Col sighed and scrubbed his face. “Aye, if I can rouse her enough to take it.”
Fergus went to the fire to build it up and then lit some candles as the light was fading fast and the temperature outside dropping. Summer was a memory as they passed into autumn.
“Ye want some help with the lass?” asked Fergus, coming to his side after pulling the curtains across the window.
“Aye, if you’ll put another pillow behind her, while I hold her up?”
Fergus did as he asked, and he lifted Aihan higher, careful to keep the clothes covering her upper body in place, settling her against the pillows.
“Where ye fixing to sleep, milord?”
“Here,” said Col shortly. “I cannae leave her alone in this state, her breathing’s too troubled. I’ll no sleep much anyways.”
Fergus headed to the door but looked back and said, “The lads are fair riled up about this, ye ken.”
“Aye, I’ll speak to them tomorrow, when I hope she’ll be faring better. But ye needn’t be thinking I mean the lass anyharm. She’s ill, I’m not the sort of man to take advantage of that!”
“I ken that right well, milord,” said Fergus roughly.
“It’s a pity my own son doesnae think so well of me!”
“It ain’t that so much as it being yer marriage bed, milord.”
“Where else was I to put her? We have no other beds beyond the Daffodil Room, and she burnt the bluidy mattress from that one. There wasnae time to make a new one!”
“I ken, I ken,” said Fergus soothingly.
Col breathed out slowly and nodded. “Thank ye, Fergus, ye’re a good man.”
Fergus gave him a lopsided smile and whistled to the dogs. “I’ll feed em for ye,” he said, and left the room followed by the canines. Col looked at Aihan, still breathing sluggishly, her eyes closed.
She looked thin and fragile, lying against the pillows. Her temperature seemed lower; she had stopped her terrible shuddering. Removing the damp cloths, he ran a towel over her body lightly to dry it, and then pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.
She stirred and opened her strange dark eyes and blinked at him.
“Sceacháin,” she murmured, her voice still hoarse and low.
“Col,” he said roughly. “Do ye care for a little sustenance, lass?” He offered the bowl of broth.
She swallowed as if her throat hurt and whispered, “Thirsty.”
He put the bowl down and offered her some of the honey and lemon water. She took several mouthfuls before the coughing stopped her again.
The coughing was painful to listen to and Col flinched at the sound, offering her a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes. She took it, blowing her nose and wiping her face.
“Let it be a lesson to ye, lass, nae to set fire to things when ye cannae get away from the smoke!” he chided gently.
She blinked at him miserably, and he took her hand and squeezed it in sympathy. A more woebegone sight he’d seldom seen.
“Thank ye,” she managed again.
He smiled at her careful copying of his intonation. She’d be getting a Scottish accent to her English. Could he teach her the Gaelic or was that a step too far?
He held out the bowl and spoon again. “Can ye manage a sup, lass?”
She nodded, and he sat on the bed to feed her. By the look in her widened eyes, this surprised her. But she accepted the teaspoon he held out and swallowed slowly.
She smiled. “Good,” she said.
