Chapter Seven
As the first rays of dawn streamed through the tiny window in the bedchamber at the King’s Head Inn, Angus held Lillianna in his arms, painfully aware of how her body shook with her tears. The remaining heat of her weakening fever seemed to be burning into his very soul.
“Shh,” he whispered. She twisted in his arms, her eyes shut and lips cracked, and kicked at the coverlet once again. He leaned sideways, grabbed the rag out of the washbasin, and with one hand, he wrung the water from the dripping cloth and then laid it on her head. At the moment she was mumbling about being hot, but he knew in another few minutes she’d be raging at him about how her fevered state was his fault before she started shivering and her teeth started chattering. Then she would bellow that he was trying to kill her by freezing her to death. It was a pattern that had occurred all night.
A knock came at the door, and though Angus was nearly certain it was Grant, he picked up his dagger from the table by the washbasin before saying, “Aye?”
The door creaked open, and Grant entered the bedchamber looking well rested. His gaze fell first on Angus, then on Lillianna. “She’s nae any better?”
“A bit,” Angus said. And she was, but she was going to be weak, and he feared the rest of the journey would be difficult for her.
“We must leave,” Grant pressed, the urgency that Angus felt in his own chest coming through in Grant’s tone.
“We will. We’ll wait until nightfall to give her more time to rest.”
“I could go,” Grant offered. “Ye could stay here with her, and I could head to Ettrick. Ye would simply need to tell me where to find Bruce’s men.”
Suddenly aware that he still held Lillianna in his arms, he settled her on the bed, careful to cover her immediately. As inclined as he was to stay here to allow her time to heal, he could not be further detoured from his mission for Robbie. Too many lives were at stake. “I have to be the one to warn the men.” Angus stood. “We all leave at nightfall,” he said, deciding that he would take her with them. Leaving her was more dangerous than taking her.
Grant nodded, as if he’d been expecting that answer.
“She’ll slow ye down, Angus. She’ll be a burden, weakened as she is.”
Anger burst within Angus at Grant’s words because he knew how much they would hurt Lillianna. He opened his mouth to reply, but Lillianna spoke first. “I don’t know who you are, but if you ever call me a burden again, I’ll stab you with my dagger.”
Grant’s mouth gaped open, and Angus chuckled as he turned toward her. Then his own mouth slipped open. Lillianna had sat up, likely not realizing that she was in only her undergarments. The outline of her full, lush breasts was all too visible, even the hard buds.
“Turn yer back,” he ordered Grant in a harsh tone, and when he looked at the man and saw desire on his face, it was all Angus could do not to pummel him. He would have if Grant had not turned red and swiftly faced the wall.
Lillianna frowned, then looked down at herself and gasped. Slowly, she raised her head and fixed her gaze upon him once more as she drew his plaid up from her lap and around her shoulders to cover herself. She looked so lovely and natural in his plaid, as if she were meant to be wrapped in it. He shoved the ridiculous thought away. “Ye’ve been sick,” he said by way of explanation.
Her eyes narrowed. “My illness required you to undress me?” she snapped.
“Aye,” he snapped back, suddenly angry that her stubbornness had risked her life. “It did, ye wee muleheaded lass. And I had to spread yer thighs and touch yer delicate skin to treat ye,” he said, spitting out the truth. “So unless ye wish me between yer thighs again—”
She gasped again. “No!”
God’s teeth, a vision of her creamy thighs spread, her back arched, and her head thrown back in the throes of passion filled his mind. He shook his head almost violently to rid himself of the image, but it stuck like honey. The alluring picture seemed to almost drip across his vision and whisper in his ears of the pleasure to be found in her arms. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Would she?
The thought rattled him. He clenched his teeth, irritated at the weakness she was bringing out in him.
“Yer gown’s just there,” he growled, motioning to the chair while purposely not looking at her. He wanted to order her to dress immediately so he’d quit lusting after her, but he was keenly aware that she may be too weak to dress herself. “Do ye need my aid dressing?”
Lillianna felt as weak as a chick just hatched, but she’d rather swallow nails than admit it to Angus or the man who had said she was a burden. Not only that but she was not quite over her embarrassment of Angus undressing her and tending to the wounds on her thighs. Her stomach tightened just thinking upon it. “I can dress myself, if you will but give me privacy.”
He nodded, avoiding her gaze, and since she certainly did not believe him to be embarrassed over what he’d done after the frank way he’d told her what had happened, she had to wonder why he was purposely not looking at her. Since she was positive she would not get an answer, she shoved the question to the back of her mind and watched as the two men departed the room. Without turning back to her, Angus said, “I’ll be right outside yer door in case ye need me.”
“I won’t need you,” she bit out, feeling irritable and helpless.
His response was to shut the door. Once she was alone, she threw back the covers and glanced at her wounds, biting her lip at how horrible they looked. She’d be scarred for life probably. Useless, ridiculous tears welled in her eyes. There was no time for tears over something that did not matter. She would never be intimate with a man, so what did she care if she had scars where no one would ever see? She’d be alone, an outcast likely. She sucked in a breath. Never had she allowed herself to consider what she was giving up by purposely avoiding love, so she did not know why she was thinking upon it now.
She rose on shaky legs and clumsily walked to the chair to get her dress, the pain throbbing as she did. She bit her lip when she considered the notion of riding a horse again. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she would have to. She would not be the reason that Angus did not reach Ettrick Forest in time to save Bruce’s men.
By the time she managed to don her gown, her forehead was damp with the effort and her skin was cool and slick. She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself not to be sick. “You may come back in,” she called.
The door banged open, and Angus stalked in, stopping mid-stride. He shook his head. “Ye look like death.”
“Does that silver tongue woo many women?”
He chuckled. “Come,” he said, walking to her and taking her by the elbow. “Sit.” He said it so gently that she did not mind complying and sat on the bed, her body nearly sagging with relief. “Grant is fetching ye something to eat, which should make ye feel a wee bit better.”
Her skin tingled where he’d touched her, which she attributed to it being sensitive from the fever. “I can eat a hunk of bread and cheese as we ride.”
“Nay,” he said, his unyielding tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll dress yer wounds, then—”
“No! I will not allow you between my thighs again!” When he burst out laughing, she scowled at him a moment, but then she gave in to the tickling feeling in her throat and chuckled with him.
Once they both grew quiet, he sat beside her, the bed dipping under his weight and omitting a small squeak, which elicited a flash of memory of his fingers upon her forehead. She could not recall what he’d said, but it had soothed her. His thigh brushed her leg, and he quickly put space between them. Yet she had the feeling that no matter how much distance separated her from this man, she would feel consumed by him. He was big in size, yes, but it was more in the way his very presence overwhelmed everything around them. Everything about him from the glint in his eyes to the curl of his lips suggested he demanded—and expected—people to take notice of him, respect him, and obey him.
“I must dress yer wounds so they dunnae become infected once more. If that were to happen ye would need to stop traveling.”
“And you’d leave me,” she guessed.
His gaze captured hers, contemplative and resigned at once. “Nay, Lillianna. I will nae leave ye behind until the day I have brought ye to the MacLeods as I promised. Dunnae forget that. Ye can rely upon me.”
A lump formed in her throat. She had never really had anyone to count on other than Elizabeth—certainly never a man. Her mind warned her not to rely on Angus, but there was another part of her head that whispered to simply let go. He did not believe the legend, and he had proven himself a good and honorable man. Simply relying on him certainly did not mean she planned to allow him into her heart. Soon, he would leave her at the MacLeod holding and they would part ways forever.
“I will depend on you, if you will depend on me,” she said shyly.
He looked at her as if she was daft. “How could I possibly rely on ye?”
She wasn’t offended by his question because she honestly had no idea how he could rely on her, either. She didn’t really have any skills that would be particularly useful for their journey, except—“I can cook,” she said, though admittedly it had always been in a fully stocked kitchen.
He grinned. “I’ll take ye up on that offer. I’m a terrible cook. I do what I must when on a journey, but when I’m home…” He shrugged. “My sisters have our kitchen running like the women are part of a well-trained army, and they ensure that my men and I dunnae ever go hungry.”
It was settled. She didn’t have much to offer, but at least she could offer that. “Will you teach me how to defend myself and use the dagger as you mentioned before? I want to be able to rely on myself for survival.”
“I’m still pleased to teach ye,” he said, his genuine tone reinforcing his words. “My sisters all ken how to take care of themselves.” She liked that he was not opposed to a woman learning to defend herself. Some men seemed to be, but he was different. He motioned to the bed. “I’m going to need ye flat on yer back so I can tend to ye.”
Her stomach clenched, and a flush swept over her as she thought about him tending to her wounds in such a private place while she was awake and knew what was occurring. “Angus, I cannot—”
“Ye can,” he insisted. “I vow to ye that when I’m practicing the healing arts, that is all I’m thinking about.” Her flush grew even hotter, but she nodded, crawled onto the bed, and lay on her back. “Unless ye wish me to ruck up yer skirts for ye and—”
“No, no, I’ll do it. If you could avert your eyes for a moment?” She knew it was foolish given he was about to be situated between her legs, gazing at her inner thighs, but she would rather get prepared for him without his staring at her.
He immediately did as she’d asked, and when she had pulled her skirts past her wounds and opened her legs just a bit, she swallowed, gripped the bedcovers, and said, “You may look.” Though her eyes were squeezed shut, she knew the minute he moved by his soft footsteps and then the dipping of the bed as he kneeled upon it. His heat came between her thighs, and then he touched her, ever so gently, not on her wound but near it. She sucked in a sharp breath as her pulse skittered alarmingly.
“Am I hurting ye?” he asked. The concern in his voice made her smile. This big, gruff, deadly Scot was also the gentlest man she had ever met.
“No,” she said, wincing at how breathless she sounded. She hoped he did not notice.
“I’m going to apply a salve and then wrap yer thighs. I vow to be gentle.”
“I trust you,” she said, shock going through her as the words left her lips. She did trust him, at least until he proved he could not be trusted.
“My first lesson for ye on survival is nae to ever easily give yer trust to a handsome Scot,” he said, and then his fingers were smoothing something cool over her wounds. She tensed, but once she realized how gentle his touch was and that it did not hurt overly much, she relaxed.
“Are you saying I’ve given you my trust too easily?” she teased.
Then she realized she’d inadvertently admitted that she thought he was handsome. She opened her eyes to see his reaction and released a relieved breath. He was utterly absorbed in what he was doing and did not appear to have even heard her. A line of concentration had settled between his brows, his thick hair hanging on both sides of his face, and he was biting his bottom lip as he worked.
When he finished, he sat up, and his gaze caught hers. His eyes darkened to almost black, making him appear lethal. He said nothing, but even if he had, she was unsure she’d hear his words. Her heart beat like a drum in her ears, pushing her blood through her veins at a heady rate. He assessed her slowly, thoroughly, and she had the fleeting thought that this had to be what it felt like to be consumed by someone. There was nothing else in the room for her in this moment but him.
His bold stare assessed her frankly. “Dunnae ever tell a man who is between yer thighs that ye find him pleasing unless ye wish for him to show ye just how much pleasure he can really bring ye.”
His strong, velvet-edged voice sent a chill racing across her skin. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll remember that,” she said, surprised she was able to form a coherent sentence. This man, this Scot, was seducing her without even attempting to. Thank God he did not believe in her powers, and thank God neither her father nor her uncle was in a position to use her if she should succumb to the feelings stirring in her for Angus.