Lavina rushed to her and kneeled beside her, taking her frail hand and pressing it to her cheek. The girl stirred.
“Lavina…” Maisie’s voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with fever and exhaustion.
Tears stung Lavina’s eyes as she brushed her sister’s damp hair from her face. “Shhh… rest now. Ye’re safe.”
A voice sounded from the far side of the room. “Dinnae make her speak; she’s too weak.”
Lavina turned to see an elderly man hunched over a table, his gnarled fingers working herbs into a thick paste. Shadows obscured his face, but his presence was commanding.
“The child’s fever is strong,” he muttered. “But she’s a fighter, this one.”
“Will she recover?” Lavina asked, her voice tight.
“Aye, with rest. And prayer.” The healer hobbled over with a steaming bowl. “Help me lift her head.”
Lavina obeyed, gently lifting Maisie as the man spooned the warm mixture between her lips.
“It’ll ease the pain and break the fever,” the healer explained. “And dinnae worry, the Laird gave his word. Nay harm will come to ye while ye’re under his roof.”
But Lavina wasn’t so sure.
As the healer returned to his herbs, Lavina leaned close to Maisie. Her sister’s breathing had slowed, her small frame finally surrendering to sleep. Lavina wrapped an arm around her and held her close, needing the comfort just as much as Maisie did.
Her thoughts swirled with everything she’d seen, everything she’d heard.
The Laird’s offer was no gift—it was a bargain. And she hated herself for even considering it.
Yet, what choice did she have? Her sister’s life hung in the balance.
The morning sun spilled softly through the shadows, bathing the stone chamber in a golden hue.
Lavina stirred and quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her attention snapped immediately to Maisie, who was slumbering in the cot, her cheeks rosy once more.
Back from the brink of death.
Relief swept through Lavina like a balm, warm and overwhelming—unlike anything she’d ever known. It was almost enough to push away the nightmares lingering at the edges of her mind.
“Good mornin’, bobbin,” she whispered, gently pressing her lips to Maisie’s knuckles and breathing in her familiar, sweet scent.
Whatever Aaron had put in that mixture had worked wonders. Maisie’s fever had broken. Life pulsed again through her frail body.
Lavina would be forever grateful. Yet it was not Aaron to whom she owed her deepest thanks, but the Laird himself. It was he who had offered them shelter and protection in their darkest hour. And for that, she would find a way to show her appreciation, no matter how complicated he might be.
The soft clearing of a throat drifted to her ears, drawing her gaze to the corner of the room. She half-expected to see the old, hunched healer settled in his usual chair. Instead, she saw a young maid, her head bowed respectfully, her hands folded before her as if too timid to step further into the chamber.
“Me Lady,” the maid said, her voice barely above a whisper, “the Laird requests yer presence for breakfast this mornin’. Ye’ll find that he’s provided something more pleasant for ye to wear than the rags ye’ve got on. He wasnae sure about yer size, but he has provided several dresses that he thinks might fit.”
Lavina’s eyebrows drew tightly across the bridge of her nose as she stared at the maid in puzzlement.
How had the Laird known her size? Surely, he hadn’t summoned a seamstress just for her overnight, had he?
It wasn’t as though she were his ward—or worse, a mistress at his beck and call. Then again, she knew precious little about the man beyond his reputation.
Laird McGowan was said to be cruel. Ruthless. A beast who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted, including the death of her kin.
Still, he had spared her. And he had saved Maisie. And now, he was requesting her company.
Her hesitation hardening into resolve, Lavina rose from her place beside her sister and reached for the garments that had been set aside. Whatever came of this breakfast, she would face it with confidence and grace. She owed her sister that much, and more.
