And she needed him just as much.
When they continued kissing, he hardened against her stomach. “I will not take ye again. Tis too soon,” he told her. “But I want ye.”
Elspeth sighed and met his gaze. “I want ye, too. Can we try?”
Lifting his hips, he slid into her slowly and she cringed. It hurt just a bit at first, but when he began to move, she no longer cared.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ceilidh sat at the kitchen table cutting potatoes. Although she hated not having seen Elspeth since the night before, she hoped all was well.
The couple had first meal in their chamber and had not come out as yet. It was early afternoon and she kept vigil, listening as the servants came and went. No one seemed at all preoccupied about the marriage, most were relieved for the quiet. The drinking of the night before meant most of the household remained in bed.
“Are there more, Moira?” Ceilidh asked the cook as she cut into the last potato. “If not, I will go see about Ian. I need to check his wound. Does he still remain abed?”
“Tis more than enough, girl,” Moira replied, her plump cheeks flushed from scurrying about the kitchen. “He is in his chamber. Ye may take him a light meal. I am sure he will be glad for the company.”
She’d not seen him since returning from the village. It was unseemly to go to a single man’s room. However, going as a healer, it would not be thought of as wrong.
With a tray that held only a cup of tea and freshly-baked bread, she made her way down the familiar corridor to the small room that housed some of the guard. Cautious to not make much noise, she kept her footsteps light. It wouldn’t do to be caught by a guard who’d think she was there for more than just visiting a sick man.
Unable to knock properly, she tapped on the door with her elbow.
“Go away,” came the response from within. “I do not wish to see anyone.”
“Ian, tis me, Ceilidh.” She kept her voice soft, hoping he’d hear her. “I bring ye something to drink.”
There was no response and she decided to take it as a welcome. Managing to rest the tray against the door, she opened it slowly.
He sat in a chair turned away from the door and facing a small window. From where he sat, it was impossible to look out and see more than a patch of sky. He didn’t react to her entering, so she proceeded to place the tray on a tiny table.
“Tis lovely thistle tea Moira sweetened with honey,” she said in a light voice. “I nipped a bit of fresh bread for ye, too.”
He didn’t turn to her, but kept his gaze straight ahead. “I am not hungry.”
“Ye’re lying. Moira said ye barely ate this morning. She is worried about ye.”
After helping Elspeth with healing for so many months, she’d grown used to the different ways men like him reacted to life-altering injuries. In losing his arm, he would fear he’d lost his ability to continue his life as a warrior.
She rounded him and was shocked at how gaunt he’d become. His bearded face was barely recognizable compared to the handsome man who’d first come to be under her care.
“I won’t have it,” she barked. “Ye look like a forest man.”
Ian’s brows moved closer in a scowl. “Leave me be, Ceilidh. I am not in the mood for company.”
“I am not here to visit ye, but to ensure ye are taking care of yer wounds.” She went to the washbasin and found it was dry. “Why is this empty?”
By the set of his jaw, she knew he’d been turning people away. She crossed her arms and once again went to stand so she could look at his face. “I will return shortly. Ye will not bar the door or I swear I’ll have it broken down.” Ceilidh moved the table and tray closer to his right side.
“Both best be gone when I return. Eaten and drank.” She hurried toward the door. “I cannot believe someone did not come and see that ye were well. I must speak to whoever the lead servant is…” She stopped talking when she walked out. He wasn’t listening anyway.
When Ceilidh returned, she was surprised to find Ian had eaten the bread and drank the entire cup of tea. However, he remained in the chair not looking to the doorway.
Behind her, two lads carried buckets of water and a servant girl followed with bandages and drying cloths.
Not waiting for him to move from where he sat, Ceilidh instructed the lads to place the buckets next to the chair. She stood in front of Ian and took the bottom of his tunic and pulled it up. “Lift yer arm.” She left no room for argument although she expected him to ignore her.
To her surprise, he lifted his arm. The entire time, he kept his gaze directly forward.
He was stubborn, she knew it, but so was she. “Now, I will remove yer bandages. If they are stuck in any way, I will use water to soften them.” As she spoke, she unwrapped the stump that remained of his left arm. The wound was healing well, but remained red and jagged. She was not as well trained as Elspeth, but it looked healthy in her estimation.
Once that was completed, she commanded him to lean forward and she cut the bandage around his midsection. This wound was a bit more worrisome; it oozed and the bandages were stuck.
He winced as she used the warm water to wet the bandages. Then looking over her shoulder to the servants, she spoke to the lads. “Can ye bring more water?” She then directed her gaze to the girl. “Refill the basin and take the bed linens to be washed.”
Once the wound was free of the bandages, she went to the window and opened it. “Did ye come to this chair without help?”
“Aye.”
“Ye tore yer wound open a bit. But I think it will heal without need for more stitching.”
She continued in her work, cleaning the wounds with clean water and dropping the dirtied cloths into an empty basket.
Once she felt it was done well and the cloths were no longer bloody, she began to clean Ian’s face and neck. When the lads returned, she continued to his chest and arms. “Clean each of his legs.”
“I am perfectly capable of cleaning my own body,” Ian snapped, but then looked away when she leveled a glare at him.
Without waiting, the lads did as instructed.
“Now stand,” Ceilidh instructed.
“I will not let ye clean me there,” Ian said, placing his right hand across his private area.
“Fine.” She dipped a cloth into the water, wringed it out and shoved it into his hand. “Lads, help him stand.”
She walked around him, hovering when they did as instructed. He groaned just a bit, but then washed himself. The lads rinsed the cloth and gave it back to him as Ceilidh washed his back.
“To the bed with ye,” she instructed just as the maid finished stretching clean linens onto the narrow cot.
Refusing further help from anyone, Ian lowered to sit on the bed.
“Take the dirty water and leave the one bucket with clean water. Rinse the cloths and leave them in one of the buckets. I will see about washing them.”
When she turned to Ian, he had pulled a sheet across his lap. When a man worried about modesty, he was feeling better. A man in agony cared little about propriety.
“I’ll finish bandaging yer wounds and then see about a clean tunic so ye can rest.”
As she continued with wrapping the injured areas, he watched her with interest. “Why do ye do this? We have a healer here at the keep.”
She met his gaze. “Tis obvious it has been days since he’s come to see about ye.”
“There are many injured worse that require care.”
“I do this because I care for people.” Ceilidh spoke the truth in part. The main reason she was there was that Ian rarely left her thoughts.
When she finished, Ceilidh looked to a trunk, the only item that seemed personal in the space. “Is there a clean tunic in there?”
“Aye,” he replied as he nodded.
She helped him dress, noticing his eyes were beginning to droop with sleepiness. “Ye have not slept well?”
Ian shook his head. “Nay. Ye do not und
erstand. I am not worthy to remain here. I cannot fulfill my duties as the laird’s guard. Once I can go about easier, I plan to leave.”
“And do what?”
The corner of his mouth curved just a bit. “Perhaps to become what is it ye called me? A forest man?”
“Ye have purpose and skills. I have no doubt that ye will do whatever it is that ye set yer mind to.”
When his eyelids fell, Ceilidh smiled. “Let me help ye to lie down.”
He didn’t require much help to move to the bed. “I will return later this afternoon and ye will eat and leave this chamber.”
She picked up the last bucket and took her time walking about the room, lifting up dirty clothing and then the tray. She carried everything to the door and placed them just outside.
Finally, she returned to the bed and peered down at Ian. He’d fallen asleep, giving her an opportunity to study him. His hair was the color of dark golden sunrays. It had grown to his shoulders since she’d first seen him.
That afternoon, perhaps he’d allow her to cut his hair and trim the beard as well. She touched a soft lock of hair and then took a step backward.
What would it be like to lay with him, to place her head on his broad chest? When it lifted and lowered, she followed its rhythm wondering if he had a lover.
Shaking her head, Ceilidh went to the door and quietly slipped out.
*
Ian woke with a start. Disoriented, he didn’t remember getting in bed, nor opening the window. A light breeze filled the room, making it both chilly and fresh. The smell of the outdoors filled his lungs and he closed his eyes, relishing it.
Ceilidh had said she’d help him go outside. In truth, his midsection hurt quite a bit when he moved. However, he would not lay about waiting to be assisted. He was a warrior after all. Had been a warrior all his life.
As he struggled to sit, the pain of his wounds annoyed him. It would be a long while yet before he’d be able to walk upright and without pain. Not one for patience, he forced himself to move painstakingly slow. If he tore the wound open, it would be even longer before he’d be well enough to complete some of his duties.
There was a strange twinge down what remained of his left arm. Upon noting the clean bandages, Ian thought about Ceilidh. She was a willful lass.
Her having ministered to his wounds, bathed him, had been exactly what he’d needed but had been too proud to ask for help with.
Raking his right hand down his face, he groaned. Thankfully, he’d managed to keep from becoming aroused. It had been a struggle because he was not immune to her beauty. To wanting her.
This was not the time to think about a woman. No lass in her right mind would want a man with a missing limb. He’d wanted Ceilidh since first seeing her upon waking from the battle. The reddish-golden hair had captured his attention, her bright, sparkling, blue eyes his thoughts and those plump pink lips all of his imagination.
There was a soft knock.
“Yes.” Ian wanted to tell her to go away, but he knew she’d ignore it.
Once again, Ceilidh entered, accompanied by the same two lads, one carrying a tray of food, the other went to work clearing his room of the bedpan and dirty clothes. Both boys seemed in good spirits. Funny how the presence of a beautiful woman put males in good moods.
Her bright eyes met his as she went to the window and pulled the shutters, leaving them just a bit cracked. “How do ye feel?”
“Well.” He didn’t mean to, but his reply was curt. He wanted them all to leave, to not look upon his wounded body and think him weak. And yet, since he’d not been eating or trying to do more than sit, he felt every bit a weakling.
“I see,” Ceilidh replied and continued looking at him.
While he ate, Ceilidh made busy work of tidying his stark room.
“I thought we’d go for a walk in the garden. Tis not good for ye to remain cloistered for so long. Can ye manage?”
He nodded even if the thought of going outdoors and perhaps catching a glimpse of the guards at swordplay would make him physically sick.
The lads scurried to help him as he slid to the edge of the bed. Once his boots were laced, he allowed them to help him stand, but then shook his head.
“I can walk on my own.”
With Ceilidh beside him and the lads following, they made slow progress toward the kitchens. The familiar surroundings seemed anything but as he saw them differently now when having to move so slowly. He’d never paid much attention to the tapestries the servants had made and hung to cheer up their area, nor how clean the floors were inside the kitchen despite all the activity.
Moira’s face lit up at seeing him. “There ye are, lad. I miss ye coming in and stealing my food.” She walked over and not caring that she might hurt him, gave him a tight hug.
The pain was nothing compared to how her touch made Ian feel, less than the sickly man he was. He managed a smile at her. “I will only be able to steal half as much now.”
The cook shook her head. “That I doubt.” She made shooing motions with both hands. “Go on now. Sit outside with the lovely lass. I will send ye some tarts in a bit. I know how ye like them.”
Once outside, he took a deep breath. The warm afternoon sun was enough to dispel the chill. He was instantly glad that Ceilidh had insisted on this. Although a bit breathless, he wasn’t ready to sit. Instead, he stood and looked to the courtyard. As per usual, there was plenty of activity.
Women were gathered in circles outside tents that had been set up for them. Some mended, while others tended to young children. The stable master and his helpers stood by the corrals talking as they watched over the horses.
Although he couldn’t see the guards practicing, the sounds of metal clashing came from the side courtyard.
Atop the walls, archers and guardsmen stood. Some intensely keeping watch while others moved about looking into the courtyard. Keeping guard was an important job, but it could get extremely boring.
“Ye could do that,” Ceilidh said. “Tis work that does not require two arms.”
“And how would I defend if enemies come?”
Her shoulders lifted and lowered. “Ye could defend the gate with yer sword. Ye are right handed are ye not?”
Despite a bit of embarrassment at her so openly pointing out his lack of a limb, he nodded.
“And ye can push ladders away from the wall. Ye can…”
“Ye have made yer point,” he interrupted and turned his attention away from her. “Ye do not have to remain with me. One of the lads will do.”
Her eyes twinkled and her lips curved, making him want to kiss her soundly. “I am going to trim yer beard and cut yer hair. Once that is done, I will let ye be.”
Ian started to argue, but decided against it. The idea of her so close to his face had merit.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After having sent everyone out, only Malcolm, his brothers, uncle and four council members remained in the great room.
Just as they began to discuss the message sent by Laird McLeod, Aiden entered and sat to listen. If he was the one who’d double-crossed them as Malcolm suspected, he didn’t want the man present. However, being a member of the family, Aiden was in his right to be there.
“Laird McLeod has once again requested a truce. There is not a request for the return of the girl. Not in writing,” Gregor informed those present.
Kieran huffed. “Tis not time yet. My father’s killer remains alive.”
“And yet by continuing to battle, it is perhaps more difficult to kill him,” Tristan said. “He is elusive and does not often face us in battle.”
“I agree,” Malcolm said. “If we stop fighting, we can concentrate on finding Ethan McLeod. He will pay for what he did.” Fury began to build and he pushed it away. He had to think about his people and the effect of the clan wars on them.
When the council members began talking at once, Gregor held up a hand. “Winter will be here soon. Tis best to have at least a temporary truce
in place.”
Malcolm nodded. “The messenger brought a verbal plea for the woman’s release directly from Alec McLeod. Not that it matters to me what he wants, but I do not see any reason to continue to keep her here.”
“If she matters to him, she should remain,” Kieran said.
“To what end?” Tristan asked. “She did nothing except come and plead for a truce. We killed her brother.”
At the silence, Malcolm spoke. “A small party will go with my uncle to the McLeods to discuss the terms of our truce. The lass will travel with them.”
He looked to Kieran and then to Tristan. “Tristan, ye, ten and four of yer best men go at first light.”
Kieran stood and stormed from the room. Malcolm watched him leave, deciding he’d speak to his brother later.
Although it was understandable for Kieran to harbor so much fury over their father’s death, he had to be made to understand that he alone would be the one to put the final strike and see to it that Ethan McLeod was dead. It would be the only way to sate his youngest brother’s fury.
He stood and stretched, planning to go in search of Elspeth.
“Tis a bad idea and ye know it,” Aiden said, coming to stand beside him. “Why a truce when our vengeance is not complete?”
“Our vengeance?” Malcolm met his cousin’s gaze. “Since when do ye fight with us?”
Aiden huffed and gave him a droll look. “I tire of having to prove myself to ye and yer brothers. No matter what I do, tis never enough.”
It was pointless to list the number of times Aiden had found excuses for not going to battle. He’d even gone to the extreme of lagging behind and remaining in the forest until the battles were well over. At that time, he’d appear and sit on the sidelines pretending to have fought.
Instead, Malcolm shrugged. “If we go to battle again, ye will lead the guard. I have not seen ye fight in a long time.”
“What do ye mean?” Aiden had the audacity to shove him backward. “I am as much a warrior as any man in this room.”
A Heartless Laird Page 17