True to the Highlander(90)

“My thanks.” Malcolm nodded. Hurrying into the copse of cottonwoods, he caught sight of her and called out, “Alethia, stop.”

“I’m not speaking to you,” she shouted. Without sparing him a glance, she cut off the path and dashed into the trees.

Malcolm’s blood quickened as he gave chase. He headed into the woods at an angle, coming out in front of her. She gave a startled yelp and changed direction. This tactic of hers he knew well. Scooping her up, Malcolm turned her around and draped her over his shoulder.

“Put. Me. Down.”

“Nay.”

“I am not a sack of grain you can haul around at will.”

She struck at his back with her small fists and tried to lift herself up. He shifted her higher over his shoulder, dangling her lower down his back.

“Oh…this…is…not…good. Where…are…you…taking…me?”

She spoke in rhythm to his strides. He found it extremely amusing. “To our chamber. We need to talk.”

“I’m…going…to…be…sick!”

Malcolm froze. Sliding her down to her feet, he peered into her face. If he’d made her ill, he’d never forgive himself. “Take deep breaths.” Cradling her face between his palms, Malcolm studied her. “Are you going to cast up your morning meal, lass?”

“No.” She swatted his hands away. “I haven’t eaten anything. I wanted you to put me down, and you did.” She sprinted away. “You’re so easy.”

He growled and went after her. Catching her about the waist, he lifted her off her feet and started for the keep. “What do you mean you have no’ yet eaten? You will break your fast, and then it’s back to bed with you.”

“I’m not a child, so don’t talk to me like one.” She gasped in outrage.

“I dinna recall saying you were a child. These visions tire you. I will no’ have you making yourself ill.”

She gave him an angry scowl followed by a resigned sigh and remained mute as he carried her across the bailey, up the stairs and into the great hall.

His mother and sister sat at the table before the hearth. “Mother, would you please see to it something is put together for True to eat? She has no’ yet broken her fast. Elaine, fetch a fresh pot of tea.”

The moment Malcolm settled True on his lap, with the dark bread and slices of ham in front of them, she started to cry. Murmuring soothing nonsense, he fed her small bits of the meal.

“Whatever is the matter, dear?” Lydia asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “What have you done, Malcolm?”

“Nothing,” Malcolm answered. “She’s had another vision, there’s no food in her belly, and she’s no’ had enough rest.” True glared at him and opened her mouth to reply. He put more food into it.

“You must have done something.” Lydia took True’s hands, rubbing and patting them in sympathy.

His sweet wife nodded vehemently. Elaine returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea. He could smell the chamomile and rose hips she’d prepared to soothe True’s nerves. He continued to feed his crying wife, who chewed and swallowed between her tears—and glares. “Elaine, I think the tea would be best served once True is settled in bed. Will you have it sent up?”

“I’ll bring it, Malcolm. Mayhap you have better things to do. I can see to her welfare.” Elaine gave him a pointed look, one that pinned the blame for her friend’s overwrought state squarely upon his shoulders. Aye, he would take the blame, and proudly. He was going to be a father.

He grinned at his sister. “Nay. I’ll see to my wife. Bring the tea, or have it sent.” Lifting True in his arms, he started for the stairs. The tears had ceased, and she yawned. Laying her head on his shoulder, her arms came around his neck. All he needed in this world to be happy rested right here in his arms. He bent his head and brushed a kiss across her brow.

“Not talking to you,” she whispered through another yawn.

“Mmmm.” He felt it best to refrain from comment. Once they entered their chamber, Malcolm set her on the bed. He moved to the hearth, where he stirred the few remaining embers to life and added a brick of peat. Beth came through the door with the tea and slices of toasted bread on a tray. “My thanks, Beth.” She lingered, glancing at True and wringing her hands. He pointed to the door. “That will be all. Close the door as you leave.”

Malcolm leaned against the wall and faced his distraught wife. He should have told her how he felt long ago—as he should have sent word to his father that he’d chosen the only woman he would ever take to wife. His neglect in these matters had hurt the woman he loved. She suffered needlessly because of him.