Chapter One
“She’s stirring,” cameAunt Brighid’s relieved voice from her left. “Just now. I saw it. Her eyelashes fluttered.”
“It could be she but dreams,” Aaron grumbled from off to her right. “Ye’ve a way of seeing what ye want to see, lass.”
“Och, nay, I saw what I saw,” Brighid assured. “Our lassie is coming to.” A cool hand touched her forehead. “She doesnae have a fever. That is verra good.”
“She hasnae had a fever since he brought her here,” he reminded. “So I dinnae know why ye keep looking for one.”
Who brought her where?Rona struggled to open her eyes but remained immersed in darkness. Not the best place to be when Brighid and Aaron bantered. They could drive a person mad. She knew the source of it, though. The two had loved each other for years but knew naught how to express it beyond bickering.
“See, she just fluttered her lashes again,” Brighid exclaimed. “Clear as day.”
“I didnae see a thing,” Aaron admonished. “She’s as still as dew on morning grass.”
“Still as dew on grass?” Brighid snorted. “’Tis not still if ye’re trompin’ through it.”
“And I am nae stompin' through it,” he huffed, “so ‘tis, in fact, verra much still.”
“And what of the wind blowing the grass?” Brighid scoffed. “It moves the grass and in turn the dew so ‘tis not still then, aye?”
Please, let her wake up. Or at the very least slumber.Anything but this. The good Lord knew they could go on for hours. In answer to her prayers, a third very masculine voice came to her rescue.
“Ye should let the wee lass rest, aye?”
“And ye shouldnae be in here,” Brighid chastised. “’Tis indecent.”
“No more indecent than getting her undressed and into my bed.”
Undressed?
Hisbed?
Whowashe?
“Och,” Brighid muttered. “’Twas most certainly indecent, Laird MacLauchlin.”
