Sweet Revenge

by Lynsay Sands

  "Aye." Galen sighed again and shifted her slightly in his arms. She had twisted to a position where she lay with her back resting against one of his arms as they had struggled. No doubt that was what had caused her screaming, he realized now with a grimace. He glanced over her face again, noting with relief that her color was a little better. Dunking her was actually working at bringing the fever down. "'Twas not drowning her I was attempting. She has a fever."

  "What be the matter with her?"

  "She was wounded ere she left for Scotland. It was healed some but now 'tis infected. She's burning up from the inside." Standing in the water suddenly, he moved past Gavin and the six men he had brought, wading toward the small sailing boat they had used to reach him. It seemed they had chosen speed over size when they had set out from the island. Normally they would have crossed the water in one of the larger ships. One big enough to carry the returning men, the horses, and the wagon back.

  "Have one of the men stay here with my horse to await the others," he ordered, spying the larger boat now slowly crossing the water toward them as he reached the smaller craft. Clambering aboard with Kyla cradled close, he settled on one of the small bench seats as all but one man reboarded and pushed off.

  It took several minutes to cross to the island. Galen spent the time filling Gavin in on everything that had occurred. Seconds after the boat ran aground on the island, he was striding grimly up the path to the castle, Kyla in his arms.

  Warned of his arrival, the villagers had poured down to the shore to meet him. All were eager to get their first glimpse of the woman that was to be their mistress. Now they lined the path to the castle. Rather than smile and cheer, however, they were all silent, their dismay obvious as they saw the pale, limp form of the woman he carried.

  This was not how his new bride had been meant to arrive, he thought unhappily as he reached the keep and mounted the steps where the servants were gathered. They parted like curtains for him, worry evident on their expressions as they craned their heads to glimpse the woman he held.

  "Is there anything I can do?" Gavin asked, trailing him into the keep.

  "Aye. Have a bath brought up to my room," Galen ordered.

  "Me laird!"

  Pausing, he turned to scowl at the priest rushing toward him. "Aye?"

  Father William paused and shifted uncertainly, almost wringing the Bible he held. "The wedding, me laird? Ye said--"

  "Hell!"

  The priest stiffened at his curse, disapproval crossing his jowl features, but Galen ignored him, his gaze on Kyla's face as he silently debated the situation. Did he really wish to marry her? The old woman claimed she was mad. Well, actually, she had claimed the girl's grandmother went mad at thirty and that this woman had already shown some of the first signs at her tender age, just as the grandmother had before her. Which meant a good ten years mayhap.... And the possibility of female heirs going the same way. But not male heirs, he reminded himself. They'd be sane. Of course, he'd probably have to lock their mother up in the tower in ten years for her own safety, but in the meantime, he'd have his revenge. And the girl would be safe from the MacGregor.

  "Aye. We'll get it done," he decided grimly, turning back. "'Tis no sense delaying. But make it quick, father. She's burning up even as we speak."

  The priest glanced worriedly at the woman in his laird's arms, then nodded resignedly and turned toward the doors. "Outside, me laird."

  "Outside?" Galen grumbled, following him. "Can we no'--"

  "Ye ken 'tis right. All should witness this...grand event." He said the last dubiously, for truly the woman did not look as if 'twould be a long marriage.

  Stepping out of the keep, the priest paused at the top of the stairs and eyed the people milling uncertainly about. They had been told a wedding would take place as soon as their laird returned with MacGregor's girl, but seeing how pale and still she was, they had some obvious question as to whether the wedding was still on. Truthfully, there were some who doubted she was even still alive. She looked more a corpse than anything. For those that believed her still alive, there was no joy in Galen's marrying her, for she'd surely be dead by nightfall.

  Of the same opinion himself, the priest made his introduction of the apparently unconscious bride quickly, then immediately moved on to the ceremony. When he came to the part where the bride had to speak, he paused and frowned at the unconscious woman. "She has to repeat the vows."

  Eyebrows rising, Galen pointed out dryly, "She's unconscious, Father."

  "Aye, but she must speak the vows," the priest repeated firmly.

  Cursing under his breath, Galen glanced toward his Second. "Fetch me some ale, Gavin," he ordered, then eased his bride's feet to the ground and held her up by the arms. "Kyla? Kyla. Lass?"

  She was slow to stir, and when she opened her eyes, Galen was sure she knew not where she was. Still, he must continue. He had decided ere heading out that he'd marry the girl as soon as he returned with her. It was necessary to quash any thought that the MacGregor might have about stealing her back--for that was truly a concern. So long as she lived, she was in danger of being forced to marry the ham-fisted bastard...unless she were already married.

  "Say 'aye,' lass," he murmured, peering into her face and trying to infuse her with his own strength. She would get through this.

  "Aye?" she asked in confusion.

  "That's it." He turned to the priest. "Finish it up, Father. Thank ye, Gavin," he added, taking the tankard of ale the man had returned with. He urged it to his bride's lips as the priest reluctantly continued with the vows. He was still nursing the liquid into Kyla's parched mouth when the priest cleared his throat expectantly.

  "Aye," Galen muttered without glancing up.

  "Ye don't even ken what I said," Father William protested at once.

  "I have been through this before, Father," Galen reminded him grimly.

  The priest calmed at once, resignation entering his voice. "Aye, lad. Ye have. Can she sign the papers?"

  Galen peered at Kyla uncertainly. She was much more alert now, but she was still feverish and confused. "Kyla, lass? Can ye sign yer own name?"

  "My name?" she whispered faintly. "Aye."

  "Good." Turning, he held a hand out to the priest who tugged the papers from the voluminous folds of his gown. Galen peered at them blankly, then glanced toward his Second. "Gavin?"

  "Aye." The man knelt on one knee before him and Kyla, bending his back slightly to make a writing surface for them.

  Galen set the paper on his man's back, then glanced about. "I need a quill, Father."

  "Oh, aye." He turned to glance over his shoulder and a waiting servant rushed forward carrying a quill and small container of ink. The priest took the quill, dipped it into the ink, then turned back to hold it out.

  "Thank ye," the MacDonald murmured, taking the item. Placing it in Kyla's hand then, he urged her toward the paper. "Can ye sign here, lass?"

  "Sign?"

  "Aye. Just sign the paper and ye'll be safe."

  Understanding seemed to sparkle briefly in her eyes then. "Johnny?"

  "He's being looked after. Now sign the paper, sweetling."

  She did as she was told, her hand trembling with weakness so that 'twas a messy scrawl, but legible.

  Nodding his satisfaction, Galen plucked the quill from her fingers, handed it and the paper to the priest, then scooped her up and headed back into the keep.

  Taken by surprise at the speed of it all, his people were a bit slow to realize it was over. He was nearly through the door before they regathered their senses and burst out in uncertain cheers. Gavin and the priest chased after him.

  "But you haven't signed, lad! You must sign, too!" the priest cried.

  "I'll do it when I return below," Galen answered, then reminded the servants about the water and carried his bride quickly up to his own room.

  Kicking the door of the chamber open, he hurried to the bed, set her down, and began rapidly stripping her. Once the last
item of clothing dropped away, Galen swiftly removed the sodden bandage that had sagged down around her waist, then turned her to lie on her stomach and reached for the blankets to tug them up. He had just grasped the corner of the material when his eyes finally focused on all the naked flesh before them. He had tended her many times over the past several days, changing bandages, cleaning her wound...But never had he seen more of her than the expanse of her naked back. Now he paused, his gaze drawn reluctantly over her body.

  She was slender and delicate in form. He'd always preferred more robust women, but her figure was not in the least disappointing to him. His eyes slid across the curve of her back, gliding over the angry-looking wound, and down to the silky white cheeks of her behind, noting the upside-down heart they made. They had a nice curve to them and her legs were long and well-muscled from riding. She had most likely lost some weight due to the fevers and her injury, but still she was well-formed and strong. She was rather like a young colt in build.

  She lay, head turned to the side on the pillow, and his gaze lifted to her profile, running over the cheeks pink with fever, the straight, noble nose, and the generous lips. She was an attractive woman. They would have handsome children.

  The sound of clomping footsteps in the hall warned of someone's arrival and Galen finished drawing the bedclothes up to cover her to the waist, leaving the injury uncovered as the door opened.

  "The others must have been closer behind than ye thought," Gavin announced, closing the door. "They're boarding the boat even as we speak."

  Galen grunted at that and moved to the chest at the foot of the bed to get a dry shirt and plaid.

  "My God!"

  Stiffening, he whirled at Gavin's exclamation, then relaxed as he realized the reason for it. The other man had just got a look at the wound on Kyla's back.

  "'Tis amazing she lived," his Second murmured as he regained himself.

  "Aye," Galen agreed bleakly, dropping his wet plaid to the floor and tugging his shirt off.

  "And ye say she tried to escape you?" There was disbelief in his voice.

  Tugging a fresh shirt on, Galen nodded. "Aye, and stood up to us with but a wee dagger."

  Gavin shook his head. "I don't believe it." There was no insult intended in the words, merely amazement. Realizing that, Galen did not respond, but attended to putting his plaid on. A knock sounded at the door.

  Moving reluctantly away from the bed, Gavin opened the door. Two men immediately entered bearing an empty tub. They were followed by several servants carrying buckets full of water. Every single one of the servants was busy stretching their necks toward the woman in the bed; there was no mistaking their shock on seeing the long ugly wound on their new lady's back.

  Galen ignored their questioning glances, too tired to bother explaining. They would learn soon enough what had happened. No doubt the entire crew of the boat bringing back the rest of his party had already heard of Lady Kyla's adventures. It would spread through the castle soon enough.

  Finished donning his new plaid as the last of the servants deposited their burden and left the room, Galen moved to sit on the side of the bed. He reached to feel her forehead, an action he performed automatically after three days of tending her. Usually his hand met a heat that was frightening in intensity. This time was no different. While she had seemed a bit cooler in the boat, he decided now that that must have simply been the effects of the cool sea breeze. Her skin was nearly as hot now as it had been when the witch Morag had sent him off with her in search of a cold bath.

  Cursing, he got to his feet and lifted her quickly into his arms, carrying her directly to the tub. Setting her in it, he immediately began pouring a pail of cold water over her. He dropped the pail when she suddenly began to thrash again.

  Bending to his knees beside the tub, Galen tried to hold her in place with one hand and pour the rest of the water with the other, but it was rather like juggling a pair of elephants. It was a relief when Gavin came to his aid, leaving him to hold her in place as he poured bucket after bucket over her.

  "Cold only."

  His Second nodded and avoided the steaming buckets as he worked. After several minutes Kyla lapsed back into unconsciousness, her head dropping over the lip of the tub. Galen took that opportunity to assist Gavin with the pails of water, quickly dumping the last of them in. By the time they had emptied all of the buckets, the tub was half full, the bath reaching Kyla's waist.

  Dropping back to his knees, Galen grabbed up the shirt he had discarded earlier and dipped it in the water, then began running it over her fevered skin. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he found the chore somewhat erotic. He watched the drops of cool liquid slide down her throat and across her heated flesh; one drop skimmed across her left breast, reaching the tip of a nipple, only to hang perilously there. He found himself unable to look away, suddenly overcome by the most vivid image of himself leaning forward and licking that drop away.

  "Will she live?"

  Galen glanced up at his Second with a start. He had quite forgotten the man's presence. Gavin was standing at his side, looking terribly uncomfortable--he avoided looking at Kyla.

  "Aye. She'll live," he said, willing it to be so. Scowling suddenly, he glanced toward the open window. "How close is the ship with the others?"

  Moving across the room, Gavin peered out. "It's about to land."

  "Fetch the witch to me as soon as it puts ashore."

  "The witch?"

  "Her maid. She has a knowledge of herbs. She may ken something useful."

  Nodding, Gavin exited the room with relief. In the next instant, the splashing of water drew Galen's eyes back to the tub to see that Kyla had regained her senses somewhat and was struggling to get out. She was already half-standing. Jumping to his feet, he caught her arms. "Nay, lassie. We need to cool ye down."

  Catching at his arms, she swayed against him. Galen caught her to his chest for a minute, feeling her heat through his clothes.

  "We must cool ye down," he repeated worriedly as she tried to pull free. He let her tug herself a few inches away, unable to stop his gaze from dropping over her body as it glistened damply in the sunlight coming through the window. He was distracted enough by looking at her that when she jerked in his arms, he lost his balance and stumbled forward, banging his knee on the side of the tub.

  "Cold." It was almost a wail of despair. Galen felt his heart melt in sympathy, then stiffened in surprise as she suddenly wrapped her arms about him.

  "Lass?" he murmured uncertainly, unsure of what she was about when she suddenly wrapped her legs about him as well. For a moment he thought that, in her feverish state, she was making improper advances toward him--though he supposed they could not be considered improper since they were now married.

  Married! Good God, how had he forgotten that? Well, he supposed he hadn't forgotten, he just really hadn't thought of what it meant. It meant that she had every right to crawl upon him as she was. Hell, he even had every right to crawl on her. His manhood, which had been yawning and stretching in anticipation for days now, rose to throbbing life at that thought. Then, as she shuddered and trembled against him, he realized that she was simply trying to climb out of the cold water. He was ashamed of his own wayward thoughts.

  Sighing with regret at what he had to do, Galen tugged her upper body a few inches away and peered down into her feverish face. "'Tis sorry I am, sweetling, but we needs must cool ye down."

  "P-please," she begged and he hesitated, staring down at her wide feverish eyes and flushed cheeks. Her breasts were pressed firmly to his chest, her legs and arms clinging to him like ivy, her groin rubbing against him, making him more than aware that the only thing between them was the material of his plaid. When she tightened her arms about him and shifted for a better grasp on his body with her legs, Galen groaned himself and gave in to the urge to kiss her soft, hot mouth.

  He had meant only to sip of her sweetness, but when she opened her mouth on a mutter of surprise beneat
h his seeking lips, he could not resist taking more. Slipping his hands down to cup her behind, he plunged his tongue into her mouth, moaning his satisfaction when he discovered her tongue. It danced away at once, seeking to avoid his, but when he pressed his advantage, unconsciously grinding his pelvis against hers, it halted its retreat and withstood his probing, then began to explore on its own, her body shivering against him.

  When he tore his lips away from hers to kiss a trail down her throat, she cried out in his arms and threw her head back instinctively. Already unsteady on his feet, Galen stumbled forward against the edge of the tub again, but this time with enough impetus that he tumbled them both into it.

  The icy water was an unpleasant shock. Galen immediately began cursing and trying to disentangle himself, but found his attempts hampered by Kyla as she screamed, clutched at him, and tried to climb over him all at the same time.

  "What the Devil is about here?!"

  Head whipping around, Galen peered at Morag as she surveyed them from the open door. Extracting himself from both the tub and the woman in it, he faced her, irritation plucking at his features from the guilt he was experiencing. This was his castle and she was his bride, he reasoned to himself defensively. He had nothing to feel guilty about. Of course, some might say he had been busily taking advantage of an ailing young woman, but hell, he had been nine months without a woman and--Mayhap that was why she affected him so, he thought suddenly and was filled with immediate relief. In retrospect, his complete lack of control of a moment ago had been sorely distressing. The woman was ill, for God's sake!

  Realizing that his own inner arguing was making absolutely no sense, Galen glared at the woman, then turned to scoop Kyla up into his arms again to carry her to the bed. "I was trying to cool her off and I fell into the tub."

  "Did ye get her bathed at all?" Morag asked worriedly, following him.

  "Aye. I dunked her in the water at shore 'til the boat arrived, then put her in the tub soon as we got her up here."

  "Hmmm." Bending over the girl as he straightened from setting her down, Morag felt her forehead, her lips tightening. "She isn't much cooler."