Under the Highlander's Spell(36)

She smiled and hugged herself. She wanted much more from him. She wanted to taste deep passion, kisses that ignited, touches that demanded. And, eventually, if he proved the right man?

Intimacy.

She was glad that her healing skills had allowed her to learn about intimacy without actually experiencing it. She’d been forced on many occasions to ask personal questions in order to treat a woman, and often the women provided more than she needed.

So now it was easy to understand why her body heated just at the thought of their naked bodies rolling around in bed together.

It was sheer anticipation.

“Are you feeling all right?’

She turned from the table where she had been mixing crushed leaves to see Artair enter their cottage. He hurried toward her and reached out to feel her forehead.

She ducked under his arm after grabbing a handful of leaves off the table, dumping them in the cauldron of water hanging over the flames. “I’m fine.”

He pressed his hand against her forehead as soon as she turned around.

“You are warm,” he said.

She heard the concern in his deep voice, felt it in his tender touch, and her traitorous body flushed with desire for this man who seemed to stir her soul with a simple touch.

She stepped away from him, returning to busy herself at the table. “Of course I am. I’ve been working too long near the hearth, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? Your cheeks are flushed.” He rested the back of his cool hand against her hot cheek.

How could his simple touch stimulate her senses so very much? She wanted to sigh and surrender and beg for a kiss, a touch that would ease the ache inside her. Instead she turned away again and proceeded to mix leaves that were already well-mixed. And to convince herself that she had more important matters that needed her attention. There was no time for this nonsense now.

“I’m a healer,” she said, reminding herself rather than him.

“Healers can fall ill. I do not want that to happen to you.”

“It won’t,” she said, and a yawn rushed out of her mouth.

He grabbed her chin. “You will come to bed tonight.”

Her insides tingled from the innocent demand.

“We’ve been here three days and you have yet to sleep in our bed.”

Our bed.

Did he have to remind her that they played at being wed? And also remind her how wonderful it had been to sleep in his arms that one night? They fit each other as if made for one another.

“You will sleep in our bed tonight,” he said.

“Will I, now?” she asked, her desire for him sparking frustration.

Instead of arguing, he slipped his arms around her and cuddled her close to him. How could she get annoyed with a man who hugged her rather than fought with her?

“A few hours away from your healing will not hurt anyone. And everyone knows where to find you if you are needed.” He hugged her tighter and rested his cheek next to hers. “Besides, what kind of husband would I appear if I did not try to get my wife into our bed?”

She was grateful for the rap at the open door that drew their attention.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Clare said, appearing embarrassed that she had disturbed them.

“You’re not bothering anyone. Is Andrew all right?” Zia asked, slipping out of Artair’s arms.

Clare stepped into the cottage with a smile. “That’s why I came. To tell you that he’s much better. He wants to eat more than just the broth and the bread.”

Zia clapped her hands together, a sense of relief rushing over her. “That’s wonderful, but one more day of bread and broth to make certain, and then he can eat other foods.”

Clare nodded. “I hear old Mary is feeling better as well, and that no one else has turned ill.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I was so afraid—”

Zia hurried to her side and took hold of her hand. “Don’t even think about it. Andrew is well and will stay well.”

“Because of you,” Clare said, and hugged Zia. “You truly are a special healer.”

“My wife is a skillful healer,” Artair corrected.

Zia turned a curious eye on him and was surprised to see concern in his eyes.

After Clare left, she turned to him. “What disturbs you?”

“She called you a special healer. No one else has taken ill. No one has died.”

Zia realized what he was suggesting and was about to argue when she realized that was how her problems had started at Lorne. People began thanking her, praising her, and then accusing her.

“You understand what I’m saying?” he asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“A day or two more is all we should spend here.”

“As long as no one else turns ill,” she said, and stopped his protest with a shake of her head. “I will not leave if I am needed.”