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“Do you have the strength to come give this fierce little fighter a fierce little kiss?” I ask playfully.
One eyebrow instinctively raises, full of implications. “Aye, I can. And if ye keep smilin’ at me like that, I’ll be inclined to give ye more than merely a kiss.”
“That is a very intriguing threat, Lord Galloway. But I’m afraid the doctor has given me strict orders when it comes to that kind of activity,” I reply as he sits back on the bed and leans in to touch his lips to mine.
“I can work around those orders, ye know that don’t ye, faerie maiden?” His rich voice turns velvety smooth as his mood shifts back to that with which I am accustomed. Then he takes my mouth in a deep and sensual kiss, pushing me back into the pillows.
I hear myself moan as he awakens my desire. The sound encourages him to kiss me harder as a flush of pleasure settles between my legs. I moan again just before he pulls away.
“Call fer the nursemaid. I will’na do this in front of our son.” His breaths are heavy on the command.
“Are you sure we should…” I stammer.
“Ella. Do ye trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then ring the bell.” The rolling R and slow command tighten my breasts to hard points as I reach over and pull the toggle. “Verra good. Once she leaves, the only thing ye need to do is lie back and relax. I’ll do the rest.”
Over the next few days, I began to feel more myself. I’ve had a voracious appetite, and the kitchen staff has made sure I have an ample variety of food choices at any given moment. Alasdair wanted me to stay in bed, but after the first day, I was already tired of staring at my bedroom walls and didn’t care if I slept another wink for days. Eventually, I moved over to the window seat. Callen and I would get comfortable there, surrounded by pillows and bathed in sunshine, and I would continue getting him used to nursing on my breasts and pray my milk would come in stronger. There was very little when I first woke up from the strange coma I was in, but the midwife has me drinking a special tea that nourishes lactation. It seems to have worked well as Callen now nurses contently and falls fast asleep afterward with a full belly.
Today I plan to venture out of my room, not only for the change of scenery and a bit more exercise, but also to go to the library to research Alasdair’s mother’s collection of herbal remedy books. I can’t stop thinking about the dreams I had. Whether that was merely a dream or a vision from a past life, as Alasdair has suggested, is of no matter, I’m intrigued, and I want to know more.
In the hallway, I take my time walking to the stairs as my head is undeniably light, and I still have some pain leftover from Callen’s difficult delivery. Once there, I grab onto the railing and take one step at a time. I barely make it three steps before Beatrice squeals from below, startling me.
“Dear God, child! What in heaven’s name are you doing out here? Climbing the stairs, no less!”
Before I can answer, she hurries up to me, wrapping her arm around my waist to help guide me back to my room.
“Beatrice,” I say. “First of all, you seem to have forgotten I just gave birth to a very healthy baby boy, which means I am no longer a child. Secondly, I am not going back to my room. I am going to the library. If you would like to assist me in doing so, I welcome the help. But I am not going back to the confines of my bedchamber.” We both stare at each other with defiance, but I will win this battle. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Fine,” she replies tersely. “I will help you to the library, but Lord Galloway will not be pleased when he finds out.”
“I’ll deal with Lord Galloway.”
When we enter the library, I realize how much I’ve missed this room. This has always been my favorite place to relax and read while Alasdair sits at his desk to work. The smell of old books and a low-burning fire brings me a sense of instant comfort.
“Thank you, Beatrice. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I ask with sugary sweetness.
“You may be as sarcastic as you like, but I still say you should be resting. You don’t want to make yourself weak by overdoing it.”
She really is adorable when she’s flustered with me. “I am not overdoing it. I will be sitting here reading books, not running to the stables to take Willow for a run. Although that is what I would love to do more than anything.” That last part came out as somewhat of a mumble.
Beatrice doesn’t respond even though I know she heard what I said. She just gives me a firm brow and tight lips before saying, “I’ll be back shortly to check on you.”
Shrugging off Beatrice’s short-lived ire, I walk over to the wall of windows that line the far side of the room. It is truly a stunning view that overlooks the manicured hedges and flowers that hug the stone walls of the manor, across the unblemished lawn to the tall trees of the forest beyond. How I miss it there, my enchanted forest. Chills spread down my arms and legs as I think about opening my eyes and finding that magnificent white stag so close, I could touch him. I can still hear the hawk’s ear-piercing call and feel the warmth of the stag’s breath as he waited patiently for me to come to. I close my eyes to relive the moment again. I can feel him nudging my body, pressing on my belly while the pleasant smell of heather surrounds me. Before opening my eyes, I tell them all another silent thank you.
Thinking of the white heather my little flying friends chose to encourage my strength and consciousness, I turn to the shelves that Alasdair said hold the volumes his mother collected over many years. There is a pique of excitement as I walk slowly along the shelves filled with books that give me a noticeable boost in energy. At the far end, close to Alasdair’s desk, are two wide shelves that hold what must be at least forty books. “My heavens!” I exclaim and run my fingers along the spines of one reference after another:The Healing Herbs of Scotland; Plant Remedies; Teas, Poultices, and Tinctures; Healing Herbs of the Highlands; The Healer’s Handbook.I’m so enthralled with all my options, I don’t even know which one to choose. I want to read them all right now,then I laugh in giddy excitement. I pick upThe Healing Herbs of Scotland,figuring that it would certainly have plenty of good information.
I read through the various applications of white heather. A tea made from the flowers is used for stomach pain, the stems and leaves for urinary issues, hot poultices for rheumatic pain; it can even be used for emotional problems. I continue reading the extensive list of potential uses and think to myself that it must be one of the most universally beneficial plants in existence.
At the bottom of the page, it elaborates on the spiritual powers of heather, that it protects against violent attacks, and that it brings about healing and good luck and empowers sensuality.
The last paragraph, though, makes the hair stand on my neck.Heather is commonly associated with faeries, especially white heather.Some say that faeries are near when you happen upon the uncommon white blooms. I stare at the words, acknowledging the nervous tick of my heart beating in my chest.
“I’m beginning to believe there are no longer coincidences in my life,” I say to myself through a hushed laugh, then close the book and put it back on the shelf.
I glance down at the second shelf. It is immediately obvious that these books are much older than the ones above. I kneel and find that some don’t even have a typical spine with a title exposed; they are simply yellowed, tattered pages between two thick covers and held together with brittle leather ties. As I reach for what appears to be the most worn of the collection, a strange feeling comes over me, and my heartbeat begins whooshing loudly in my ears. Maybe I am overdoing it. I am a touch lightheaded and maybe a little chilled. Trying to ignore it, I admire the cover that is nothing more than a thick piece of hide with a rudimentary embossed vine pressed into it, adding a simple design. I run my hand across the worn surface, wondering at its history and the strong sense of nostalgia. But when I open the cover and see the scrolled handwriting of the author, I cannot contain the gasp that escapes as my fingers come up to cover my mouth.
