Maggie repeated the question. “How long has Brodie had the fever?”
“I dinnae ken.” She admitted. “We were traveling all day. He did seem sluggish this morning, but I thought he was just tired. He had been quiet yesterday, too. That isnnae like him.”
Maggie smiled. “Ye are quite right. He does tend to go on. Especially when he is talking about ye.”
Skye froze. “He has spoken of me?” Her words were barely audible.
“He mostly goes on about what ye were like growing up. I can tell he still loves ye.”
“How is that?”
“His eyes light up when ye are mentioned. ’Tis the only time I see true emotion on him.” She couldn’t think of a response. “Och, the tales Lachlan has told me about when ye left. Brodie fair near went mad, from what I hear. That is until…” Maggie pinched her lips together.
Skye’s heart skipped a beat. Had he truly hurt as much as she had? And, until what?
Lachlan rushed in. “Skye.” He embraced her quickly and pulled back. “Where is he, and where did ye come from?”
…
Skye’s heart seized when they entered the house. He wasn’t where she’d left him. Running to her father’s room, she called out, “Brodie,” then checked the room that had been built on as a spare. Not there, either. She rushed into her own room and found him on the bed, still wrapped in the green and red plaid, curled up in a ball.
“In here,” she yelled to Maggie and Lachlan.
She took a step toward the bed and froze. Peeking out from beneath the well-worn material, he clutched something familiar. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as she looked closer and recognized a corner of the fabric object. It was a pillow she’d once made. Disliking needlework, she had been forced to sit with visiting family and learn on that cushion. Before her cousins and grandmother had gone back to Skye, she’d already planned the demise of the offending object, which she’d told Brodie as they skipped rocks by the loch.
He had talked her into giving it to him so her father wouldn’t catch her in the act, and one day, she’d slipped it to him as he’d left their cottage. He had kept it, and now had it here in her bed.
“Skye,” Maggie startled her. “’Twas yer home and ye ken yer way around it?” She nodded. “Good, we will need some water heated. Can ye start with that, then bring some clean rags and another light blanket.”
She dashed from the room, thankful to be doing something to help.
When she returned with the items, her hands were no longer shaking. Maggie guided her through what she would need to do during the night to try to keep his fever down. The woman was skilled, and her confidence instilled in Skye a belief that Brodie would regain his health.
“Come, let him rest,” Maggie said and gestured toward the door for her to follow.
She refrained from pointing out that he had not awakened with all their attentions, and that she didn’t want to be away from his side for a moment. Heart pounding at the thought of leaving him unattended, she followed Maggie out, silently vowing to Brodie to return soon.
Lachlan, who had waited in the main room, took his wife’s hand and kissed it as his gaze traveled up and down to inspect the lass. Maggie looked tired, but she pulled her shoulders back and smiled, likely in an attempt to not show fatigue to her husband. He did not appear fooled.
Cutting concerned eyes to Skye, he said, “I will send food in the morning. I looked through the cabinets and there isnae much here.”
“Thank ye.” When she glanced back to Maggie, Skye’s voice shook as she asked, “What should he eat?”
“Mostly liquids. Soup is good. But ye will also need something to keep up yer strength. Ye look so thin. Do ye ever eat?” She tilted her head and her lips pursed almost imperceptibly.
“I do when I cook.”
“Ye like to cook, then?”
“I do.” She straightened and smiled for the first time in hours.
“We will send enough to stock the kitchen, then. No telling how long this storm will last. I am getting hungry myself, so I’ll stop by the kitchens on the way in.”
Lachlan laughed, “Ye seem to always be hungry.”
“’Tis cause I’m expecting his bairn.” With pride, Maggie caressed her swollen belly, as Lachlan’s arm pulled his wife in close. A pang of longing hit Skye before she allowed herself to be happy for the couple. They looked so perfect together, and she couldn’t begrudge them their good fortune.
Fighting back the irrational jealousy that tried to claw its way in, and the familiar lump that caught in her throat when she saw another woman with a babe, she smiled. Lachlan deserved happiness after what he had been through, and Maggie seemed like a genuinely nice person. She’d come all the way out here on this dreadful night to help Brodie. Most people so large with child would not have ventured this far in the snow. Sparing a glance at the window, she noticed that large white flakes continued to come down at a steady pace.
“Thank ye for helping me with Brodie. I have never seen him like this before.”
Panic swelled, and she thought for a moment to beg them to stay, to let them know how scared she was, and that last time she’d been left in this house alone, her father had died and she’d had no one.
“He will be fine. Just give him a little time.” Maggie broke free of Lachlan’s hold and wrapped Skye in a warm, reassuring embrace.
“We’ll send some supplies as soon as we can,” Lachlan said as he pulled his wife toward the door.
“Thank ye.”
Deciding it was selfish to ask them to stay, she held her tongue, although she considered telling them to send her cousin Alan. But none of them would be safe out in that weather.
After they walked out, Skye bolted the door and rushed back to the room to check on Brodie. He hadn’t moved, so she tiptoed to the kitchen to prepare the tea and compresses to pull down his fever.
Spending the next several hours wiping his forehead with cool rags and fretting over every little sound he made, she berated herself again for not noticing his condition earlier and for not insisting he rest instead of rushing them through the cold to get back. A couple of times during the night, she attempted to rouse him enough to get him to drink the special concoction Maggie had left, but it was no use.
When she wasn’t trying to tame his temperature, she explored her old home. Little things had changed, but most had stayed the same. Standing in the doorway, but not going in, she stared at her father’s room, which still held the same blankets, cherry furniture, and his belongings, neatly placed in the same spots where he had kept them.
Her room was the biggest difference. Brodie had brought his own items in, and they were mixed in along with hers. He hadn’t taken her father’s larger room or cleared out hers, but moved into the smaller space. That thought melted some of the ice that had accumulated in her heart.
A few times, Brodie thrashed around in the grip of the fever and talked of Royalists and ominous plots, then he’d say her name.
Why had she not forced her uncle to bring her back to confront Brodie? Could she have been wrong about him? And how could she have promised herself to another when her heart was still here?
In the wee hours of the night, his fever subsided, and she was finally able to relax. There was nothing left to do but wait, so she lay down beside him and started talking, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear. “I cannae believe how much I have missed this place. There are so many memories here, and most of them include ye.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the texture of his thick chestnut locks. Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered the last time they had been in her bed together. If only fate had not sought to keep them apart. She shut her eyes and tried to remember her obligations.
Och, her poor uncle was probably worried sick. He might very well murder someone over her disappearance.
…
Tap, tap, tap tap.
Brodie’s eyes opened to a familiar ceiling, but something was d
ifferent from every other morning he’d woken in this place. Skye lay beside him on the bed.
How had he come to be here? Was it a dream? If it was, he didn’t want to wake.
He reached out and touched her arm—she was real.
Tap, tap tap.
Sparing a glance at the window, he saw there was light outside, but it was muted by a continuous fall of thick white snow.
A heavier tap, tap, tap sounded, and he would yell for whoever it was to go away, but he didn’t want to startle the warm, sleeping lass who nestled up next to him like he was still her world. Reluctantly sliding out of the bed, careful not to wake her, he pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.
Cursing, he stumbled toward the noise, surprised at how a haze cluttered his vision and left his limbs feeling heavy and sore. His head pounded as if he’d been drinking all night, and his muscles ached as if he had been run over by a wagon.
“Who’s there?” he called out when he got to the door, surprised by the hoarseness in his throat.
“’Tis yer cousin.”
Lachlan.
Unlatching the door to admit his cousin, he was surprised by the knee-deep snow outside. He vaguely remembered getting home with Skye last night as the white flakes pelted them, but everything after that was foggy and unclear.
“Are ye feeling better, then?” Lachlan questioned as he kicked his boots on the doorframe.
Alan bustled in behind Lachlan with a large basket and set it on the table.
“What are ye doing?” Brodie scratched his head. Maybe he was dreaming.
“We brought ye and Skye some supplies. Ye will need it with this weather,” Lachlan answered.
“Where is Skye? I havenae seen her yet.” Alan’s gaze shifted around the room.
“How did ye ken we were here?” Brodie squinted and scooted over to a chair and sat. The room had started to spin, and his head felt heavy. He wanted them to leave so he could lie back down, but they seemed to know something.
“Skye came to Kentillie and found Maggie last night. I dinnae recall ever seeing her so worked up over something.” Lachlan’s brow’s rose as if to hint there was some hidden meaning behind his words.
“I dinnae remember any of this.” Brodie rubbed his hand over his dry eyes. Leaning back in the familiar chair, he blinked hard then opened his lids wide.
“Aye, when we got back here with Skye, ye were out. Feverish and delusional. Ye are looking a wee bit better this morning.”
“Well, where is she?” Alan frowned. “Last time I went to the MacDonald’s, I barely saw her.”
Brodie looked at him and glowered as Alan’s duplicity came to light. He came full awake and snapped out the words as his fists clenched around the arms of the chair. “Ye saw her and didnae tell me?”
“She is my cousin, Brodie. She asked me no’ to tell you.” Alan shrugged.
“Ye are my friend. Does that no’ count?” Brodie was on his feet, shoulders thrown back. He took a step toward Alan, and the room started to swirl.
Alan held up his hands. “She just looked so sad when yer name was brought up.” His gaze shifted down. “’Twas like all the life drained out of her. I didnae want to cause her any more pain.”
“And ye thought I would do that?” Brodie shook as his jaw tightened.
“I just ken talking about ye made her unhappy. She would always ask if ye were still hopping from one wench’s bed to the next. I couldnae tell her the truth without revealing your secret, so I just stopped talking to her about ye.”
“Ye should have told me.”
“Told ye what? That she was miserable. What would ye have done? No lass wants to ken the love of her life cannae control his baser needs, but if she knew the truth, she’d be in danger. Once ye turned spy, ye kenned she would no’ be safe with ye.”
Alan, his laird, and Lachlan’s brother Malcolm were the only Camerons who knew of his double life, and it was best kept that way. Even so, when Skye had left him, there was a short time when he’d lost control and indulged in anything, be it alcohol or lasses, to make the pain go away for just a little while. That’s why his persona was brilliant—it truly had been who he had become when Skye left.
“Aye, I was spying before, but I would have stopped. I wouldnae have remained the Raven had she stayed,” he thundered, losing his temper. “Skye’s the only one I ever wanted. The other wenches were all after she left.”
“Have ye ever considered mayhap that is how she thought ye saw her, as just one of those wenches?”
Brodie’s heart plummeted to his gut at something he’d never once contemplated. Was that what she thought?
Alan continued, “Yer reputation with the lasses is legend in the Highlands. Did ye think she wouldnae hear of yer exploits?”
“She left me before any of that.”
Could she really have known so much about his spiral downward and then the duplicity of his life?
“Enough.” Lachlan scowled at both of them. “We need to get back. Ye should have all ye need to get ye through the next few days. The snow is still falling, and I want to get back before we get stuck out here.”
Brodie opened his mouth to give Lachlan a report on why they were here—Argyll’s bounty on Skye, his plan to wed a Campbell lass to a MacPherson, that they needed to get word to The MacDonald, and the plot to destroy the Royalist lairds at an upcoming meeting in Edinburgh—but he was interrupted.
“Skye.” Alan’s face lit up.
Brodie turned to see a vision that made his heart leap. Standing in the doorway, still sleepy eyed, was Skye, wrapped in the plaid he’d draped over his body on countless occasions, with her silky blond hair tumbling down her shoulders. Bare feet peeked from beneath the worn edges of the green wool, a pattern that set off her emerald eyes and beckoned him to take her in his arms and carry her back to bed.
He’d been hoping to get back to that warm haven before she woke, wanted to enjoy the sight and feel of her waking up in his arms. He hoped she had not overheard their heated exchange, but it was probably what had roused her.
Alan rushed by him, scooped Skye up in his arms, and twirled her around. “It’s been too long.”
“Aye, it has,” she returned with a smile as Alan set her back on her feet and steadied her with his large hands around her small middle.
Fury ignited. He would blame it on jealousy, were Alan not her cousin. But it went deeper than that. At one time, Brodie had lived for that smile—the one she no longer bestowed on him, but came so easily for others.
“’Tis time ye came for a visit. What finally got ye back home?”
She shot Brodie a look and raised an eyebrow.
“’Twas no’ planned. But I am happy to be here.” She turned to Lachlan. “I forgot to ask last night. How is yer mother? I cannae wait to see her.”
Brodie grinned at her deft maneuvering of the conversation.
“She will be so pleased to see ye,” Lachlan answered.
Alan finally let go of her waist and backed up slightly. They had always been close cousins, and that had not bothered him when they were younger. But now, he reflected on the times he’d asked after her and how each time, Alan had dodged the subject.
“If ye want, I will take ye to Kentillie to see her now.” Alan tilted his head down to Skye’s then slid a plotting gaze toward him with a slight slant of the head.
Now, he wanted to punch her cousin. If Alan messed up Brodie’s chance to get to the truth about the MacDonald, and his few moments left with Skye, he would kill the man—her cousin or not. Swaying, he extended his arms to catch his balance.
“I will see her when it clears up outside. I think Brodie needs someone here. He still looks quite pale, and I havenae had the chance to make him the medicine Maggie instructed me to give him.”
“Ye are certain?” Alan didn’t let up.
“Aye,” she said.
Alan embraced her again and turned toward Brodie, pinning him with an unveiled threat. His supposed friend mumbled
so only he could hear as the Highlander walked by him, “If ye hurt her again, ye will have me to deal with.”
His nails dug into his palms. It was all he could do not to strike out at Alan. He would never do anything to hurt Skye.
“When the weather is cleared, I am sure Maggie will want to have ye at Kentillie to welcome ye back,” Lachlan interjected and, sensing the tension, placed himself between Alan and Brodie. Lachlan opened the door, and a chill breeze blew in, along with several hundred large snowflakes. “Let’s get back, Alan.”
“Thank Maggie for the supplies,” he called after them, and then the door shut, leaving him alone to try to close the chasm between him and Skye.
He knew he had other information he’d wanted to give Lachlan, but his thoughts had hazed over and his body began to ache.
Chapter Ten
“Ye still look feverish. How are ye feeling?” Skye walked to Brodie and placed her hand on his temple.
Her hands were cold, but despite that, she could tell he still had a fever. His head felt as if he’d been bathing in the warm rays of the sun on a summer day.
“I amnnae certain. I dinnae remember what happened last night. I am happy to see ye still here and that ye didnae leave.”
Did he think she would have left him in the shape he had been in? Wincing, she recalled his heated tone when she’d crept down the hall toward the men’s voices. “Skye’s the only one I ever wanted.” She had heard the anger etched in those words. She had been so distraught when her uncle had taken her away that she had never given him the chance to explain.
He wavered and she pushed away the guilt to study later as she moved in to hold him steady.
“Sit,” she ordered as she helped him to a cushioned chair. “I’ll make a fire and get ye some of the medicine Maggie left. Ye still look pale, but I’ll take that over yer condition last night.” She went to the table and picked up the container Maggie had left, measured the correct amount into a smaller vial, then walked back over to Brodie. She held it out. “Drink.” Thankfully, he downed the liquid without protest.
His lips puckered as he handed back the container.
“Och, what did she put in that?” Despite the sour face, his boyish charm made it amusing. She giggled. It was the first time she had done so and really enjoyed it in recent memory. “Ye rest. I’ll put things away and make us something to eat.”
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