“The fever has left you weak.”
Her chin went up. “I am strong enough.”
“You are stubborn,” he said with a smile.
She returned the smile, though it was a small one. “I am.”
“Your garments are beyond repair.”
She frowned, though brightened quickly enough. “My nightdress is in my sack.”
He nodded and retrieved it, though warned as he approached. “You will go easy and lean on me while you gather your strength.”
She nodded and waited for his help. Gently, he slipped his arm under her back and eased her up to sit. The room suddenly spun and she quickly latched onto his arm that had suddenly wrapped around the front of her waist.
He sat down beside her, and she immediately dropped her head on his chest.
“It will pass,” he assured her.
His arms went tight around her, his chest comfortable, and the feeling she was safe more powerful than she would have imagined. The dizziness subsided, and she silently scolded herself. She had warned people, who had been ill and bed-ridden that she had tended, never to get up too fast and to expect some lightheadedness. She had not listened to her own advice. But then Rogan’s arms seemed to work just as well.
The thought startled the last of the dizziness away. When it did, she realized that she was half-naked in front of him, the blanket having slipped down to her waist. And strangely enough, at the moment, she did not care. She was content in his arms and she did not want to move.
“Feeling better?” he asked, hoping she was, though not wanting her to leave his arms. He loved having her there.
“Yes,” she said, telling herself to get her nightdress on and keep it on.
“Let me help you into this,” he said, holding up her nightdress, and then easing her out of his arms.
She went slowly this time, though winced loudly when pain shot through her shoulder as he slipped her arm through the sleeve hole. She once again rested her head to his chest, this time fearing she might faint.
He mumbled several oaths and rested his cool hand on the back of her head.
“I am fine,” she assured him, worried that he would stop her from going outside and seeing to her needs.
“Stubborn,” he snapped.
She laughed softly. “We have already established that.”
His finger slipped beneath her chin and he raised her head up slowly to look at him. “You will tell me immediately if you do not feel well or if you feel dizzy.”
“That sounds like an order.”
“It is,” he said sternly.
She would have snapped at him if not for the worry she saw in his dark eyes, and it touched her heart.
“Lean on me as you stand, so that you give yourself time to gather some strength,” he instructed and stood slowly, taking her with him as he went.
She held firm to his arm as she rose to her feet and the weakness in her legs forced her to rest against him. His arm quickly went around her waist, and she was grateful for the support.
“After I take a few steps, I should be fine,” she assured him, or perhaps she was trying to reassure herself.
“Take your time,” he said, keeping tight hold of her.
Emma was relieved to feel strength return to her limbs as she walked slowly to the door, though she made no mention of it. The more Rogan helped her now while her limbs grew stronger, the easier it would be once she had to stand on her own.
Once they stepped outside, the chill in the air sent a shiver through her.
“You need a cloak,” he said, annoyed that he had not thought of it.
She shook her head. “No, the chilled air feels good against my heated skin, and I will not be staying out here long.”
Rogan stopped a short distance into the woods and asked, “Are you sure you can do this on your own?”
Her warm cheeks flamed. “Even if we were wife and husband, I would not let you assist me in such a personal need.”
Rogan took hold of her chin. “If you were my wife, I would not leave the choice to you.”
“But I am not your wife and never will be,” she said, hoping the sorrow that descended on her had not been reflected in her words.
It was good she had reminded him of that. He was growing much to use to touching her, holding her, and sleeping with her. “But as my future sister-in-law you are my responsibility and I will see you returned home safe, no matter how stubborn you are.” He let go of her slowly, making certain she had enough strength to stand on her own.
Emma wanted so badly to step away from him, far away from him, but that was not possible. She needed his help until she healed and then... she would keep a good distance from her future brother-in-law.
Rogan had wisely left her to stand beside a tree, and she used the sturdy trunk to support herself. He had not gone far, a few feet away, and had turned his back to her. She saw to her needs, though far more slowly than she would have liked. And once done, she realized the simple chore had taken more from her than she had expected. But then fever still lingered with her and she had to be vigilant that it did not get worse. She could not push herself too much. Her body needed time to heal, time to fight the fever, and time to rest. Her brew would certainly help with that.
She walked over to Rogan, feeling the weakness in her limbs and realizing it would take days before she was strong enough to travel. The thought did not sit well with her.
Rogan turned at her approach and went to her side, his arm coiling around her waist once again.
She wasted no time leaning against him, and he wasted no time scooping her up and carrying her back to the cottage. She did not protest. She needed to heal as fast as possible so that she could continue her search for Heather. The longer it took to find her, the more she feared they never would.
Rogan placed her on the bed, a pillow at her back and the blanket pulled up to her waist. It was good she wore the nightdress, at least now he would not be distracted by her lovely naked body. Or so he told himself.
“I will heat more of the brew for you, and you should eat something if you can,” he said, walking over to the hearth. “We still have some of what Samuel gave us, and tomorrow I will hunt.”
“Where are Samuel and your warriors?” she asked, blaming it on the fever that she had not taken note of their absence before now.
“You and I were the only ones left after the attack,” he explained, setting the pot of brew in the hearth to heat. “My warriors and their horses were nowhere to be seen. As for Samuel,” —he shook his head— “the place appeared deserted when we arrived. The hearth was cold, as if it had not been lit in weeks, no farm animals to be seen, and not a sign of Samuel. It was as if the place had not been occupied for some time.”
A shiver ran through Emma and she hugged herself. “I do not understand any of this.”
Rogan filled the goblet and brought it to her and gently moved her legs over some so that he would have enough room to sit on the bed beside her. “I agree, none of it makes sense. With the ghost warriors attacking us, it is reasonable to conclude that the Dark Dragon has taken your sister.”
“But why?”
“That is my thought. Why take Heather? If he wanted her for a wife, then all he had to do was speak to King James and request her hand in marriage. With all he has done for the King, his request would have surely been granted. And the idea that he abducted her to sell her makes no sense either. He is a wealthy man. So why abduct her?”
“Perhaps he is not interested in a wife, but simply a woman to warm his bed,” Emma said her heart filling with dread.
“From the tales that spread about him, it seems he does not lack for female companionship.” Rogan shook his head. “No. There is more to this abduction and we need to find out what it is.”
“We cannot stop searching for Heather,” Emma said, worried that Rogan would halt the search.
“What search? It is obvious the Dark Dragon has taken Heather, and there is a good possib
ility that he may have Patience as well.”
“But his men did not take me, and they certainly had the opportunity,” she argued.
“I can make no rhythm or reason out of it, though I have come to realize since the last attack that it is no longer a search for Heather. To get her back, we will have to battle the Dark Dragon.”
Chapter Eleven
Emma lay in bed resting, thinking over what Rogan had said and his reasoning troubled her, for it made sense. She still held hope that Patience had not been captured. If her sister had come to the same conclusion as them, then Patience would surely collect as much information as possible, before she returned home.
She had to get home. Patience could have returned home already or perhaps father had heard something. She turned to Rogan at the hearth stoking the fire. “I need to take a look at my wound.”
He threw the stick he was using into the flames and walked over to her.
He seemed larger to her, his strides more powerful, but it was probably because she felt so vulnerable laying there, feeling much too helpless. She startled when he laid his hand to her brow, though calmed quickly enough, his hand cool against her warm skin.
“Can it not wait? It is better you rest. You grow warmer.”
She was annoyed that the fever continued to not only linger, but to also vary in degrees. If it was not for that, she would be on her horse right now headed home. But fever could prove deadly, and it was not worth taking the risk.
“The morning then?” she asked, knowing his advice was wise.
“Aye, the morning,” he confirmed with a nod.
Emma ate what Rogan gave her, though not all of it. She was not very hungry and she was not sure if it was the fever or worry that caused her lack of appetite. Either way, it was not a good sign and if she was to grow stronger she needed sustenance. So, she forced herself to eat.
She fell asleep with a prayer on her lips for a speedy recovery. A delicious smell woke her and she turned to see something roasting on a spit in the fireplace.
“You have slept the day away again,” Rogan informed her as he approached. His hand went to her brow and he frowned, though made no comment.
He did not have to. Emma felt the heat in her body. The fever had risen instead of diminishing.
“Something smells good,” she said, though she had no want for food.
“I decided to hunt today in hopes that roasted rabbit would tempt your appetite, but from the lack of a smile on your beautiful face, I would venture to guess I was wrong.”
Beautiful face. No, he did not call her beautiful. It was the fever playing tricks on her.
“I am not hungry at the moment,” she said.
“Perhaps you will be once the meat is done. In the meantime, you can enjoy some more of your brew.”
He sat on the bed beside her, a commonplace action since their arrival, handed her the goblet, and waited until she finished taking a sip to ask, “Who is Daniel?”
Emma stared at him bewildered.
“The fever had you talking. From what I gathered, Daniel is a liar and he somehow hurt you.”
“It was nothing,” she said.
“I disagree. It was something. You ran to your sister Heather for comfort.”
“It happened many years ago,” Emma said, not wanting to recall the troubling memory.
“Tell me about it,” he urged.
“Why?” He would probably find it amusing as most of the villagers had, though not once Patience had gotten done with Daniel. Not another word had been said about it then.
“I care about you. You are future family.”
Her heart swelled with his first few words, then plunged with the ones that followed.
Whatever is the matter with you, Emma? She silently scolded herself. He belongs to your sister. How many times do you need reminding? Do not make a fool of yourself as you did with Daniel.
“I appreciate that you should care, but I would rather not discuss Daniel with you.”
Perhaps she did not, but he wanted an answer to one particular question. “Did you love him?”
“As I said, I do not wish to discuss it with you,” she reiterated.
He was not used to being denied an answer when he asked a question and her refusal irritated him. “It is a simple enough question. Why not answer me?”
“I do not want to,” she snapped.
“I am your sister’s future husband and—”
“Have no say over me,” she finished.
“But I do. With your father so ill, it will fall upon me to secure a good marriage for you. It is my duty and I will see it done.”
“You most certainly will not,” she said, biting back her anger.
“I most certainly will,” he insisted.
Emma went to sit up, but the pain forced her to stay as she was. She did, however, raise her chin a notch. “Listen well, Rogan MacClennan, you have no say over me now, nor will you ever. It is I who will decide who I wed or if I want to wed at all. I am finding I quite like life without a man and, at the moment, you are helping me to like it even more.”
He leaned forward to within an inch of her flushed face. “And I have no doubt I could change your mind easily enough.”
She closed her eyes against the tingling sensation that suddenly ran through her and seemed to refuse to subside. Her heart began to thump madly and her stomach fluttered at an alarming pace. “I am not feeling well.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“A wet cloth,” she said barely able to speak.
Rogan hurried to cut a strip of cloth from the blanket he had used to bandage her wound and dunked it in the bucket of water he had filled from the rain barrel. He rinsed it and took it to her, though he did not hand it to her.
He folded it and laid it across her brow, pressing it against her heated skin. He waited a moment, then turned it over and pressed it to her cheeks, chin, and then along her neck.
Emma sighed with relief, though worry remained. She was concerned that it was not merely the fever that had affected her. His remark left much to the imagination, and Emma had not been able to help but think what it would be like to make love with Rogan, for that was surely what he had implied. The thought had evoked an unexpected response from her body.
Rogan went and got the bucket of water and sat it by the bed, then returned to his position on the bed beside her. He continued to bathe her face and neck with the wet cloth, rinsing it after it became too warm.
These lusty feelings she was having toward him would not do. They had to stop and distance would be the one way to see to that. “I want to go home,” she said, opening her eyes.
“When you are well enough to travel.”
“My home, not yours,” she clarified.
He did not answer immediately. It was as if he was weighing his words, and Emma knew she would not like what he had to say.
“In time you can go home, but—”
“No, once we return to your home, I will take my warriors and return to my home. I cannot help but wonder if Patience is already there waiting for me with news. She had to have reached the same conclusion as we did. She would know to battle the Dark Dragon alone would be foolhardy. She would return home and devise a solid plan.”
“Liam will let us know what goes on at your home upon his return,” Rogan assured her.
“It matters not to me what you say. I am going home.”
“I will not argue with you while you are in a feverish state, but know this—you go nowhere without my permission. And this time I will make certain of it.”
“You have no right to—”
“Are we going to argue over what has already been established? Your father sent you along with your sisters to my home, knowing I would see to your care. I am responsible for you whether you like it or not.”
“I do not need you—”
“You presently do need me and if we were sensible, we would realize we need each other. You know your sisters well a
nd I know battle well. Together is the only way we will bring them home safely, God willing.”
Her annoyance drained away. He was right and she had no trouble admitting it. “A wise observation and one I completely agree with. But I still think my home is where we may find some answers.”
“You may be right, but first we return to MacClennan land.”
She nodded a bit reluctantly. She may be feverish, but she was coherent enough to understand what he proposed was the best solution, presently, to their problem. If things should change, then plans could change. In the meantime, she would do what was necessary to bring her sisters home.
Unfortunately, that would require spending more time with Rogan than she thought was wise, but she had little choice. Somehow she would get through it, at least she hoped she would.
~~~
Emma was pleased to find she had grown hungry and ate a little of the meat, but as the night wore on she felt her skin prickle with heat. Having tended many ill clansmen, she had observed that illnesses and fevers always seemed to worsen as night approached. Some claimed it was that death liked to stalk in the shadows and darkness of night and toy with poor, sick souls. She did not know what caused it to be so. She only knew that it was wiser to be more vigilant of the ill at night. And so she spoke with Rogan about it.
“That is why I have slept with you since arriving here,” he said after she finished explaining her concerns.
“You have been sleeping with me?”
“Aye, I have and you calm when I do. You also cling fiercely to me.”
Emma was not sure how to respond. It was terribly improper of him and yet it was terribly thoughtful of him. “I want to thank you and admonish you at the same time.”
He laughed. “You can do both if it pleases you. I think the truth of the situation is that we have no choice but to do what must be done. Though I must admit, it is not a chore having you sleep in my arms.”
His words shocked her and a tingle of heat ran through her, though this time she knew it had nothing to do with her fever. And that upset her all the more as did her own words. “I thank you and would not mind if you continued to calm me.”
The Highlander's Stolen heart (Macinnes Sisters Trilogy) Page 9
