Sawny licked his dry, flaky lips. He intentionally did not involve himself heavily in Highland politics like his father and uncles did, or like Adaira’s father, uncles, and older brother.
His breath caught in his chest.
Adaira!
He had a moment of panic, that he would not be able to recall what she looked or sounded like.
Then her image appeared, her bright blonde hair dancing in the breeze and her brilliant green eyes fixed on him. A carefree smile crossed her lips, making her surprise dimple peek from her cheek. She was reaching her hand out to him and she spoke his name.
Like an angel calling out to him.
Sawny’s chest clenched and it took every ounce of will not to reach his hand out to her in return. A single touch . . .
Would he ever feel her smooth skin again? Wrap his hands in her thick mane of hair? Hear her call out his name in her breathless voice?
I will. God help me, I will see her again.
He might have thought of giving up when he was fevered and his mind was not his own, but now that he was regaining his faculties, he recommitted to the vow he had made when he was first thrown into this dreary cell. He stared off into the distance as if he could see the world beyond the stone walls.
See Adaira reaching for him.
I will return for you,he promised.
Later that morning – from the lighting in his cell, Sawny presumed it was morning – Addison arrived.
The squeak of the door hinges announced his arrival, but this time, instead of setting the food on the ground and leaving, Addison closed the door almost all the way. Just open enough to grasp the edge with his fingers and pry it open.
To ensure the guards could not see or hear? Or did they believe Sawny was still sick and had sent the lad alone?
Sawny kept his expression blank as he watched Addison set to his work.
After he had set all the victuals to their proper places, Addison glanced at the door, then moved to Sawny.
He did not move as Addison gingerly lifted his tunic and tugged the linen wraps loose.
“What’s the sticky stuff?” Sawny broke the awkward silence.
Addison recoiled slightly but recovered and leaned in to poke at Sawny’s would. That hurt a wee bit, but much less than it had days ago.
“Honey,” Addison answered, dropping the tunic so the hem fell against Sawny’s thighs. “And maggots to eat the affected skin. They do a fine job of eliminating the inflamed part of the body, and with the honey, can reverse the direction of the illness. I think it worked. I dinna see any pus.”
Maggots. Ugh. Sawny had seen them used on an older man in a nearby village when he was a lad, and it had sickened him as strange occurrences often do to children. The image of the writhing bugs burned in his brain much like the fever had, and knowing that he’d had the same treatment made his stomach lurch.
He did not notice any lingering maggots around his healing wound, so they must have finished their work, became flies, and flew away, finding their freedom through the slitted window.
Sawny was jealous of the flies.
Addison was still staring at him, and Sawny dropped his gaze to meet the lad’s eyes.
“How long was I senseless?” Sawny asked.
“Ye’ve been hovering between life and death for about seven days or so, if ye include the night I found ye. Master MacIntosh wanted ye alive, so he tasked me with the chore.”
“Why ye? Are ye a healer of sorts?”
Addison shrugged. “Of sorts. My mother and sister had a fair hand at healing and taught me.”
The sorrow in the lad’s voice at the mention of his family was unmistakable. Sawny cleared his throat and pressed his hand to his side.
