A lump rose in her throat, rendering her unable to comply with his request. Instead, she nodded.
He took her arm. “Come. Until we arrive at Kincreag stay close to me.” He led her through the soupy fog as ifhe could see clearly. They stopped in front of a large tent, and he nodded to it. “There’s food inside, and then you can sleep.”
“Where will you be?”
“Near. The Campbells are still here and might decide to come for their man.” His brow lowered thoughtfully. “They may come for you again as well. Do not stray from me again. There’s nothing that can’t wait until we’re at Kincreag.”
She shifted uncomfortably, reminded painfully of just why she had strayed. “Actually, there is something. . . .”
His mouth tilted so slightly that she wondered if she imagined it. “There’s a chamber pot inside the tent.”
Gillian sighed thankfully. He started to turn away, but she caught his sleeve.
He turned back to her, a sleek, black brow raised in question.
“Be careful . . . Nicholas.”
His gaze traveled over her face. He nodded thoughtfully, then left her.
Shortly after he left, the shaking set in. It was odd. Though she’d been frightened, certain the Highlander had meant to kill her, she’d been exhilarated immediately afterward. Now she felt ill. She’d removed her arisaid and wrapped it around her. She lay on the ground and stared at the glowing coals of the brazier, trembling violently. It was beginning to irritate her. She clenched her hands into fists and willed it to stop, but she only shook harder, her teeth chattering together.
The sounds of men settling down to sleep outsidethe tent comforted her. Nicholas was near, and she was safe. So why did she still shake?
One wall of the tent shuddered as someone untied the doorway. A moment later Nicholas slipped in. He unpinned his plaid and looked down at her. He paused when he saw she was still awake.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice low and soothing.
Gillian tried to nod brightly but feared it was more of a shuddering jerk.
He wore his plaid like a mantle rather than kilted about his waist and knees as many Highlanders did. He dropped it near her and unhooked his leather doublet, still watching her curiously.
Heat crept up Gillian’s neck. He was coming to bed. With her. She averted her eyes, exhorting herself to have courage, then abandoning it as her shaking increased.
He knelt behind her and removed his boots. When his hand touched her arm, Gillian started and nearly screamed.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
Gillian shook her head, still not looking at him, willing her body to stop shaking. “I was fine . . . after. Then I started shaking and I can’t stop.”
He made a soft noise of understanding, as if comforting a distraught child, then lay beside her and gathered her close against his chest. His arm was heavy and warm around her. She stiffened, then slowly relaxed when he did nothing more.
“I always feel so after doing battle,” he said. “You feel as if you could climb a great mountain, lift a horse, rightafter. But then, a short time later, the shaking sets in, and I must be alone.”
“Did you shake tonight?” Gillian asked, assuaged by his words and no longer trying to hide the chattering of her teeth.
“No . . . tonight was nothing.” He’d broken a man’s arm. She’d nearly died. And he called it nothing? She couldn’t stop shaking from it.
“You know that man?” she asked.
“Aye, Scott MacGregor, a broken man, clanless. No doubt he hoped to win a rich ransom from the earl’s bonny new bride.”
“What will happen to him?” She did not miss his subtle compliment, and a smile pressed at the corners of her mouth.
“That’s his decision. He claims he works alone, which I do not believe. When we arrive at Kincreag I’ll break him. A holiday in my dungeons will loosen his tongue.”
His ominous words sent a more violent shiver through her.
He gathered her in closer and whispered, “Fash not, it will stop eventually.”
