“’Tis me, Farlan here, Leith. I will sit wi’ ye a time and speak o’ the old days. Remember when we were lads, the three o’ us—you, me, and Rory? The trouble we would get into wi’ Chief Camraith, and your da also. Remember the time we stole those swords fr’ the armory in order to spar wi’ them and Rory took that dire cut to his thigh? Nearly unmanned him. We refused to tell whose idea it had been, though o’ course ’twas Rory’s own. Most the mischief was. Or remember the great challenge to swim across the loch—”
Rhian let Farlan talk on, spinning his memories while she bustled about. She went out and fetched a basin of water, returned, and set about bathing Leith’s brow, battling against the fever, for she knew very well—
She knew such a fever could steal the life of a man, even one so strong as this.
As she worked, she too listened to Farlan’s tales, and she willed healing into her hands.
*
Someone spoke tohim in a low, persistent voice, the words filling his ears. He knew the voice, felt certain he did. Familiar and comforting, brimming with good connotations. If he thought hard enough, he might put a name to it.
Someone touched him also, though not the same someone. He knew the feel of those hands upon his skin and the very scent of her as she bent low over him.
Hold on for me.
He did so—he held even against the current that wanted to sweep him away.
Each time she touched him—his arm, his hand, his chest, blessing the agony that gripped him—he felt a little frisson of magic. Of healing. It allowed his mind to surface and the breath to fill his lungs more deeply.
“D’ye remember the time we stole that ale from Chief Camraith’s stores? We could no’ ha’ been more than ten. If I recall, that was no’ Rory’s scheme but yer own.”
Leith’s lips moved. “I remember.”
The hands that comforted him froze. Those who kept him company—two persons, surely—became still.
“He spoke,” Rhian said.
Ah, Rhian!His Rhian with the deep blue gaze and the cool hands, and the lips he wanted to kiss for an eternity.
He whispered, “Beautiful lady.”
She laid her hand upon his brow. And suddenly he had the strength to open his eyes.
He saw her just as he’d been imagining her all this while. The perfect oval of her face, the brow now furrowed, as if she worried for somewhat. Those lips, parted slightly. And eyes brimming with beautiful compassion.
He said slowly and clearly so she’d understand, “I held on. For ye.”
A sound drew his gaze to his other side. His friend Farlan hunkered there, wearing a look of wonder.
At the sight of him, Leith smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Och, so ’tis yourself blathering at me.”
“Aye.” Farlan smiled back.
“Tellin’ stories.”
Farlan waggled his head slowly. “Just trying to remind ye of who ye be. No’ a prisoner. No’ a dying man.”
Leith told Farlan with great sincerity, “I am no’ ready to die.”
“Ye keep thinking that way.”
“I canna die, ye see, before I kiss Mistress Rhian.”
A small gasp drew his gaze back to her face. Hope and anguish warred in the depths of her eyes.
“Ye great fool,” Farlan said. “Ye’ve given her a grand excuse to keep from kissing ye, ye ken. She’s a healer and wants to keep ye alive.”
“Some things,” Leith said directly to Rhian’s lovely face, “are probably worth the dyin’.”
