True to the Highlander(67)

Malcolm lifted his head to glance down at his injured arm. He couldn’t help the snort of amusement from escaping. Checking to see she’d not been disturbed by the sound, he put his head back on the pillow and grinned into the candlelit shadows. The stitched skin now resembled his lady’s most recent embroidery project. Crimson, white, and the darkest green threads formed a feathery pattern down the length of the wound. MacKintosh colors. God’s blood, ’twas good to be home.

Nay. He would not wake her. Disentangling his hand from her grip, Malcolm pushed himself up to a sitting position, going still until the dizziness and nausea passed. He swung his feet to the floor and looked about his chamber. Spying two covered bowls on the table near his bed, thirst overcame him. He reached for the nearest, finding it held more of the broth True had fed him earlier. He drank it all and reached for the next. He inhaled. ’Twas a tea made from rose hips, chamomile and other herbs he did not recognize, and sweetened with honey. He downed the entire bowl. His thirst slaked for the moment, Malcolm set himself to the task of transferring True to his bed.

He pushed himself to stand, fighting the pain and dizziness. Nausea assailed him again. Using his bedstead for support, he worked his way around to her side. He hoped to God she’d stitched him well, for what he was about to do might very well reopen the wound. Squatting next to her, Malcolm put his arms under her knees and eased her back until he could put one arm under her neck. Using his legs and the chair to aid him, he leveraged her onto the mattress. Sweat beaded his brow from the pain and effort, and he arranged her as comfortably as possible.

He breathed heavily from the exertion and leaned against a bedpost until he recovered. He reached for furs to cover her, then worked his way back to his side of the mattress, sliding gratefully back between the linens. With his good arm, he tucked her against his side. Content at last, his head fell back onto the pillow, and sleep took him far from the pain.




The sound of his chamber door opening woke him. Malcolm opened his eyes to glance first at the woman asleep beside him, and then to the shocked expressions worn by Liam and Robley. One of True’s legs covered both of his just above his knees. Her arm had found its way around his waist, and her head rested upon his good shoulder. Possessively, he reached down to cover her exposed calf, and he scowled at his cousins, chagrined. What had seemed a good idea in the dark of night, in the light of day proved to be folly.

Liam cleared his throat. Robley stared openmouthed, and Malcolm nodded toward the door. Thankfully, Liam grasped his meaning, crossing the room to shut it. Malcolm gently shook his sleeping beauty. True stretched and yawned, opening her eyes in the process.

Malcolm could clearly see the confusion in her eyes as she sat up and looked down at him. “How did I come to be in your bed?”

“Och, lass. You canna seem to keep your hands off me.” He grinned as her eyes grew wide. Robley coughed, no doubt in an effort to contain his laughter, drawing True’s attention to the fact that they were not alone. Malcolm watched as a delightful blush colored her cheeks. Without speaking, she reached out to feel his forehead. Removing her hand, she rose from the bed with dignity, straightened her gown and stood with her back straight.

“There is no fever,” she proclaimed. “Please inform Malcolm that I am not speaking to him.” She graced him with a glare. “He left without telling me.” Lifting her chin, she stomped to the door, threw the latch and slammed it behind her.

He and his cousins stared after her in silence, shocked when she stormed back two seconds later. Circling his bed to the side where she’d sat, she lifted the basket she’d forgotten and left again without a word, refusing to look at any of them.

“True is not talking to you, Malcolm,” Robley informed him through his laughter. “She’ll share your bed, but dinna expect conversation.”

Liam cleared his throat again. “Malcolm, I must ask. What do you intend to do about our Lady True?”

Malcolm closed his eyes and rested his aching head against his pillow. “I had intended that we would wed in the spring upon my father’s return. ’Tis clear I canna wait until then. I’ll send to Edinburgh for a priest, though ’tis unlikely we’ll see him arrive before spring with winter fast upon us.”

“Sweeten the offer with a generous tithe,” Liam suggested. “Robley, would you see to dispatching the missive? I need a word with Malcolm in private.”

Something in Liam’s tone alarmed Malcolm. “Before you see to writing the request, have Molly send me a tray to break my fast,” he told Robley. “And ale. Have her send ale. I’ve a powerful thirst.”