“Was I wrong to come here, my lord? Was I wrong about you?” She watched her fingers as she spoke, unable to look into his eyes.
His hand caught hers, enfolding it with heat. She stared at their joined hands, afraid of what she’d see in his face. If he said no to her now, it would somehow be worse. A no from Drake had been terrible, but a no from this man would devastate her.
“Please,” she said softly. “Don’t let me be wrong.”
His hand tightened briefly on hers, then fell away.
“Aye, I’ll go to your father.”
Rose sucked in a shaky breath, her hand covering her mouth. When she finally dared to look at him, his eyes were closed. She took his fevered hand in hers and pressed a reverent kiss to his knuckles. His lashes fluttered slightly but did not rise.
“I am in your debt, my lord.”
Chapter 5
When William woke, it was dark again. He’d spent the entire day in a fevered haze, hovering on the edge of delirium. The only thing that kept him from giving in to it was his lovely healer. She was a lodestone, drawing him back with the cool touch of her hands and her soothing voice when the world grew confusing and hazy. For the first time since he lay hands on Ailis, the blinding pain in his head was gone and he could breathe deeply. His hand went to his throat. The swelling was gone and his skin was cool. His hand dropped back to the bed in relief. It could have been worse.
Rose lay on a rush mat before the fire. He stared through the gloom, wondering if she was awake. When had she last slept? He felt odd—restless and discontented. And all because of her. He started to throw back the bedding and was surprised to find himself undressed. He looked again to his little healer. He must have been very ill to forget that.
Something else pricked at his memory. Her hands passing over him, not touching him. She’d done that in the stable as well. She was no mere healer, but something more.
He slung a plaid about his hips and crossed to where she slept by the fire. Only the firelight illuminated her, casting shadows over her face and lighting deep copper fires in her hair. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Dark auburn hair, pale skin, midnight eyes, fine cheekbones, a strong chin and straight nose. She appeared slender and delicate, and yet she was clearly capable of great things. What was he going to do with her? He was loath to send her away, and yet what else could he do?
He crouched beside her and touched a loose lock of hair, pushing it away from her face, as she had done to him the night before. She was a skilled healer to have kept Ailis alive as long as she did. And she’d known just what to do when he’d been choking.
Her eyes flew open. Wild eyes. Terrified eyes.
He drew his hand away slowly. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
She pushed herself to sitting, then backed away, her arisaid sliding from her shoulders. She looked at him as if she feared him. He did not touch her, only watched her silently, waiting. Her gaze scanned the room, confused, before returning to him, this time with recognition. The fear in her eyes disappeared, replaced with weariness and relief. She flexed her shoulders in a small stretch, twisting and grimacing as her back cracked.
“You are much improved,” she said, her gaze still on him, cautious.
He did not stand, remaining at her level. “Aye. It’s only bad in the beginning. Illnesses never tarry in my body.”
Her gaze roved over his chest and lower, then skittered away. “My lord…I’ll leave you so you can dress.”
She started to stand, but he put out a hand. She froze before he touched her, so he drew back. She had not been so wary of him when she’d thought him a mere groom. He didn’t like it, wanted their prior rapport back.
“I wanted to thank you for coming as you did, and clearing my throat and staying with me. I did not deserve your kindness after deceiving you.”
She lifted her midnight eyes to him. They were slightly slanted like a cat’s, with a thick sweep of cinnamon lashes. “It is I who should be thanking you. You are forgiven everything.”
He tapped a thumb to his mouth, frowning at her. This was not right. He was forgetting something. A strange tightness gripped his chest.
“What mean you?”
“You said you would come to Lochlaire and heal my father. What I did for you is paltry payment for such a gift, my lord. Do not for a moment believe I consider my debt paid—”
He stood abruptly. “What did you say? I agreed to heal your father?”
She gazed up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Aye, you did.”
He paced away from her, arms crossed over his chest. “I was feverish, delirious. Why would you take aught I said seriously?”
When she didn’t answer, he turned back. She gazed up at him with such a look of betrayal that he stopped short.
“Because you said you would.”
