Laurin had no recollection of what happened after Albert thrust the Gladius into Helmert’s chest. Overwhelmed with terror, exhausted and frozen to her bones, she had collapsed into the mud.

She had the vague sensation of being lifted up, then held against a warm broad chest she assumed was Albert’s. On horseback once again, she kept her eyes closed, her face turned toward his chest, as they headed back to the keep.

Numb, unable to string a coherent thought together, she uttered not a word. Clinging to him for dear life, for the heat his body offered, she remained silent, wanting nothing more than to be back at the keep, out of her wet clothes, and under at least a dozen furs and blankets.

By the time they reached the keep, her teeth were chattering so ferociously she worried they’d come loose from her gums. The cold was so intense it was painful.

Albert carried her up the stairs to her room, barking out orders and commands she did not understand. Everything sounded muffled, as if he was speaking through a thick blanket.

Josephine was there waiting to help. Her eyes were red, swollen from crying. “Joie,” Laurin murmured as Albert placed her on the bed.

Someone pulled her out of her wet, muddy chemise. The next thing she knew, she was being placed into a tub filled with warm water. It stung at first, her arms and legs feeling as though they were being pricked with a thousand bone needles.

Josephine washed her hair, working all the bits of dried mud free from the knots. Kathryn soon came into her line of vision, washing her feet and hands.

Someone lifted her out of the water, the air feeling far too cold for her liking. A clean nightdress was tugged on over her head as the women took great care stuffing her arms in the sleeves.

“I be so sorry,” Josephine kept repeating as she draped thick wool blankets over her. “I be so very sorry.”

“I be glad ye’re here,” Laurin murmured before giving in to sleep.

“This be no’ yer fault,” Graeme told Josephine as they sat before the hearth in Laurin’s room. “The fault lies at Helmert’s feet.”

Josephine could not rid herself of the tremendous guilt she carried. She had been in such a hurry to leave her home all those weeks ago, that she had left behind her mother’s journal. She had only realized it when she had gone through the trunks the MacAulay men had brought to her. With a certainty, she knew that Helmert had found the journal, thereby discovering the secret of the Gladius. That in turn led to the deaths of many a good men as well as two she had despised for years, and Helmert, the nightmare of her life.

Without Helmert as their chief, the future of the clan hung in the balance.

Out of the battle that took place on that misty summer eve, all but six of the MacAdams men were killed. The MacAulays had lost five good men. All because of Helmert’s insatiable desire for a treasure that Josephine was certain did not exist.

Marcum was healing nicely from his wounds, much to everyone’s relief. Kathryn fretted over him while she nursed him back to health. He groused and complained for her to quit hovering over him like a bairn with an ague.

Laurin, however, was not fairing as well. Plagued with a seemingly relentless fever, she had not awakened. Restless, haunted by nightmares, she tossed and turned frequently, crying out incoherently.

Josephine rarely left and then, only at short intervals.

Albert refused to leave her side. A true testament to the deep feelings he had for her.

When she lay quietly, covered with blankets, Albert would read to her from old tomes his mother had brought to him. Though he read the words in hushed, soft tones, he paid very little attention to what he was actually reading. Overwrought with worry, he read only to keep from going mad.

“Albert, ye should rest,” Josephine pleaded softly. “Ye’ll do no one any good should ye collapse.”

Ignoring her plea, he continued to read to Laurin. ’Twas a tale of a brave Scottish warrior’s attempt to win the heart of a fair lass.

Albert knew that Laurin did not love him. At the moment, he cared not. He only wanted her to wake again, long enough so he might tell her what was in his heart. Even if she did not love him, he needed her to know that her life had meaning, that he fervently believed God had put her in his path for a reason. Mainly, to prove to him that he’d been wrong all these many years; there did in fact exist a woman who was perfect for him. That he’d not live the rest of his life alone without someone special to share that life with. In his heart, he believed Laurin was that woman.

Perfectly content to live out the remainder of his days simply being her friend, he would be forever grateful if some day she might love him in return.

Just before dawn broke across the horizon on the fourth day of her illness, Laurin’s fever broke. She awoke slowly, groggily, soaked in sweat. Kicking the blankets away, panting as if she’d been chased by an angry bear for miles, she lay there in the still and quiet room.

The first thing she saw when the fog of sleep lifted, was Albert. Slumped with his chin on his chest he was fast asleep in a chair next to her bed. Several days’ worth of beard on his handsome face, his hair disheveled, his clothing crumpled, he did look a fright.

In a chair on the other side of her bed, sat Josephine. She was also fast asleep.

Unable to hazard a guess as to how long she’d been abed or even what the hour was, Laurin lay still and quiet. Straining to remember why she was surrounded by the two people who meant the world to her, her head throbbed.

The memories flooded in, colliding with one another nonsensically. Closing her eyes, she fought to make sense of it all. She could remember Helmert, Clarence and Darvord by the loch, threatening her. They wanted the Gladius. Then a man had been killed right before her very eyes. Darkness, fear, terror surrounded her. Then she had managed to escape. Her heart sank with the memory of plunging a dirk into Clarence. Her stomach roiled as the image assaulted her mind.

Tears fell from her eyes, dripping softly onto her pillow. I killed a man.

’Twas Josephine who woke first. Uncertain if her friend was being plagued by another nightmare, she took her hand in her own. “Wheest, Laurin, I am here.”

Shaking her head she swallowed hard, her mouth feeling horribly dry. “I killed a man,” she scratched out.

Josephine was relieved when she heard her friend speaking. Even more relived when she pressed her hand to her forehead and felt cool, damp skin. “Thank God,” she whispered. “Yer fever has broken.”

“I killed a man,” Laurin repeated. “I killed Clarence.”

Josephine grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the water basin. “Nay, ye did no’ kill him,” she said. Wringing out the cloth she began to gently wipe Laurin’s forehead. “Ye only wounded him. Helmert killed him.”

She let out a relieved sigh, though in truth, she still felt guilty for her part in his demise.

“Now why would you feel guilty?” Josephine asked. “Helmert, Clarence and Darvord are dead because of the choices they made.”

The truth in her words did lessen the guilt significantly. Had they not been so greedy…

Josephine placed the cloth back in the basin then filled a cup with cold water. Helping Laurin sit up to drink, she encouraged her to sip slowly. “Sister of my heart, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you awake and without the fever.”

Laurin smiled and thanked her. Falling back against her pillows, she asked, “The Gladius?”

“’Tis safe with Graeme. And it will remain in his possession until we have a daughter of our own.”

Laurin envied her friend, but not with spite or malice. “I be so verra glad that ye have found true love,” she told her.

Josephine returned her smile, leaned in closely to whisper in her ear. “If you open your eyes and your heart, I believe you will discover you have found it as well.”

Confused, her brow knotted. “What do ye mean?”

Josephine pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Look about the room, my sister, and you will find I speak the truth.”

Laurin looked at Albert with a confounded expression. Josephine whispered one last thought before quitting the room. “He never left your side.”

Albert had heard them speaking to one another. He sat, unmoving, his heart thrumming happily with relief at hearing her voice, even if it was weak and scratchy. She was awake and that was all that mattered.

He remained still, quietly observing Josephine tend to Laurin, listened to them speak in hushed whispers. Though he was tempted to jump out of his seat and dance with joy at her recovery, he could not do anything but watch.

He thought her a most beautiful young woman, even if there were dark circles under her eyes and her skin pale from the many days fighting the fevers. Her blonde hair—the color of the sun—splayed out across her pillows. He refused to feel one moment of guilt for wishing he could run his hands through it.

He could not hear what Josephine whispered just before she stood and left the room. Whatever it was she said made Laurin’s brow furrow as she glanced over at him. For a brief moment, he didn’t know if he should flee the room or stay put and say something. He was at a loss as to what he should make of her puzzled expression.

“She says ye never left me side?” she asked.

He felt his cheeks grow warm. Clearing his throat once, he finally answered. “Aye.”

“Why?” she asked.

Why? For the past four days, he’d imagined everything he would say to her as soon as he found her. Her illness delayed the heartfelt words he had wanted to have with her. Now, when the moment finally arrived, his mind turned blank. All the sweet words he’d planned to tell her fled on the wings of a frantically beating heart.

“Ye came fer me,” she whispered. “Ye came fer me and ye killed Helmert. And ye never left me side.” Her voice was filled with disbelief. “Why?”

He stammered for a moment, tripping over his own tongue. “I,” he paused, searching for the right words, the words he hoped would not terrify her. “Ye be a fine woman, Laurin. I’ve grown quite fond of ye these past weeks.”

She studied him closely for a moment. “So fond of me that ye were willin’ to risk yer life to save mine?” Her tone said his answer made little sense.

“Aye,” he whispered. Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Fond enough to risk my own life for yours.”

“Fond, like ye’d be fond of a dear friend, or somethin’ more?”

He could not understand why she asked that particular question. Refusing to read anything into her question, he replied. “Somethin’ more, lass. Far more than friendship.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him. It made his gut wrench, thinking he’d brought her a moment of discomfort or sorrow. Leaning over, he took her hand in his. “Laurin, I ken ye do no’ have the same feelin’s for me as I do for ye. I ken ye may never have them, but it matters no’ to me. I would be willin’ to wait an entire lifetime on nothin’ more than a wish and a prayer, in case, just in case some day ye might be able to return those feelins.”

He’d not pressure her into anything, would not beg her for her hand or her heart.

“How can ye say that?” she asked, swiping away an errant tear. “How could ye wait a lifetime for me?”

With a slow shake of his head, he smiled. “Och! Lass, ye’d be well worth the wait.”

Ye’d be worth the wait.

’Twas all there; truth and sincerity, hope and love, staring at her in a pair of bright green eyes.

Thinking back to that night when Helmert, Clarence and Darvord had taken her, she realized something. She’d been brave enough to stab Clarence and race away from her captors in the dark of a storm, had been brave enough to fight with all her strength, all her might, to be free of them, to get back to the MacAulay keep. In the days leading up to that night, she had come to realize—with help from Albert as well as his mother and the rest of his family— that she was indeed brave and worthy.

Brave enough to defend herself.

Worthy enough of someone’s kindness, their generosity, and yes, even someone’s unyielding love.

’Twas an overwhelming sensation, one that made her chest fill with pride, made her hands tremble with all the possibilities.

Nay, she was not quite ready yet to give herself over to Albert completely, in all ways. But she was ready now, to at least allow for the possibility.

“Albert,” she asked as she choked back tears. “Are ye sayin’ that ye love me?”

When he smiled, little wrinkles formed around his eyes. Eyes that twinkled and grew damp. “Aye lass, ye have the way of it. I do love ye.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Do no’ worry if ye do no’ feel the same about me,” he told her.

“Because I be worth the wait?”

“Aye lass, ye be worth the wait.”

“Even if it takes a good long while?” she asked softly.

With a nod, he replied, “Aye. Even if it takes a good long while.”