fingal, without offering any further information.

Katherine mumbled feverishly. “I promised I wouldn’t hide anything from you.”

“Wheesht, lass.”

“Niall, I’m ill.”

“Aye, lass, I know, but ye will get better now,” Niall answered, willing it to be true.

Then, in a more panicked voice, she asked, “Where is Tomas?”

“Tomas is fine, he’s with Fingal,” Niall assured her.

She still seemed agitated, begging, “Niall, Tomas needs you. I need you, please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he said. Katherine calmed, slipping back into the oblivion where she had been for hours.

Malcolm opened the door to one of the larger chambers on the second floor. Niall entered with Katherine and laid her on the bed. Two maid servants helped remove her garments. When the MacLennan healer arrived, she turned Katherine on her side, before removing the bandage. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and said, “Well, I have some work to do. Lairds, it will be best if ye leave so I can get to it.”

“I’ll stay,” said Niall. The healer gave an entreating look to her laird and said to Niall, “I know ye mean well, but there is nothing ye can do here but get in the way.”

Malcolm took the cue and said firmly, “Niall, ye need food and rest, and Agnes doesn’t need a worried husband under foot.”

“Malcolm, I promised her I wouldn’t leave.”

“Lad, she was delirious, but ye aren’t leaving her. She is unconscious now and ye will be just downstairs. Agnes will call if she needs ye.” Niall still hesitated.

Malcolm put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, gently pushing him towards the door. “Ye need food and rest, too. Lad, I must insist. Ye will make yourself ill, then what good can ye be to her? I promise ye, she is in good hands.”

Niall gave in and left the chamber, followed by Malcolm. Descending to the great hall, Malcolm motioned to a screened area behind which servants prepared a bath. “A meal will be served soon. I thought ye might want to have a bath in the meantime.” Niall ran his hand through his hair distractedly, glancing back at the stairs to the tower. “At the risk of sounding discourteous, lad, ye smell of sweat and horses. Stop worrying and bathe.”

Niall obliged, taking a quick bath before joining Malcolm and Duncan, Malcolm’s second in command, at the table. Gratefully he accepted the tankard of ale offered by a serving maid, taking a long drink of it.