The Highlander's Promise

by Lynsay Sands

  Aulay shifted in his sleep and winced, waking up as his neck gave a twinge of pain. Damn, he'd fallen asleep again, he realized with a grimace, and opened his eyes only to freeze as he saw that Jetta's eyes too were open. The thought made him frown to himself. He had no idea of the woman's real name, but he and his brothers had been calling her Jetta since shortly after finding her. He was the one who had suggested the name. It was her beautiful jet-black hair that had decided him on it, and the name suited her despite the fact that she only had that long beautiful hair on the sides and top of her head now. They'd shaved away every last strand on the back of her head to clean her wounds.

  She was awake now, though, and he would soon learn what her real name was, Aulay told himself as he sat up straight. So long as she didn't simply start shrieking the minute she saw his face. That possibility made him glance to her face again. Frowning slightly, he wondered how long she'd been awake. Had she looked at him? Had she noticed his terrible scar? Probably, he decided. It was hard to miss. The damn thing was all he saw when he looked in the polished silver mirror in the castle's master bedroom. And it was all anyone else saw too. He knew that for a certainty. His scar had been known to make women and children scream or weep. Although the screaming had mostly happened when he was first injured. The reactions recently had been much more discreet, a lip curled with disgust, a shudder of revulsion, or simply turning away and avoiding looking at him at all.

  "Are you my husband?" she asked in a husky voice, and Aulay blinked and glanced to the woman with surprise.

  "What?"

  "Well, only a husband or brother would be allowed in my room," she explained, and then raised an eyebrow in question. "You are not my brother?"

  "Good God, nay," Aulay said at once. He'd been watching over the woman for three weeks now, tending her, constantly dribbling broth down her throat, and helping to turn her in the bed daily to prevent bedsores. During that time, none of his feelings could be called anything close to brotherly.

  "Then you are my husband," she deduced with a smile, and Aulay stared at her blankly. It was not the reaction he would have expected. His own betrothed had refused to marry him, forfeiting a very rich bride price and walking away rather than spend her days "having to look at his disgusting face for a lifetime," as she had put it. But this woman actually smiled at the thought that he was her husband, he noted with amazement.

  "Have I been ill?"

  Aulay noted that she looked curious and a little fretful, but not unduly alarmed. Nodding, he finally said, "Aye. Ye've been ill for three weeks now."

  Her eyes widened. "Three weeks? What with?" she asked with a frown, and then guessed, "Fevers? There must have been fevers, I do not remember being ill and that only happens with fevers."

  "Nay. Ye hit yer head and have been in a deep sleep since."

  "Hit my head?" she asked, eyes widening. "Is that why I do not remember?"

  Aulay frowned and sat forward in his chair. "What exactly do ye no' remember, lass?"

  "Anything," she said almost plaintively, rising up in the bed. "I do not remember you, this room, or even my name. I--" Pausing, she shook her head helplessly, and then winced and squeezed her eyes closed as if in pain.

  "Are ye all right?" Aulay stood at once, and moved closer to the bed to lean over her. "Is yer head paining ye?"

  "A bit," she said weakly, and with, he was sure, little veracity. It obviously hurt more than just a bit.

  "Here ye are, m'laird."

  Aulay straightened abruptly and turned toward the door to see Mavis bustling into the room. A short, round woman with dark hair streaked liberally with gray, she carried a tray in hand and was chattering cheerfully away as she walked.

  "I've brought some more broth fer our young Jetta. I made it from the quail ye caught yesterday. Ye just--Oh!" The woman paused abruptly, eyes widening as she saw that Jetta was sitting up. Sounding nonplussed, she said, "She's awake."

  "Aye." Aulay smiled faintly at the woman's wide-eyed expression. It had been at Rory's suggestion that the maid be brought out to the lodge. She had helped them care for the lass. There were just some things a man had no business tending to when it came to women and Mavis had tended those matters alone.

  "Thank ye fer the broth, Mavis," he said now.

  "Ye're welcome, m'laird, o' course. Shall I fetch Master Rory?" the older woman asked, eyeing Jetta's still wincing face with concern as she hurried to set down the tray.

  "Aye. Please." Aulay watched her rush from the room, and then turned back to Jetta, and frowned. Her eyes were still closed, but she was holding her head now. It seemed to him that rather than easing, her pain was increasing. Feeling helpless, he watched for a moment, and then turned and walked swiftly to the table where Mavis had set the tray. There were broth and a glass of cider on the tray, but Aulay's interest was the skin of uisge beatha that lay on the table next to it. Grabbing that, he returned to the bed.

  "Here, lass," he murmured, settling on the bed next to her and quickly opening the skin. "Try this. Mayhap 'twill help."

  Jetta moaned, but didn't open her eyes or even lift her head.

  "Lass," he began, but paused and glanced toward the door at the sound of pounding feet coming up the stairs.

  "Mavis said Jetta is awake," Rory said, rushing into the room a moment later.

  "Aye." Aulay stood with relief, and gestured to her as she let her hands fall away from her head. "But she's in pain. Make it stop."

  Rory's eyebrows rose at the demand, but he moved quickly to the bedside and leaned over their patient. It was only then that Aulay saw that she'd fallen back on the bed and appeared to once again be in her deep sleep.

  "She was awake," he assured his brother with a frown.

  "Did she say anything?" Rory asked, lifting her eyelids to peer at her eyes.

  "Aye," Aulay murmured, wondering what he was looking for, or what he could learn from her eyes. "She does no' remember aught."

  Rory glanced at him with surprise. "Nothing?"

  "No' even her name," he rumbled.

  "Hmm." Rory turned back to continue examining her, but said, "Perhaps no' so surprising. The back o' her head took a beating. In truth, I did no' think she'd even wake."

  "Will she get her memories back, do ye think?" Aulay asked, his gaze sliding over her sleeping face.

  Rory straightened and considered her for a moment, but then shook his head. "'Tis hard to say. She may, but she may not. Head wounds are a tricky business. She is lucky to be alive."

  Aulay nodded, but then cleared his throat and said, "She thought I was her husband."

  Rory turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Did ye explain that ye were no'?"

  Aulay hesitated and then grimaced and shook his head. "She said only a husband or brother would be in her room and I did no' want to upset her, so I just . . ." He shrugged.

  Rory eyed him briefly and then murmured, "Hmm," again and turned to peer at her once more.

  "Should her head still hurt?" Aulay asked after a moment. "It has been three weeks since she was injured."

  Rory sighed. "Head injuries are--"

  "Tricky," Aulay interrupted dryly. It was a phrase he'd heard often since finding the lass. Any time he asked something his brother did not know the answer to, Rory said that head wounds were tricky and they would have to wait and see how this all played out. "In other words, ye do no' ken why her head is hurting."

  "It could simply be because she's had little to eat or drink. Broth dribbled down her throat several times a day is no' ideal. 'Tis barely enough to keep her alive. As ye can see," he added, gesturing to her. "She's lost a good deal o' weight since ye found her."

  "Aye," Aulay agreed unhappily and wondered how he had failed to notice that ere now. Oh, certainly, he'd noticed that she'd lost some weight, but he hadn't realized just how frail and thin she'd grown until this moment. Her face was slightly sunken with dark smudges under her eyes, and her skin was stretched tight over the bones in what he could see of her f
ace, hands and wrists, leaving them almost skeletal-looking.

  "I'll have solid food brought up, and cider for the next time she wakes," Aulay decided, and turned to head for the door.

  "Brother," Rory said, bringing him to a halt.

  Pausing at the door, Aulay glanced back. "Aye?"

  "Ye might want to hold off on telling her ye're no' her husband when she wakes again. At least fer a little while," Rory suggested solemnly. "Just until we're sure she's recovering. She will be fragile at first, and it might be best no' to distress her too much until we are sure she is definitely on the mend. She will be upset enough by her memory loss. We will need to comfort her as much as possible, and thinking she is in the care of a loving, caring husband, rather than strangers, will give her that comfort."

  "Aye," Aulay said solemnly, his gaze sliding to the woman. To Jetta, as they would have to continue to call her for now. At least, until she recalled her true name. If she recalled her true name. Part of him was hoping she wouldn't remember it. Then maybe she would continue to think him her husband and he could keep her.

  The moment he had that thought, Aulay turned away and left the room. Of course, he couldn't keep her. She wasn't a pup who had followed him home after some adventure. Eventually, he'd have to tell her that he wasn't her husband, and the circumstances of her coming to be here. No doubt the news that they weren't married would be a big relief to her. Then she wouldn't have to look at his ugly face every morning. In fact, she would probably want to leave and get away from him the moment she knew she didn't have to stay.

  Mouth tightening at the thought, Aulay strode quickly to the stairs and headed down to talk to Mavis and see about solid food for the lass. The next time Jetta woke up, there would be food and drink there waiting for her. He couldn't bear to stand by helplessly again while she suffered. If food and drink didn't work, he'd resort to those damned foul medicinals Rory was forever making, one that eased pain and put a body to sleep. Not that he wanted her to sleep. It seemed to him that he'd been waiting forever for her to wake. But he'd rather she slept than be in pain.

  The next time she woke, the room was dark. Not completely, but there was no sunlight shining through the window. The only light in the room was coming from the fireplace. It was weak and cast shadows everywhere.

  Recalling the pain that had assailed her shortly after waking the last time, she didn't sit up or move anything but her eyes at first. She remained still and simply peered around at what she could see of the room. A bedside table to her right held a goblet and an unlit candle. She could see a shuttered window beyond it. That made up the left side of the room, but directly across from the foot of the bed a table and two chairs were positioned before the fireplace. On the other side of the bed was an empty bedside table, two large chests against the wall and a chair next to the bed. The chair was empty this time, she noted. Her husband wasn't there, and she found herself disappointed by his absence. She would have liked to ask him questions. Things like, where was she? What was her name? What was his name?

  Although, she realized suddenly, she had got some answers the last time she'd woken. She suspected she must be in Scotland. At least, her husband appeared to be Scottish. He wore Scottish dress, the traditional plaid that had shown off his legs quite nicely. He'd also definitely had a Scottish accent, as had the maid who had entered the room the last time she'd woken up. So . . . she must have married a Scot and now lived in Scotland. She didn't think she was Scottish herself. Her own accent when she'd spoken had sounded English to her ear, and even her thoughts had an English accent to them, rather than Scottish.

  Other than that . . .

  The maid had called her Jetta, she remembered suddenly, and was surprised she recalled it considering the pain that had been assaulting her at the time.

  "Jetta," she murmured aloud, and grimaced at how scratchy her voice was. Her throat and mouth were terribly dry. Recalling a goblet on the bedside table, she glanced to it now and bit her lip. Had sitting up been what had triggered the pain the last time? If she sat up to see if there was anything in the goblet and to take a sip if there was, would she again be assaulted by the pain?

  The possibility was enough to keep her prone for a moment or two longer, but then her thirst made her take the risk. She rolled to her side and reached for the goblet to lift it to see if it held anything first, though. There was no use risking that pain for nothing.

  Finding the goblet heavy with liquid, Jetta set her mouth determinedly and struggled upright, swinging her legs to the floor as she did so that she sat on the side of the bed. Surprisingly, it was more of an effort than she'd expected. She didn't recall sitting up to be this much work the first time, but then she'd been distressed at the time, so perhaps that had aided her efforts to get upright.

  Sighing, she reached for the drink, and then paused as she spotted the figure in the shadows on the floor. For a moment, fear leapt into her heart, but then she recognized her husband's scarred face and relaxed. A small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. What a sweet man. She'd been disappointed that he wasn't there before, but now realized he was sleeping on a pallet on the floor to ensure he didn't disturb her rest. The action was so thoughtful and kind . . .

  Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, she reached for the goblet once more, this time picking it up.

  Jetta realized just how pathetically weak she was when she nearly dropped it. If she hadn't added her second hand to the effort, it would have slipped from her fingers. Holding it two-handed like a child, she lifted it to her lips and drank from the cup. It was apple cider, room temperature but sweet and rich and she gulped it eagerly down. Too eagerly, and too quickly. Jetta knew that the moment her stomach began to roil. For a moment, she thought she was going to heave it all back up. But she sat completely still and held her breath as she waited and the sensation finally passed.

  Letting her breath out on a little relieved sigh, Jetta set the cup back on the table and then peered at her husband as it occurred to her that she didn't know his name. That was another question she would like answered. Although, that might be a bit awkward. "Excuse me, husband, could you tell me your name?"

  Jetta grimaced at the thought of it and then finally tore her gaze from him and glanced around the room again. There appeared to be food on the table, and she thought she should probably eat, but her upset tummy wasn't encouraging any kind of hunger. Besides, just the little bit she'd done so far was already tiring her and she wasn't at all sure she could make it to the table and back.

  She should probably lie down and go back to sleep, Jetta thought, but her gaze slid back to her husband. He should really be in the bed with her and she was incredibly touched that he had taken on such discomfort on her behalf. The man didn't even have any furs to cover him. He'd just rolled himself up in his plaid, for heaven's sake. She glanced to the coverings on the bed and frowned when she noted that there was only the one fur on the bed itself. After a hesitation, she grabbed her pillow and dropped it on the pallet next to her husband's head, and then slid down to join him, dragging the fur from the bed with her.

  Careful not to jostle him too much, Jetta managed to curl up into his side and cover them both with the fur from the bed. She'd barely managed the feat when her husband grumbled sleepily and rolled onto his side behind her, his arm wrapping around her as if to prevent her shifting about anymore. Jetta waited for some comment on what she'd done, but when nothing came except his deep breathing, she released the breath she'd been holding on a little sigh, and drifted off to sleep.

  Aulay shifted sleepily and cuddled into the warm furs as morning light dragged him toward consciousness. But when the furs murmured and moved under his hand and arm, he opened his eyes with some confusion and found himself peering at the wee lass he'd pulled from the water. Aulay froze and simply stared. He lay on his side on the pallet with Jetta on her back next to him, and under him, he noted as he became aware that he had one leg cast over both of hers and his arm was resting on her stom
ach while his hand was quite happily cupping one of her breasts. His fingers curved over it with a possessiveness and familiarity it had no right to.

  Even as Aulay thought that, his fingers unconsciously tightened slightly, squeezing the soft flesh. Wee Jetta moaned and moved restlessly under the caress, but he hardly noticed, his attention was on the fact that his hand was the only covering her breast enjoyed. The front of the overlarge shift Mavis had supplied to replace his shirt was wide open almost to her waist, leaving one breast covered by his hand and the other simply bare.

  Aulay eyed the bare breast and thought he had never seen anything quite so perfect as that globe. God had been more than generous when it came to fashioning Jetta's bosoms. They were full and rounded and her nipples were a deep cinnamon color and presently puckered with excitement, he realized, and quickly pulled his hand away.

  "Husband?" Jetta murmured sleepily.

  "Aye," Aulay growled and when she smiled tremulously and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly, he closed his arms around her in return and hugged back. But when they eased apart, he couldn't resist kissing her. He'd meant to just brush his lips over hers, but after first stilling in surprise, Jetta started to kiss him back and the plan changed. Aulay instead deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding between her lips to delve inside. He tasted apple cider and smiled against her mouth as she kissed him clumsily back. It seemed obvious that Jetta had no idea what she was doing, but she was making a good effort, emulating his every action. She was even squeezing his muscled chest as he wished to do to her breast, and while he was hardening against her hip, she was pushing herself up into the leg covering her lower body.

  Growling in his throat, Aulay shifted his leg to urge her legs apart so that his knee could rest between her thighs. He then pressed it against the very core of her. She responded with a gasp of pleasure, her hands clutching at his shoulders now and her efforts to emulate his kiss spiraling down into simply sucking on his tongue as he thrust it in and out of her mouth. Her excitement was like fire to tinder, and Aulay had just covered her breast again, this time to caress and squeeze it, when he heard the bedroom door open.