“Good. Then ye have left enough for me.” Annie picked up the bottle. “I will see to supper in a minute, but first I need a wee bit of fortification.”
Niall raised an eyebrow as he watched Annie take a long swallow. When she didn’t choke on it, he managed a grin in spite of the pain. Annie Ferguson was quite a woman.
Chapter Sixteen
Annie woke the next morning to bright sunshine streaming in the small window. Niall still slept. After their meal last night, she had laid several of the blankets on the floor in front of the hearth and brought in a few logs to keep the fire going throughout the night. It hadn’t taken much argument—for once—to get Niall bedded down with his wounded leg closest to the warmth of the hearth.
She pushed her own blanket aside to check on his fever. It wasn’t much of a reach, although she didn’t recall lying down quite so close to him. She must have rolled in her sleep. His skin felt warm, but not as hot as it had last night.
Niall opened his eyes at her touch. His expression was momentarily confused and then cleared. “How long have I been sleeping? Did we lose a day?”
“Nae,” Annie answered. “’Tis still early.”
He sat up, wincing when he moved his leg. “We need to be on our way.”
“I doona ken if ye should be riding. Can we nae stay here for another day until the wound has a chance to begin closing?” Annie asked. “We are hidden from view.”
Niall shook his head. “We are maybe fifteen miles from the city. And the smoke from the chimney can give us away. ’Tis too great a risk to stay.”
“What if your wound opens?”
“I’ll put a second binding on it. Once we get past Loch Lomond, we can look for a physician to stitch it.”
“But your fever is nae completely gone either,” Annie said.
“’Tis better for now. We need to take advantage of that.” Niall braced his hand on one of the chairs and pushed himself to his feet. The great plaid he’d wrapped himself in last night fell insurprisingly neat pleats down his hips and thighs. He arched an eyebrow as he saw Annie watching him.
She quickly turned away, busying herself with stacking the blankets. “There’s some cheese and cold oat mash left. I can reheat—”
“’Tis nae time for that. We will take it with us.” Niall eyed the jacket she’d slept in. “Ye need a shirt. I have an extra one in my saddlebag.”
“It will be too big,” Annie answered.
“Ye can just stuff the extra material inside your jacket,” Niall said. “’Twill round ye out so ye doona look like a girl.”
Annie frowned as she put the blankets back on the table. “Ye doona want me to look like a girl?”
“’Tis nae me. If there are search parties coming out, they will be looking—and asking—about a man and a woman travelling together. If ye look more like a boy, it will confuse them.”
He had a point. She was not as curvy as a lot of women, so stuffing her jacket could make her look like a pudgy boy, especially with keeping her hair completely under the cap. “Do ye think it will work?”
“It cannae hurt,” Niall answered. “Besides, the disguise will protect your reputation from harm if people think ye are a lad.”
Her reputation. Publicly, it was intact. How ironic that she had allowed herself to be ruined by a man who didn’t care and have Niall be concerned about preserving her reputation when he hadn’t attempted to ruin her at all. “I agree.”
He nodded and removed the shirt from the saddlebag and handed it to her. “I will go saddle the horses.”
“Ye should wait and let me help.”
He walked to the door and opened it. “’Tis my thigh that is wounded, nae my arms.”
“I dinnae mean ye were nae strong. I just doona want your leg to start bleeding again.”
“I will be careful.” Then he was gone.
Annie rolled her eyes. Why were men so sensitive about such things? She’d saddled her own horse many times. What she couldn’t do was stitch his wound if it opened. Stubborn Highlander.
She caught his scent as she shook out the shirt and held it up to her nose. Slightly woodsy and a hint of spice clung to it. The material was finely woven linen and felt soft against her skin. Then she realized it was the dress shirt that he wore with his full tartan. A part of his clan identity. She inhaled his scent again. Niall.
