by Ruth Langan
A voice sounded from so far away he could not make out the words. But from the soft, muted tones, from the low, husky whisper, he knew it was Meredith’s voice. Calling him. Calling out to him from a lifetime away. He lifted a hand and tried to reach her, to answer her, to tell her that he was sorry he had failed her, that even now he would find a way to come for her. But his hand dropped weakly to the linens that covered him. He would rest awhile, to gather his strength so that he could plan his escape from this eternal damnation. One thought burned in his mind. He dare not rest until Meredith was safely away from MacKenzie and returned to Kinloch House. There she would be safe. There she would be loved.
Loved.
Aye. Though he would never have admitted it in life, he loved her. Loved her as he loved Jamie. Loved her more than he had thought it possible to love any woman. More than himself.
A dipper of cool water was forced between his lips. He swallowed and accepted another before turning his head away. A cool damp cloth was pressed to his forehead and he felt a moment’s respite from the burning heat.
His lids flickered open and he found himself staring into green eyes the color of a Highland lake.
“Meredith.”
His lips formed the word though no sound issued from his throat.
She smiled and he thought there would never again be anything as wonderful as her smile. As dazzling as the sun on a summer’s afternoon. As warm and comforting as a fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
A hundred questions danced through his brain, begging to be answered. How had she escaped MacKenzie’s clutches? Was the attacking army still here at Kinloch House, holding her prisoner in this very room? His heart stopped. Or was she also dead? Had she been allowed this one visit before entering heaven?
Though his lips moved, the words were scrambled, making no sense. All he could manage was a weak croak.
“Rest now,” she whispered, touching a hand to his cheek.
She was merely a vision, he realized. A lovely, ethereal vision.
His lids lowered. Though the fire raged on, he felt at peace. Anything could be endured, even hell, as long as he was granted an occasional glimpse of Meredith’s beloved face.
“How does he fare?”
Angus tiptoed into the chamber and peered over Meredith’s shoulder as she changed the dressing on Brice’s back.
“He seems to slip in and out of this world,” she whispered. “I fear he does not as yet comprehend where he is or who is with him.”
“He is a strong man, my lady.” Angus touched a hand to her shoulder and was reminded of how small, how frail, she was. Yet beneath her frailty he had witnessed enormous strength of will. Everyone in Kinloch House spoke in admiring tones of the way Lady Meredith MacAlpin tended their leader, refusing to leave his side even to take her meals. She slept curled up beside him, and ate whatever the servants brought her. And all of her waking moments were spent applying fresh poultices and changing his dressings, and seeing to his every need.
Jamie MacDonald had become her most loyal admirer. To the lad she was more than a great lady; she was a saint. He had told everyone who would listen how Meredith had encouraged him to sleep beside Brice for the first two nights, until he was convinced that his hero would not succumb if he left him. And although Jamie had now returned to his own chambers, Meredith encouraged him to drop by Brice’s chambers as often as he wished in order to chart the progress Brice made.
“Brice will not easily give up his life, my lady. If he is fated to die he will not do so without putting up a fight.”
She gave Angus a tentative smile. “How can you be so certain?”
“I know him, my lady. As well as I know myself. Brice is a warrior.”
“Aye. And from the looks of both of you, there was great damage inflicted upon the other side. How do your wounds heal, Angus?” She glanced at the fresh dressings that bound his head, a sign of the loving care administered by Mistress Snow.
“The pain has nearly subsided. Now it only feels as if someone has buried an ax in my head.”
Meredith laughed and Angus was pleased to know that he had managed to bring a smile to her lips.
What drove the lady? What caused her to stay by the side of a man who had taken her away from everything she loved? Was she suffering guilt because her own people had taken sides with the MacKenzies? Or was there some deeper emotion involved?
Angus glanced at the man who lay upon the pallet. So still. So pale. The two had been inseparable since childhood. Angus had never questioned the goodness of Brice Campbell. He had been privileged to witness Brice’s kind deeds a thousand times. But this woman? What did she know of Brice and his way of life? How was it that she had, after only a glimpse into Brice’s life, decided to trust him, to care for him?
“Do not fear for him. Brice will respond to your tender ministrations, my lady. That other life that tugs at him will give up its hold over him. He will come back to us.”
Meredith gave Angus a grateful look.
At a knock on the door they both turned and watched as Mistress Snow entered, followed by a serving girl carrying a tray.
“This is the broth you ordered, my lady.” Mistress Snow directed the servant where to set the tray, then turned to study Meredith, noting her pale features, accentuated by the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. “If you do not soon rest you will be joining my lord Campbell in a sickbed.”
“I am fine.” Meredith knelt and tasted the broth before nodding her approval to the servant. “Are the wounded below stairs beginning to heal?”
“Aye, my lady.” The housekeeper chanced a glance at Angus before adding softly, “Though it has been a difficult task to keep some of them in bed long enough. Already some,” she said, staring meaningfully at the man who faced her with a grin, “are determined to begin repairs on Kinloch House before their wounds have even begun to heal.”
“I heard the sound of axes in the forest and trees being felled. I thought perhaps only necessary repairs were being made.”
“Necessary.” Mistress Snow gave a hollow laugh. “If Angus had his way, the castle would be as good as new before Brice had a chance to view the destruction left by the MacKenzies.”
“It will cause him pain to know that his ancestral home has been burned by Lowlanders,” Angus said softly. “I would spare my old friend any more suffering. And now I must go below and see to those repairs.”
When he left the room, Meredith glanced at the housekeeper, who was staring at the closed door with a look of concern. “I know that you fear Angus is pushing himself and the others beyond their limits. But it is how a man deals with his feelings of hopelessness. With their leader cut down, and the enemy beyond their reach, they have a need to do something that is physically punishing.”
“How did a sheltered woman like yourself learn such things?” The housekeeper watched as Meredith dipped the spoon into the bowl of broth.
“My father was a peace-loving man. But he was also a warrior.” Meredith held the spoon to Brice’s lips and watched as he swallowed the first trickle of broth. “Each time he was forced to recover from battle wounds inflicted by the English, he quickly undertook a difficult, draining task. My mother explained that it was a necessary part of healing.”
“Your mother was a wise woman.” Mistress Snow gave a loud sigh. “As for me, I would prefer to take Angus to bed and find a gentler way of healing.”
When she realized what she had revealed, the housekeeper blushed to the tips of her toes. “Oh, my lady. Forgive me for my lapse.”
Meredith’s laughter rang through the room. “Oh, Mistress Snow. If you could but see your face.”
“I—must see to the scullery,” the woman said, hurrying to the door to escape her humiliation. “I will send Cara to see to your needs.”
When the door closed behind her, Meredith shook her head and continued to laugh. Then, filling the spoon with more broth, she cradled Brice’s head in her lap and forced a small amount of the liquid b
etween his lips.
It was the sound of Meredith’s laughter that seemed to penetrate the fog that shrouded Brice’s mind. The sound trilled like the gentle warble of a bird. There was no mistaking it. It was truly the beautiful Meredith, come once more to visit him in this place of misery.
He felt his head being lifted gently, as it was placed upon her lap. He inhaled the steaming broth as the spoon was placed to his lips. He tasted its delicate flavor as the liquid slid down his throat, warming, soothing. His parched throat was eased and he gratefully accepted a second spoonful.
From beneath slightly open lids he watched as she cradled his head in her lap and bent over him, intent upon her task. Her hair swirled forward, the silken strands brushing his hand. As she dipped the spoon once more in the bowl, she leaned forward slightly. He felt the imprint of her breasts and experienced a rush of heat that left him flushed and weak.
Now it was no longer the fragrance of the broth that filled his senses. It was the clean delicate fragrance of pine and wildflowers that seemed to surround her. He inhaled, filling himself with her scent, wishing he could fill himself with her.
She brought the spoon to his lips and he opened his mouth, accepting the broth. When he swallowed, the warm liquid snaked through his veins, giving him precious strength.
Again and again she fed him, grateful that he no longer fought her. It was the first time he had willingly accepted nourishment. When at last, unable to take more, he pushed her hand away, she glanced down and realized that he was watching her.
The spoon dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. It lay there forgotten.
“Oh, Brice. At last you are awake.”
“Am I?” On his face was a dreamy half smile. “I was afraid you were a ghostly specter, my lady.”
“I am no ghost.”
He glanced around, trying to focus his blurred vision. “Where are we?”
“In your sitting chamber at Kinloch House.”
“Truly?”
“Aye. Truly.” She laughed and laid his head back against a pillow of fur.
He wanted to tell her that he preferred to have his head in her lap. But it was proving difficult to keep his thoughts from scattering. And even more difficult to put them into words.
After a prolonged silence he murmured, “I dreamed I was in hell. And there were flames all about me.”
“There was a fire. Gareth MacKenzie ordered his men to set torches to your home. But after the invading army left, your people were able to put out the flames.”
“And you.” Brice lifted a hand to her cheek. Even that small effort cost him. But it was worth it to satisfy himself that she was truly here and not just a vision. “I feared that MacKenzie had spirited you away and had forced you to wed him.”
“Nay, my lord. I hid myself from view. Had I been braver I would have faced him with naught but my dirk. But like a coward I hid beneath your bed until he and his men were gone.”
“You? A coward?” At her words he wanted to laugh, but his throat was too raw. He lay there letting strong new emotions wash over him.
“And I have been here with you since. Even though I feared I had lost you.” She felt tears fill her eyes and spill over onto her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them. Instead she cupped his beloved face in her hands and studied him through the filmy haze. “Oh, Brice. I am so relieved that you have come back to the land of the living.”
“Are you? Did you miss me?”
When she merely nodded he felt his heart soar to the heavens. “Maybe that is what saved me. Knowing that it was you I was coming back to.” He caught her hands and held them in a death grip. “Do not leave me, little firebrand. Promise me that when I again awaken you will be here.”
She would promise him anything at this moment. Anything. “I will not leave you, Brice.”
His lids flickered, then closed. The hands holding hers slid down and dropped heavily against the linens. His breathing became soft and easy.
For endless minutes Meredith merely knelt beside him and watched as he slept.
Alive. Brice was alive. Truly alive. And for the first time since he had sustained his mortal wound in battle, she was convinced that he would not only survive but return to his former strength.
Suddenly she was exhausted beyond belief. The rush of energy she had experienced when he had first spoken was now slipping from her. All the long days and nights of nursing Brice through his ordeal were now beginning to take their toll. Her limbs were heavy. She felt light-headed. Her eyes yearned to close. She was drained. Drained of all strength. Drained of all thought.
With a sigh that welled up from deep within her Meredith curled up beside him and joined him in sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Brice lay very still, fighting a wave of pain. His shoulder throbbed. His side ached. And something that resembled a flaming torch pierced his upper back.
He tried to roll over but there was a heaviness in his right arm and for one breathless moment he thought it might have been severed in the battle. His eyes snapped open and relief flooded through him as he gazed in wonder at the figure curled up alongside him.
Meredith lay facing him, her head pillowed on his arm, her hands resting lightly at his chest. Her hair spilled across the linens, a dark splash of color against stark white. Her breathing was slow, steady.
In these few moments before she awoke he took the time to study her. When had this fierce little woman taken over his life? How had she come to mean so much to him?
His men, on their frequent visits to his chambers, had relayed how she had ignored the threat of fire to stay with him, how she had stood up to Angus and Jamie when they had suspected her of aiding in his murder. Even the servants never seemed to tire of praising the way Meredith had protected him as fiercely as any she wolf during his recovery.
He had kidnapped her only as an act of defiance against the MacKenzies. It had been his intention to use her to flush out Gareth, and then to return her to her own people.
But now? Now he could not imagine being without her. Her presence filled these rooms, his home, his very life. And though he knew that her heart lay in the Lowlands, he yearned to change her mind.
If she returned his feelings, he reasoned, she would choose to stay here with him always.
If he truly cared for her, a little voice within him whispered, he would want only her happiness.
He did not love her. He could not. She was a lady, born and bred for the gentle life. And he was a Highlander, a barbarian.
But he did love her.
Love. Why was it never simple?
He had not meant to love her. And surely a woman like Meredith MacAlpin could never love the man who had stolen her freedom.
Meredith’s lids flickered, then opened. For a moment she was strangely disoriented. The eyes staring back at her were dark, narrowed in thought.
Brice watched as the last clouds of sleep were blinked away and reality set in.
Brice. She had fallen asleep practically in his arms. And though she was fully clothed, he had little more than a strip of cloth for modesty. As she realized where she was, Meredith pushed herself away from him and sat up.
He studied the flush that colored her cheeks, and noted the guarded look that came into her eyes. Wonder of wonders. This same bold woman who had stripped him of his clothes and tended to his wounds with all the skill and care of the queen’s physician, was now suddenly shy with him. Her reaction was oddly appealing.
Her hair fell in a tangle of curls and she dragged a hand through, pushing it away from her face.
“How do you feel this morning?” She tried not to stare at the dark mat of hair that covered his chest, or at the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders. For days he had been a mortal wound to be healed; today he was much more. Today he was a man.
“Like any man who just awoke with a beautiful woman in his arms.”
“I did not mean to…I had not intended…”
“Meredi
th.” He chuckled, low and deep in his throat, and reached out a hand to her chin, forcing her to meet his dark gaze. “It brings me comfort to know that, despite my grave wounds, my manhood is still intact.”
Her face flamed. Scrambling to her feet she retorted, “I will see about some food. You have grown extremely weak in the days you have been recovering.”
“I feel far from weak at this moment. And it is not food I crave.”
She turned at the door. Arching a brow she shot him a haughty look. “I will speak to Mistress Snow about sending a Highland wench to see to your needs. There may be an old crone about the place who will not find you too offensive.”
As she flounced from the room Brice lay back and gave in to a roar of laughter. The woman had fire. It was one of the many things he loved about her.
“Where are you off to?” Brice lay weakly against the cushions and watched as Meredith drew a warm cape over her gown.
“I ride with Angus to view the repairs being done to the homes nearby.”
He nodded, oddly pleased that Meredith would take such an interest in the fate of his people. When she left in a flurry of cloak and bonnet he lay back and closed his eyes, annoyed at the weakness that kept him from taking charge as he had always done.
Angus had told him about Meredith’s many kindnesses to the Highlanders who had been made homeless by Gareth MacKenzie’s invaders. While the men repaired the burned-out cottages, the women and children had been made comfortable in Kinloch House. Meredith had given Mistress Snow permission to use whatever was left in the burned-out storehouse to see that everyone was given enough food and clothing. The refectory had become an open kitchen to all.
Brice lay back, listening to the sounds of activity. The forest rang with axes felling trees for new cottages. Below stairs was the bleat of a newborn babe. In the courtyard the women called to one another as they hung their clothes to dry. The halls resounded with the barking of the hounds as they romped with the children who seemed to fill every room. The sound of their joyous laughter was everywhere.