by Amy Jarecki
All day, she continued her vigil, cooling him down with cloths and spooning tea into his mouth. She only left his side to refill the ewer with water and request more tea. Geordie had done so well in the mountains, she refused to allow herself to consider that he mightn’t pull through.
As evening came, she ran the cloth over his chest, talking all the while. “Come morn, you will rise from this bed and haste away home. I’ll wager your children will be ever so happy to see you. Indeed, you are a lucky man to have two bonny children. A lad and a lass, did you not say?”
“Mm,” he moaned.
She stilled her hands and regarded his face. Though he remained in a deep sleep, she was certain he could hear her on some level. She talked about everything she could think of: about her sisters and her mother and the fact that Ma used a cane. Akira confessed that although she’d learned not to be overly trusting of men, she felt she could trust Geordie—though she didn’t know if she could trust herself on the occasions when he looked at her with fervent passion.
After the witching hour, Geordie began thrashing his head from side to side. “I refuse to surrender the castle to a usurper!”
Akira clutched her hands beneath her chin, her gaze shooting to his face. His eyes were still closed.
“What castle?” she asked.
“Edinburgh, you damned fool.”
She gaped at him. “I thought you lived in Aberdeen.”
He thrashed some more, pushing the cloth from his head.
Picking it up, Akira shook her head. The fever was making him rave nonsensically.
She busied herself by changing his bandage and applying more salve.
As the night wore on, Geordie continued with his ramblings. “Och, Elizabeth, you would sell your soul for a parcel of land.”
Akira’s ears piqued. “Elizabeth? That’s the wife who left you, aye?”
“You would abandon your children?” he growled, while his breathing grew unsteady. “I’ve never met a woman so fickle and self-absorbed.” His head whipped from side to side. “So this is all my doing, is it? Bloody hell…” He continued with a string of indecipherable mutterings that sounded more like curses and insults than anything.
Rubbing his temples, Akira blew on his face to cool the burn. “Calm yourself, m’lord. That woman can hurt you no more. I’m here now, and you have my word I will care for you until you no longer need me.”
* * *
Geordie opened his eyes, trying to remember why he was in a strange bed feeling as if he’d just trudged through purgatory. “Where am I?” His throat felt like he’d swallowed a rasp.
Something rustled. “Are you awake?”
He knew the voice—it belonged to Akira, the bonny woman who’d already threaded her tendrils through his heart. His gaze shifted, but he only spied the outline of her black hair. Rubbing his eyes, he asked again, “Where are we?”
“Sir Coll MacDonell’s manse.”
Ah yes. It all came flooding back. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a tempest and lost.”
“Perhaps you have.” Her face became clearer. “You’ve been out of sorts for three days.”
“No.” Geordie tried to sit up, but the pounding in his skull sapped him. “That long?”
“Aye.” Akira removed a wet cloth from his forehead and proceeded to feel his head with the back of her hand, then slid her soft palm to his cheek “Thank heavens, I believe your fever has broken.”
He scrubbed his knuckles into his face, meeting with a growth of itchy beard. “Dear God, I must look frightful.”
“I haven’t attempted to shave you for the thrashing.”
“I beg your pardon?” Bloody oath, his head felt like a spider had spent three days filling it with a sticky web.
“You’ve been rambling and thrashing quite a lot.”
Geordie closed his eyes, clapping a hand over them. Good God, no self-respecting duke would want to be caught rambling deliriously for three days. What has the lass overheard? He had so many secrets. He could have given away the kingdom—or his heart—or any number of self-incriminating exploits. He spread his fingers and regarded her through the gap.
She smiled, concern reflected in her eyes. “How are you feeling now?”
“Like I’ve run a hundred-mile footrace.” He stretched his legs, his thigh annoying but not hurting as much as before. “I’m thirsty.”
“That’s a good sign. I’ve some willow bark tea.”
“Nothing a bit more potent?”
She eyed him like any healer would a bedridden patient. “How about we start slow? If you can manage the tea, I’ll allow a pint of weak ale.”
Geordie groaned, shoving his hands into the mattress and pushing himself up. The effort exhausted him.
“Let me help.” Akira levered his shoulders forward and stuffed a pillow behind. “How’s that?”
“Better,” he groused.
Akira collected a tankard and spoon and sat in a chair beside the bed. “I’ve been trying to ladle this into you a wee drop at a time. It will be so much easier now you’re awake.” She held the spoon to his lips.
He flicked her hand away. “For crying out loud, woman, I’m not an invalid.” He reached for the tankard, and tea sloshed across the bedclothes.
Akira pursed her lips, picked up a cloth, and set it beside him. “Shall I prepare a shaving kit, m’lord?”
“Aye, thank you.” He gulped down the remains of the tea, then froze.
She just referred to me as “m’lord.” What else does she ken?
He set the tankard on the bedside table and dabbed the spillage with the cloth.
Not everything, or else she would have said “Your Grace.”
She set the razor and soap beside the bowl on the table. “Shall I shave you, or would you prefer to do that yourself as well, m’lord?”
His hands were so unsteady, he’d probably slit his own throat—a fact that might make a great many people overjoyed. “You’d best do it, thank you, m’lady.”
She snorted, but still didn’t explain herself.
He held up his chin and allowed her to soap up a lather. “How much have you slept?”
“Some.” She wiped her hands on a cloth.
Geordie eyed a pallet on the far side of the bed. “Who else has tended me during the three days of my illness?”
“Just me, sir.”
Now a sir? Is she testing the water? “Where is Sir Coll?”
She picked up the razor. “Still away, feuding with the MacIntosh clan.”
“God’s teeth, if he doesn’t have enough to worry about.”
She regarded him with a critical eye and a wee pucker to her lips. They hadn’t grown any less kissable while he’d been dancing with the devil.
Geordie started to reach for a lock of raven hair when Akira leaned in with the razor. He forced his hand to still while she took the first stroke and wiped the blade clean just like a barber would do. “You’ve done this before.”
Her warm breath caressed his cheek like a summer’s breeze. “Aye. I’ve cared for a number of bedridden patients.”
His gut squeezed. That didn’t sit well with Geordie. First, he didn’t like being referred to as bedridden, and second, having Akira touch anyone—or any man except for him—well, it was just wrong. A twitch flickered in his jaw with her next scrape. “I’m not bedridden.”
She pushed up his nose and shaved above his upper lip with quick flicks, those indigo eyes focusing with intensity. “I’d like to see you up by the morrow.”
He ground his teeth. “I can spring from this bed this very instant.”
“Perhaps you should try sitting up a bit straighter first.” She gave him a knowing smile—one far exceeding her years and her innocence. “No man returns from Satan’s fire ready to dance a reel.”
“Then I shall surprise you. Send for a plate of meat and bread and a tankard of ale.”
She swiped his face with the cloth and regarded her handiwork. “I’ll go fetch som
e broth. If you can keep that down, then bread, then meat, then ale.”
He slapped the mattress. “You’re the devil’s vixen.”
“Oh? If you want to rise from that bed and charm me with some fancy dance steps, then I suggest you pay heed to my advice. I may not be a noblewoman, but I ken how to heal even the most cantankerous of patients.”
“Cantankerous?” he griped as she headed for the door. “I’m not bloody cantankerous!”
Chapter Fourteen
Sitting on a wooden bench, Akira watched Geordie address the post with his sword. His fever broke two days past, and against her better judgment, the big Highlander insisted on heading outside to rebuild his strength.
He’d quickly dismissed Akira’s idea of going for a stroll in the gardens and headed for the sparring courtyard. “If I cannot wield a sword I may as well be dead, what with all the redcoats peppering the highways and byways.”
She couldn’t fault him there. And she knew neither of them could stay in Glen Spean much longer. Sooner or later, Sir Coll would return and want his house back. But thinking about it did nothing to cheer Akira’s spirits. She’d been over it a thousand times in her mind. Her liaison with Geordie would soon end. All the things she wondered about him didn’t matter, because she had no chance of ever setting eyes on him once they returned to their lives. Their circumstances were just too different.
Simply enjoy the moments we have together.
The sun brought out rich auburn highlights in his chestnut hair as he lunged and attacked the post, grunting with his every movement. Clearly he was testing the limits of his injured thigh as he stressed it more and more.
Then his body lurched as if his leg had given out. Dropping his sword, he stumbled and caught himself on the post.
Akira held in her gasp and resisted the urge to run to his side.
“Damnation,” he growled under his breath.
“You’re looking impressive.” She patted the bench. “Why not take a rest and sit beside me for a moment.”
He stood up straight and shook his head. “I cannot stop.”
Trying another tack, Akira retrieved his sword and handed it to him. “I think September is my favorite month.”
He tapped the post with the blade. “Why is that?”
“’Tis when the purple heather blankets the Highlands. And the days are the sunniest in September, but still, there’s something in the air, a warning that a change is coming.” She brushed an errant lock of hair from her face. “What’s your favorite month?”
He looked up at the blue sky, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps May. There’s no more snow and the leaves are coming out. By the end of the month everything is colorful again.” Wiping his brow with his forearm, he gave her a nod. “Now you’d best step back, because I aim to take out my ire on this beastly post.”
“If you must.” She threw her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll fetch us a ewer of ale.”
He grinned—an accursed smile that could make her forget her place. “Now there’s a good lass.”
Akira hoped once she came back from the brewhouse, Geordie would have worked up a thirst. But when she returned, he’d removed his shirt and had all but chopped the post in two, and it wasn’t a small post—it had to be as thick as her waist.
The ewer and two tankards nearly slipped from her grasp.
The muscles in Geordie’s back flexed and bulged with each move, glistening in the sunlight. But he’d gained a rhythm that hadn’t been there before. He moved with deadly precision, the post not standing a chance. Shoulder-length chestnut locks had fallen from their ribbon, curling and brushing his shoulders as he worked.
Wearing his kilt belted low on his hips, he turned enough for Akira to glimpse the cut of muscle in his abdomen—banded, looking hard as forged steel. With his next lunge, his calf stretched, displaying power, strength, and downright rugged maleness.
Geordie raised the big sword over his head, and with a bellow that boomed across the courtyard, he spun and lopped the post in half. He glared down at the fallen chunk of wood. “Die, you turncoat bastard.”
Akira might have laughed if not for the menacing tone with which he cursed his opponent. Surely, she would never want to be on the receiving end of such ire. Instead, a gasp slipped through her throat.
He spun around, a scowl darkening his features. But faster than a snap of the fingers, his countenance brightened. “Ah, just in time. I’ve quite a thirst.” He sheathed his sword and gestured to the bench. “Shall we?”
Akira’s gaze swept to his bare chest, still heaving from his exertion. “Uh-huh.”
He chuckled and reached for his shirt. “Forgive my impropriety.”
Remembering how to use her legs, she strode to the bench. “’Tis nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“My exact thoughts.” He used the shirt to wipe off his perspiration, but he didn’t don it.
Trying not to smile, Akira poured for them both. “I must say I am quite impressed with your recovery, m’lord.”
“Thank you, m’lady.”
She hid her grin behind her ale. Though neither one of them had tried to correct the other, she almost burst out with laughter every time he referred to her as “m’lady.” Never in her life had she been referred to thus, and she doubted she ever would be again. Why not enjoy her circumstances?
But for how much longer?
As she took a long sip, another thought worried her. Now confidently on the path to recovery, Geordie no longer needed her services. If only she could be bold enough to throw her arms around His Lordship and ask him to take her to Aberdeen with him.
But that would be folly. She had too many responsibilities at home.
No. She couldn’t turn her back on her family even if Geordie wanted her for more than a passing fancy.
* * *
A fortnight had passed since Geordie’s fever broke, and he held the basket while Akira stooped to examine the leaves of a weed sprouting from the moss on the fringe of a trickling burn.
“This is water avens for certain.”
Though a note of excitement rang in her voice, Geordie preferred the view of her backside prone to him, albeit covered with skirts. “How can you tell?”
“’Tis stouter than common avens. And see the downy stems? Though it flowers in spring, the leaves form a rosette.” She carefully cradled the leaves in her palm and gestured to the weed as if it were fine lace. “See?”
“’Tis a relief you ken what to look for.”
“Aye, now hand me the spade, please.”
He kneeled beside her. “Why not allow me to do the dirty work?”
She snatched the spade from the basket. “Because you might bruise the root—and that is what we need to boil to leech out the oil.”
“Ah, of course.” He rocked to his bum and watched her painstakingly dig around the plant and lever it up from the dirt. “A couple more of these and I’ll be able to replenish my supply of avens oil—mayhap make a vial for you to carry on your journey home.”
Geordie’s throat thickened as her gaze met his for a fleeting moment. In that exchange, he sensed her sadness, just as he, himself, regretted their fast-approaching good-bye. “’Tis very thoughtful of you.”
She glanced away. “What kind of healer would I be if I didn’t provide you with prevention for relapse?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I do believe you are the finest healer I’ve ever encountered.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Aye. I wouldn’t have said it if I did not.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand. “Such encouragement means a great deal to me.”
He pursed his lips. He didn’t care to think of her home situation, sharing some dirty one-room hovel with her sisters and mother. “Akira, I—”
“There you are.” Sir Coll bounded through the wood with a pair of slobbering deerhounds in his wake.
A rock sank to the pit of Geordie’s stomach as he stood and shook the youn
g laird’s hand. “’Tis good to see you’ve returned in one piece.”
Coll flexed his fingers, a look of surprise brightening his ruddy features. “And you’ve recovered remarkably.”
Geordie gestured to the lass. “I owe my good health to Miss Akira.”
She grinned at them from her heap of dirt as the deerhounds pattered to her side, shoving their noses into her work. “His Lordship pushes himself overmuch.”
“I would expect nothing less.” Coll snapped his fingers. “Come behind, ye mangy hounds.”
Geordie chuckled as the dogs tucked their tails and skulked behind their master. “How did the meeting with the MacIntoshes go?”
“Bloody as usual—though most of the blood spilled was theirs.” Coll’s gaze shot to Akira. “Aside from reiving a few head of cattle, we felled a doe on the journey home. We’re to have a gathering this eve.”
She stood, grasping the basket between her hands. “A gathering? Oh, how exciting!”
Geordie regarded the dirt staining her apron and inclined his head toward the manse. “You’d best haste back to your chamber and ready yourself.”
Glancing down, she grimaced. “Och, I’m afraid there’s not much that can be done with these rags with only a moment’s notice.” She grasped one of the dogs by the collar. “Come, big fellas, I’ll take you past the kitchen to see if Cook has a morsel for you.”
Together, Geordie and Coll watched her move down the path, a breeze picking up her black tresses and dancing with them.
“She’s lovely,” said Coll.
Geordie’s eyebrows slanted inward as he regarded the man’s googly eyes. “You’d best close your mouth afore a fly takes up residence in it.”
“I wasn’t ogling.”
“I daresay you were.”
“As were you, Your Grace.”
Geordie thwacked the young man on the back. “I beg your pardon? I thought we had an agreement.”
“Even in the wood, sir?”
“Even here.” Geordie gestured to the path leading away from the manse. “You said the fighting grew ugly.”
“Aye—and the bastards enlisted a number of Government troops as well, say they have the inherited rights to Glen Spean.”