“Only time will tell,” Carmag said.
Reeve knew as did his family that they would not know what happened to Trey until he woke and explained it all. And his father was right, only time would tell if Trey survived.
Mara saw that blankets were provided for the Picts to bed down in the great hall for the night. Afterwards, she had plans to sit through the night beside her son.
“You get some sleep,” Mara ordered Tara. “In case you are needed.”
“I’ll look in on Trey first,” Tara said.
“Then I’ll see that she’s settled in my bedchamber,” Reeve said.
Mara sent him a scowl. “Make sure you’re quick about it.”
Reeve nodded, though his brothers both grinned at him.
Reeve wasn’t surprised when Duncan followed him and Tara to Trey’s bedchamber and went straight to his wife’s side once there.
“I’m fine,” Mercy assured him. “The rest has done me good, I’m hungry.”
“Mum is coming to sit with Trey for the night,” Duncan said. “I’ll have food brought to our bedchamber.”
Reeve watched relief spread across his brother’s face when Mercy had acknowledged her hunger. He hadn’t, when first learning of Duncan’s love for Mercy, understood how he could have allowed a woman to possibly interfere with their mission. He had even reprimanded Duncan for it, reminding him that they had agreed that nothing, absolutely nothing, would stand in the way of them seeing the true king seated on the throne.
Now, however, he could relate to Duncan’s conundrum. When love struck, it could not be ignored.
Love.
That word haunted him like a ghost who refused to accept death. Was he refusing to believe that he was falling in love? He glanced over at Tara, her attention fully focused on his brother. Her black ringlets drooped around her face, and her lovely eyes held a mixture of concern and exhaustion. He wanted to scoop her up and rush her to his room, tuck her in bed, and make certain she slept.
He almost laughed aloud. He had to be falling in love. He was more concerned with her well-being than he was with his own needs, with bedding her. But then he didn’t simply want to bed her; that he could do with any willing woman. He wanted more with and from Tara, and he wanted to find out just what that more was.
Reeve saw that Tara’s hand lingered on Trey’s face, going from his forehead, to his cheeks, and she even rested her hand on his neck.
“Has he a fever?” Reeve asked worried.
“Does he?” Duncan asked with even more anxiety, Mercy clutching her husband’s hand and her eyes filling with concern.
“He’s as warm as he was before,” Tara said.
“Is that good or bad?” Reeve asked.
“He’s warm to the touch,” Tara explained, “but he’s grown no hotter, which is good. He’ll need to be watched closely.”
“Do not worry, I’ll have my eyes on him all night,” Mara said, entering the room, Carmag following her in.
Carmag walked over to Reeve, and whispered, “Bryce is talking with the Picts.”
Reeve wasn’t surprised that Bryce had remained with the Picts. He had a way of talking with people and finding out things that they hadn’t realized they knew, or perhaps had not thought of to share.
“Duncan, feed your wife,” Mara ordered. “Reeve, see to it that Tara rests.”
Both men assured her they would, both knowing that it was her way of saying I love you both, but your brother needs me now.
Reeve and Duncan exchanged anxious glances when they watched their father go to his wife’s side and place his hand on her shoulder. In turn, their mother rested her hand on top of his. They were drawing strength from each other, as they always did in time of crisis; only this time it was obvious that they were frightened. They feared losing their son.
Reeve and Duncan stopped outside the door once it was closed, their hands clutched firmly to their women.
“I wish there was more we could do,” Reeve said.
“There is,” Mercy said. “Pray.”
Though worried about his brother, Reeve also worried about Tara. Once in his bedchamber, she let go of his hand and walked over to the fireplace, stretching, as if easing out the pain as her hand rubbed at her lower back.
He came up behind her, his hand gently moving hers aside, his fingers rubbing where hers had been. He felt the tautness in her muscles, no doubt from the hours she had spent bent over Trey stitching his wounds. He kneaded the stiff muscles, and she sighed.
“That feels so good.”
“Lie on the bed, and I’ll make you feel even better.”
She turned in haste, her tired eyes forced wide.
Normally he would have grinned and teased, but she didn’t need that now from him. She needed reassurance that he simply wanted to tend her.
“My only thought is to rid you of this pain,” he said.
Her shoulders slumped, along with her sigh of relief, and she eagerly went to the bed.
He knew it would be easier without the interference of her clothes. Besides she would sleep better as well, but he wasn’t sure if she would agree. And he wasn’t sure if it was wise.
He asked anyway. “You should get out of those clothes. You’ll rest better.”
She turned. “That is true. And since you are honorable, and I trust you and your word, I shall disrobe.”
Reeve groaned silently. He would have no choice but to be respectful and true to his word, no matter how hard. And he was already hard as it was.
“Turn around,” she said.
Reeve did with great reluctance, but he had given his word, and he would keep it. He heard her slip her garments off, and his mind couldn’t help but take flight. Her full breasts, her slim waist, her wide curvy hips painted irresistible images, and he ached to see her beauty.
He heard the creak of the bed, and he took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to do wouldn’t be easy. He warned himself against being selfish and kept that warning strong when she told him that she was ready.
He was ready as well, though not in the same sense, and he turned around with all the courage and strength of a mighty Highlander warrior.
He almost lost it when he saw her lying on her stomach, her arms wrapped around the pillow her head rested on. She was naked down to her lower back, the blanket serving as a boundary he was not to go beyond. Her body was exquisite, just the right curves and mounds that he favored.
Stop!
His silent reprimand rang loudly in his head, and he was glad for the warning. He pushed the dangerous thoughts aside and walked over to her. She had left room for him to sit beside her, and he did. He focused on what he needed to do, and his hands went directly to her lower back.
He began kneading from the center out, his hands following the natural, seductive curve of her back. He would have lingered to admire her beauty, but her stubborn muscles captured his attention, and he worked diligently on them. Pressing and kneading, working the obstinate flesh until . . .
She groaned, and he stopped. “Am I hurting you?”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “It feels good.”
Damn but he wished she was saying that for a far different reason.
Stop!
The warning rang again, and he reminded himself to obey it. He returned his attention to the stubborn muscles and worked even more diligently, attacking them as if they were the enemy. He used his thumb on the most troublesome spots, which always forced a groan from her.
He continued to keep his wits about him, particularly when he hit a sensitive spot that caused her backside to rise and a moan to escape. Finally, to save his own sanity, he shifted his attention to her upper back, which produced a deeper groan but at least no body movement.
“You are truly my hero,” she murmured, when he eased the aches from along the tops of her shoulders.
He heard the fatigue in her voice, and he knew that she would soon be asleep. And that was good; she needed rest though he didn’t want to stop touching
her just yet. He loved the feel of her silky-soft skin. It was like running his fingers over velvet.
He felt when sleep finally claimed her, her body going limp, and with a gentle brush of his hand down along her back, he took hold of the blanket and pulled it up, covering her. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, not trusting himself to linger, and hurried out of the room.
His hand went to the wall just outside the door for support, and he lowered his head, taking a deep breath.
“I suffered the same once,” Duncan said walking toward him.
“And you’re not grinning?”
Duncan rested his hand on his brother’s back. “Torture is nothing to grin over.”
They both laughed, and Reeve shook his head. “I don’t know how you remained honorable being shackled to Mercy as long as you were.”
“It wasn’t easy, but then love never is.”
“There you go mentioning love again,” Reeve said.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense when nothing makes sense.”
“Why does that suddenly sound sensible to me?”
“Because you’re falling in love?” This time Duncan grinned.
Reeve shook his head again. “How is Mercy?
“Changing the subject won’t help.”
“Maybe, but I need to.”
Duncan kept grinning as he nodded. “My wife wants more food.”
“Sounds like she’s doing better.”
“I believe she is.”
“I thought I’d go sit with mum for a while,” Reeve said.
“I was going to stop by once Mercy fell asleep.”
“Has Bryce found out anything more?” Reeve asked.
“He’s still talking with the Picts.”
“It’s going to be a long night,” Reeve said.
Reeve sat beside his mother on a small foot bench. He had thought it might not hold his weight, and so he sat down on it with apprehension, but it held. He reached out to take his mother’s hand, draped over the arm of her chair.
She took strong hold of it, as if she needed an anchor to hold her firm.
“You have a good woman. Don’t lose her,” Mara said.
“It’s not long that I’ve known her,” Reeve said.
“That doesn’t matter. It’s how you feel about her that counts.”
“I’m learning how I feel.”
“That is the exciting part about love,” Mara said. “You learn as you go, and yet love has already grabbed hold. It’s keeping that hold that matters.”
“You and Da have kept hold of love.”
“I sometimes wonder how,” Mara said, shaking her head. “I can be difficult at times.”
“Truly?” Reeve asked with a grin.
Mara slapped his arm with her free hand while clinging tightly with her other. “Go on with you now, teasing your poor mum like that.”
“Da always looks at you with love, even when you’re angry,” Reeve said earnestly.
“His love is what often stills my anger,” Mara admitted.
“You make a good pair.”
“We always have. I knew when I was young that he would be mine, and I laid claim to him,” Mara said proudly.
“Never let anyone stand in your way, did you?”
“Not a one,” Mara said proudly. “You do whatever it takes.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“See that you do, my son,” Mara said with a smile.
Reeve suddenly felt guilty about keeping the truth about Tara from his mother. He wondered if it would have been better to tell her. He believed that she would fight to help Tara rather than condemn her. His mum was a good ally and a formidable enemy. She fought for not only what she believed, but for whom she loved. She would fight the devil himself for those she loved, and he had no doubt she would win.
“You should go get some rest,” Mara said. “You may be needed later.”
“I’ll sit with you a while yet,” he said, not wanting to leave her alone.
“You must be tired. You returned home early this morning.”
“How did you know when I arrived?”
She smiled, and he was glad to see it. “There isn’t much that goes on around here that I don’t know about.”
“I should have remembered that,” Reeve said. “There wasn’t much that my brothers and I could do that you weren’t aware of.”
“There still isn’t,” Mara said with a grin.
Trey groaned, grabbing their attention, and Mara let go of Reeve’s hand and sprang out of the chair.
“No! No!” Trey groaned and began thrashing around in the bed.
“We need to hold him down or he may break open his stitching,” Mara said, her hands trying to avoid her son’s flaying hands as she sought to help him.
Reeve went to his brother’s side and as soon as he put his hands on him, he said, “He burns with fever.”
Chapter 16
Tara woke, springing up in bed, a sense of dread causing gooseflesh to rise along her arms and a tightness to settle in her stomach. She glanced around the room and saw that she was alone. She dropped back on the pillow, and memories of Reeve’s hands easing away her aches rushed over her.
Lord, his touch had felt so very good, and she hadn’t been the least worried that he would take advantage of the situation. He was a man she could trust. It was she, herself, she couldn’t trust. The truth of it was that she hadn’t wanted him to stop; she wished that it had turned more intimate between them. Even though fatigued, her body had tingled with desire for him and relieved she had been to have exhaustion claim her before she had done something unwise.
She would have liked to have lingered in the luscious memories, but gooseflesh slowly continued to claim every bit of flesh. She grew uneasy and she realized something was wrong, very wrong. And as much as she wished to simply linger in bed with thoughts of Reeve, she jumped up and quickly got dressed. She twisted her hair up and pinned it in haste, several black ringlets falling willfully loose.
She slipped her boots on, never noticing that the swelling had all but disappeared. The anxiousness had now turned to extreme worry, and she hurried to the door and ran, knowing exactly where she was needed.
Tara burst through the door of Trey’s bedchamber and was horrified at the scene. Reeve and Mara were fighting to keep his brother in the bed.
“He’s wild with fever,” Mara said.
To the bewilderment of them both, she ran from the room. She all but flew down the stairs, slipping on a step and twisting her injured ankle. Pain shot through it, but she ignored it, grimacing while she kept moving.
Once in the great hall, she called out to Bryce, sitting with Roan by the hearth, “Trey needs you.”
He sprang off the bench. “Where do you go?”
Tara grabbed two buckets near the hearth. “To get snow to bring your brother’s fever down.”
The wind blew furiously, snow continuing to pelt the ground. Tara shivered but paid no heed to the cold. She hadn’t wasted time to grab her cloak. She didn’t have time, and with two bucketfuls of snow, she entered the keep and ran up the stairs.
She refused to acknowledge the throbbing pain in her ankle. She was intent on her mission and wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.
When she entered Trey’s bedchamber, she went directly to the bed, dropped one bucket to the floor, and emptied the other on top of Trey. She picked up the full one after discarding the other and emptied that on him as well.
She hadn’t realized that Trey had calmed until she began spreading the snow evenly over him. Mara’s hands soon joined hers, and they had him covered in snow in no time. Tara then took a handful and rubbed it over his face.
Trey moaned though it was more a sigh of relief, as if his suffering had been relieved.
Mara grabbed at her arm when she was done. “How did you know?”
Tara shook her head. “I woke feeling something was wrong and came here.”
“And the snow?”
“I watched the women in our clan do it. Some they saved; some they didn’t.”
“Then he has a chance,” Mara said firmly.
“We’ll need to get him dry when the snow melts and be ready to use more if necessary,” Tara explained.
“Whatever it takes,” Mara said.
It wasn’t until hours later, with them all working together to bring his fever down and settle him comfortably in a dry bed, that Trey finally lay resting, and for Mara to notice Tara limping.
“Your ankle,” Mara said, and everyone turned to stare at Tara.
“I gave it a twist on the stairs,” Tara admitted.
“You’ve given enough,” Mara said. “It is time for you to rest.”
Reeve went to her side, but she limped away from him. “You may need me.”
“Trey’s fever is down, and he rests comfortably thanks to you,” Mara said. “It is now time for you to take care in case you are needed again.”
Reeve scooped her up then, and she didn’t protest. She was bone-tired, and her ankle was sore though not unbearably so. She rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her out of the room and down to their bedchamber.
Their bedchamber?
Is that how she thought of it? As theirs?
More and more, she was thinking of them as one; but then, they fit as one. So why not be one?
She would have shaken her head if she wasn’t so tired, which made everything all the more confusing. Life had changed so suddenly and drastically that she barely had time to comprehend it all or believe it. She still wondered if she was dreaming, and she would awaken to the horrible life she had lived before.
“I intend to see that you rest,” Reeve whispered, and kissed the top of her head.
She wondered how he planned on doing that, and she soon found out.
Reeve sat her on the bed, removed her boots, and ordered her to disrobe, turning his back to give her privacy.
She didn’t argue. She was tired, and her garments were damp from the snow. Once done, she crawled under the covers. Every bit of her ached from top to bottom and in between.
“I’m done,” she said, and meant it.
Reeve slipped off his boots, loosened the section of his plaid that crossed over his chest, and slipped his black shirt off. He then grabbed another blanket from the chest at the end of the bed and threw it over the blanket that covered Tara and crawled beneath it.
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