From what Willow could see the shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, but blood still trickled from a wound to her side. She needed to get both cleaned before she could see what damage it had left.
Willow looked to her husband. “Lift her gently and place her on the bed just as gently.”
Slatter took hold of his grandmother’s hand before taking her in his arms. “You must get well, Seanmhair. I want to you meet Willow not only the woman who will heal you, but my wife.”
The older woman’s eyes fluttered madly, trying desperately to open them.
“Heal, Seanmhair, heal, so that you can meet the beautiful woman I married,” he said and gently lifted her in his arms.
Once on the bed, Willow went to work, sending Slatter to collect snow in a bucket and melt it by the fire. When he returned and placed the snow-filled bucket by the hearth, she took his hand and stepped over by the door.
She spoke in a whisper to him. “The shoulder wound isn’t too deep and has stopped bleeding. I have some, hopefully enough, sphagnum moss to pack the wound. It’s the side wound that concerns me, though I believe if seared, she may survive. I have some fluellen to help treat her fever, but I fear it will not be enough. Do you have a healer at your home?”
“No, there is no healer there, and not much of a home either,” Slatter admitted.
“I’ll do my best, but if we got her to my home, she’d have a better chance of surviving. For now, I need your help in getting her out of those bloody garments and searing the wound.”
“Whatever you need from me,” he said, thinking he might not have any choice but to take her to Willow’s home and if his grandmother knew the consequences to him if he did that, she would tell him to let her die. And he would not let that happen.
Willow couldn’t get over the tenderness of her husband toward his grandmother or how he shared her pain, his face grimacing every time she winced. But that was not all she saw in his dark eyes. She saw anger bubbling there and it was obvious that a time would come when he would find the one who did this to his grandmother and she had no doubt he would kill the culprit.
When the time came to sear the wound closed, Slatter bent over his grandmother, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry to cause you more pain.”
Willow took hold of the old woman’s hand and was surprised at the strength of the fingers that locked tight around hers.
The old woman let out a cry and her eyes opened wide and before a faint grabbed hold of her, her eyes found her grandson, and she smiled.
“I’m going to kill the bastard that did this to her,” Slatter said as if committing to a vow that would be kept at all cost.
“Help me get her settled comfortably before she wakes and suffers more pain from us moving her,” Willow said and Slatter didn’t hesitate to help.
When they finished, Slatter sat beside his grandmother on the bed, holding her hand while Willow went through her healing pouch to see what she had left.
“What’s wrong?” Slatter asked, catching the troubled look on his wife’s face.
“I have less than I thought to help your grandmother. I gave most of what I had to Roanna for Erna and to Crofton for his grandmother. Sara needs more than I have to help her heal and her healing is going to take time. She will need attention and care, and she is not safe here. What if the culprit returns?”
“I have thought the same myself, though what I can’t understand is why someone would do this to her.” He shook his head.
“Something else bothers you,” Willow said, seeing the troubling look in his dark eyes.
Slatter looked down at his grandmother, sleeping peacefully, and though he should be relieved, he wasn’t. She was far too pale and looked more like death had claimed her than healing sleep.
He turned to his wife. “As you see for yourself, my grandmother is a wee bit of a thing. She couldn’t defend herself against a warrior let alone one with a weapon.” He chuckled. “Not that she wouldn’t try. She’s a feisty one.”
Willow heard not only the pride he had for his grandmother but the obvious love he had for her.
“So why two wounds? Why not one wound that would end her life? Unless…” He let his words drift off and let his thoughts simmer before speaking again. “Unless there was something he had wanted from her. The wounds weren’t meant to kill. They were intended to make her surrender whatever it was this person wanted. But what?” He scanned the small room. “Nothing looks to have been touched and she has nothing of worth.”
“Your grandmother can tell you all as soon as she wakes.”
“Will she wake?” Slatter asked.
“I wish I could tell you she will do well, but I honestly don’t know. She has grown warmer to the touch from when I first felt her brow and I don’t have enough of the leaves to brew what she needs, or clean cloth to dress her wounds properly.”
“Could she survive the two-day journey to your home?” he asked, his glance going to his grandmother. “I could fashion a carrier for the horse to pull. We could bundle her in blankets.”
“It wouldn’t be wise to drag her through the snow. She needs rest. Let’s see how she fairs in a day or two.”
Willow got busy preparing a brew from the few leaves she did have, hoping it was enough to help until they could get more. When she finished, she searched the small room for food and found some root vegetables stored in a basket. They would be enough to make a soup, one that would serve the old woman well.
She cast a glance at Slatter every now and then. He remained by his grandmother’s side, holding her hand as if sharing his strength with her. He may have debated her a time or two over whether he was kind or not, but seeing him now confirmed to Willow that kindness did reside in him and love as well. Not that he would admit it.
He was a man who would be a good husband… only if a wife could trust him not to lie.
It was over an hour later when Willow was bending over the hearth, stirring the soup that bubbled in the pot over the flames, that her husband came up behind her and slipped his arm around her waist to turn her to face him.
“I owe you much,” he said, gently pushing the long strand of her dark red hair away from her eye to tuck behind her ear.
“You owe me nothing. It is I—”
He pressed his finger to her lips, stopping her from speaking. “You are a good woman, mo ghaol—” He paused, letting the words that followed remain in his thoughts… and you deserve a good man. “I am forever grateful to you for looking after my grandmother.”
Willow smiled softly. “She’s my grandmother now too.”
“Aye, that she is,” Slatter said and wished that could be so.
He almost shook his head at the thought. He couldn’t keep thinking this way. He couldn’t keep getting used to having her with him. He couldn’t allow himself to believe he was falling in love with her. If he did, he’d never let her go.
Willow gently rubbed at the deep crease in his brow. “Do not worry so. We will take good care of her.”
We.
She did the healing but she talked as if they did it together, a couple, a pair, a husband and wife. How was it that he felt so joined with this woman? Or how was it he felt that she belonged to him and that he belonged to her, and that no other should ever come between them?
He was sounding like Lander when he talked about Slatter’s mum. The man had commented time and again how he had lost all common sense and sane reasoning when he had met Blair. Slatter would often laugh and Lander would chuckle and say wait until it happens to you.
Had it happened to him?
A moan from Sara had them both rushing to her side and when Willow felt her head, worry twisted her stomach. Fever had set in.
“Fill the bucket with snow,” she ordered Slatter and he didn’t hesitate to do as she said.
As soon as he returned Willow placed handfuls of snow on her forehead and around her neck. “My mother did this a few times when fevers got high. I hope this helps to keep the fever aw
ay.”
Slatter looked at his grandmother, fearful for her as she lay there as if lifeless. He rested a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder and she turned to look up at him with worry in her green eyes. He wasn’t sure who the worry was for, his grandmother or him?
“I need to leave for a bit,” he said and wasn’t surprised that Willow seemed to expect it.
“You’re going to see if the culprit still lingers about. I had the same thought.” The worry grew in her eyes. “You will take care.”
“Is that an order, wife?’ he asked with a teasing grin.
“Aye, it is and you’ll obey if you know what’s good for you,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes that seemed relieved to share a light moment with him.
He folded his arms across his chest. “And what’s my reward for this obedience?”
The twinkle left her eyes replaced by a loving softness he feared he could drown in.
“Welcome arms, a warm hug, and a kiss,” she said, a reward she would favor herself.
He was speechless for a moment, then he leaned down to bring his face close to hers and said, “For such a fine reward I would battle the devil himself.” He brushed his lips over hers, then grabbed his cloak off the chair, and turned when he reached the door and returned to her, pulling his dagger from its sheath at his waist as he did. “If it’s the devil who walks through that door and not me, use this on him.”
Willow took it, nodded, and sent a silent prayer to the heavens as he closed the door behind him that she wouldn’t have to battle the devil today.
She returned her attention to Sara and wondered about the woman. Why did she live so isolated from family? Why didn’t she make her home with her grandson? Could she be hiding from something or someone? If she was, Slatter certainly wouldn’t have had knowledge of it, since he would have seen to the matter post haste.
Willow shook her head. Sometimes she cursed the way her mind worked, always looking for reason, always trying to make sense of things. She wished she could let some things be, not question or probe to find a reason behind it, not be practical.
A smile hurried to spread across her face. She certainly hadn’t been practical when she chose to stay with Slatter rather than go with Tarass’s warriors, though she tried to convince herself otherwise. She questioned it at times, but hadn’t regretted it.
The problem now was that the more time she spent with her husband, the more time she wanted to spend with him. A dread filled her when she thought of them parting, of never seeing him again, and yet, what other recourse was there for them? And what of how easily he lied? How could she spend her life with a man whose tongue she constantly questioned?
So many hurdles for them to cross, perhaps too many.
With her smile gone, she returned to working on Sara, applying more snow as it began to melt. She was relieved when the snow chased the fever. But how long it would keep it at bay, she didn’t know.
It wasn’t long before she was pacing the floor in front of the fireplace, wondering what was keeping Slatter. Had he run into the culprit? Could he be in trouble? Or was it worry that had her thinking he’d been gone longer than he truly had been?
What if something happened to him? What would she do? How would she get Sara to safety? She shook her head. There was no point wasting worry on something that had yet to happen. Besides, having seen how skillful a warrior her husband was there was no reason for her to think something bad may have happened to him.
Unfortunately, that did not stop her worries. They lingered, poking and pricking at her like the thorny bush she had gotten caught in while hiding from the battle that had started this adventure.
A moan drew her attention and she went to Sara’s side and saw that she shivered. It could be from the snow or the fever could be working its way through her. She decided to see if she could get some soup into the woman.
She filled a wooden bowl with the hot liquid and after grabbing a wooden spoon, she went and sat beside Sara. She was careful to let each spoonful cool some before gently placing it at her lips to dribble in. Once Sara tasted it, she lapped at it eagerly. A good sign that brought a smile to Willow’s face.
She was just wiping at Sara’s face when she heard someone at the door. She hurried to exchange the bowl for the dagger on the table all the while praying for it to be Slatter who walked through the door.
The door swung open and for a moment, she wasn’t sure who stood there. The hood of the dark cloak was pulled too far down for her to see the person’s face and the cloak was covered with snow.
The hood was suddenly tossed back and Willow’s hand fell away from the dagger with relief.
“The snowfall makes it impossible to see much and covers whatever tracks there might have been,” Slatter said, after closing the door and was quick to shed his cloak and hang it on the peg in the wall. He went straight to the fire, stretching his hands out to warm them. “How does my grandmother do?”
Willow wanted to run into his arms, let him know how relieved she was that he had returned safely, hug him tight, feel his arms wrap around her, but he had sought the fire’s warmth not hers. And she can’t say she wasn’t disappointed, foolish as it felt.
“The snow has eased her fever and though she hasn’t fully woken yet, I was able to feed her some soup, which she eagerly ate.”
“That is good to hear,” he said, rubbing his hands together vigorously.
“I’ll get you a bowl of soup. It will help warm you.”
He turned to her. “Not before I get my reward. Knowing I would claim it upon my return, did much to keep me warm in the cold.” He spread his arms out to her. “Come to me, mo ghaol.”
Her heart seemed to flutter in her chest and she lost all common sense every time he called her my love. He sounded so sincere and it was far too intoxicating to ignore. Besides, she had promised him a reward.
Poor excuse, Willow, poor excuse. You just want to be in his arms.
Her admonishing thoughts couldn’t have been more right, and she eagerly went into his arms.
A chill still lingered in him, seeping into her as soon as she pressed her body against his, but his hands were warm when they came to rest at her back as he hugged her tight against him.
She was home.
A crazy thought, and yet, it felt right. She was at home in his arms. He held her with strength and confidence, and with a possessiveness that let one know he’d never let her go. Which was fine with her, since she was right where she wanted to be.
Their eyes held briefly, “I’ll have that kiss now.”
“And I’ll gladly give it to you,” she whispered and brought her lips to rest on his.
Slatter assumed that she changed her mind when her lips made no move to actually kiss him. When suddenly, as if released from a trance, her lips delivered a stunning kiss that had him quickly responding.
It was as if something had broken free in her. That she threw caution to the wind without a second thought. That she kissed him with a passion that was new to her. That she kissed without doubt or reserve.
He ran his hand down along the curve of her back, craving that small touch of intimacy, warning himself not to go any farther, reminding himself it wasn’t the time nor the place. But there was an ache in him he didn’t know he had and it grew every time he touched his wife. It could be the simple way her fingers wrapped around his hand when he took hold of hers, as if she welcomed him home. Or the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. Or how he had never truly tasted passion until he had kissed her.
Aye, there was an ache in him. An ache for a woman he could never have.
He ended their kiss with a tender tug of her bottom lip, fighting with himself to let go of her.
“I’m not the right man for you, leannan,” he whispered.
The kiss had stolen her breath and though she didn’t want to admit, had tried to ignore it, deny it, she feared he had stolen her heart.
“Isn’t that for me to decide,” she found herself sayin
g.
“Trust me when I tell you that I’m no good for you.” he stepped away from her.
“You can’t tell me you’re not a good man, not after I’ve seen you suffer along with your grandmother or how I’ve seen the fear of losing her spark in your eyes.”
He turned a deep scowl on her. “I’ve asked for your trust when it was most important. It’s more important now than ever that you trust me on this. You would regret remaining my wife.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Is it that I’m too plain for you, you don’t find me appealing? Or perhaps I’m not strong enough. Is it a more courageous woman you want? Or is it that I’m a virgin and wouldn’t know how to satisfy a man as experienced in poking as you are?”
Willow’s eyes shot wide and she jumped. But she had no time to move, her husband was upon her so fast, his hand at the back of her neck gripping it firmly. And anger simmered in his dark, fathomless eyes.
“Hear me well, wife, I see a timeless beauty every time I look upon you. Most times I cannot take my eyes from you or have a thought in my head that doesn’t include you.” He stopped and a growl-like sound rumbled from him before he continued. “And you appeal to me like no other woman and you have since I first laid eyes on you. Strong? Courageous? I’ve met no woman that can compare with your strength and courage.” He lowered his face closer to hers. “I believe I told you once that it wouldn’t be a poke I’d give you. We’d make love and once we did, I’d never let you go.”
His mouth came down on hers in a punishing kiss, almost as if he was trying to frighten her away, but it didn’t work, not after hearing his last few words.
I’d never let you go.
His kiss stopped abruptly and that’s when Willow heard Sara moaning.
His hand released her as soon as she turned and he followed her to the bed.
“Her fever rises again,” Willow said, her hand on the old woman’s brow.
Slatter reached the bucket before he finished saying, “I’ll get more snow.”
It was a difficult night. They took turns watching over his grandmother. They got little sleep, but when the day dawned, her fever had broken, leaving them both much relieved, though not completely worry free. Willow knew her fever could return and there was still the possibility of her wounds turning putrid. And while she made no mention of it to Slatter, she could tell he was already aware of it.
Desired by a Highlander Page 11