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“Enter,” Laird MacBean shouted from inside, his voice commanding and not at all sounding like a man on the verge of death.
With one last glance at the soldier, Blair opened the door, her eyes squinting through the darkness. The curtains were drawn while candles dimly lit the room. She couldn’t make out the laird’s form in the shadows, only hear his wheezing coming from the bed.
Blair straightened herself, picking up her skirts and striding briskly towards the window. “Well, first things first, ye must get some sunshine in this room,” she muttered while grabbing the drapes and shoving them open.
The laird groaned, and she turned, finding him holding out a hand to cover his grimacing face. His skin was more pale than usual, and his shirt was drenched in sweat. She wondered how long he had been like this and worried he wouldn’t have much longer if he continued spending long hours in his room surrounded by darkness.
“Maybe yer spending too much time with that old goat, Tavis,” Laird MacBean groaned. “Yer certainly taking after his bedside manners.”
Blair shook her head, striding towards the laird’s table at the center of the room. There was a pitcher of water along with a teacup and a small plate of bread and cheese. Most likely leftovers from the morning, Blair surmised. She frowned at the small bite in the bread and the full plate of cheese, noticing he had hardly touched his food.
“Ye need to eat something if ye wish to keep yer strength up,” she said, her frown darkening when she heard him coughing.
She grabbed the petals from her pocket and broke them into small pieces, dropping them into the teacup. Picking up the pitcher, she gasped at the weight, finding it completely full. “Have ye not had anything to drink?”
The laird’s cough was her answer, and she scowled, pouring the water into the cup and carrying it towards him. She kneeled in front of him, watching him cough into a blood-stained rag.
“Drink this,” she ordered, taking the towel from him and pressing the cup into his limp grasp.
The laird did as instructed, downing the contents quickly. He gasped, handing the cup back to her and wiping the sweat from his brow. Blair slowly stood, waiting for him to burst into another fit of coughing, but the laird regained his breath. She watched him close his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. His hands gripped the blankets under him while his entire body sat at attention.
“Do ye want some more?” she asked, staring at him with worry.
She had no clue what she was doing. The laird was her first subject, and she worried she was doing everything wrong. If only she could speak with Tavis openly, discover the correct way to treat Laird MacBean. Blair clenched her jaw, quickly shaking that thought away.
She had made a promise, and she intended to keep it.
“I’m fine,” said Laird MacBean while waving her away. “Thank ye for coming so quickly.”
“Ye really should get more fresh air.” She nodded towards the pitcher. “And ye should drink more.”
The laird chuckled while pushing his matted hair away from his face. “Aye, yer right. I should probably take better care of myself.” His gaze lifted to her, a soft smile playing on his face. “Ye seem to be learning much from Tavis. I was right in bringing ye to him.”
Blair turned away from the laird, bringing the cup back to the platter. “I feel as if I’m not learning fast enough.” Her hands trembled as she folded the rag in her hands, her gaze unable to look away from the blood.
“I hope my son apologized properly to ye.”
Blair’s heart faltered, and she twisted the rag, scowling at it while she recalled Aindreas’s hands around her waist, his breath against her ear, his voice as he whispered to her, “I would never permit any harm to come yer way.”
A shiver rippled down her spine, pooling into a pit of warmth within her belly, and she quickly nodded. “Aye, he did.” She grimaced at the tremble in her voice.
“Good. Very good.”
Blair glanced over her shoulder, her brows furrowing as she watched the laird slowly rise, walking towards the window. She frowned, noticing the garden in the distance. Rising slowly on her toes, she noticed the bench where she had sat with Aindreas. If the laird had been awake that night, he would have had a clear view.
But he had been asleep, she told herself. So he wouldn’t have seen her with his son. She had nothing to worry about. And if he had seen, it wasn’t like they had done any wrong.
Still, her stomach twisted in worry. Ladies shouldn’t be alone with men in the twilight hours when the fae were afoot.
“Do ye have any other need for me, my laird?”
She watched him shake his head. His gaze was focused on the garden below, and she wondered what he was thinking about as he stared out the window. “That is all, lass. Yer free to go. I will have need of ye tomorrow.”
Blair curtsied low. “Aye, of course, my laird.” She turned to go, but the laird’s words stopped her from continuing any further.
“Forgive my son. He knows very little of what he does.” She heard the laird’s soft chuckle, sounding more like a rasp. “Unfortunately, I am to blame for his foul temperament. Know he means no ill will toward ye.”
Blair nodded. “Of course, my laird.”
She pushed the door open, hearing it close behind her. Not knowing where she was going, she allowed her feet to lead her through the corridors and down the steps until finally, she was standing outside, in the garden, surrounded by the flowers. The rain had lightened into a soft mist.
Grabbing her shawl around her shoulders, she moved the fabric over her hair while padding lightly through the paths. Her hands touched the flowers, recalling the names as she slowly walked by. Comfrey Root, with its pinkish-white flowers, Lavender, Yarrow, Valerian, and Coneflowers. She stopped in front of the Primroses, kneeling in front of them and inhaling deeply. She hummed a soft tune while she stroked the bright purple petals, unable to stop the memories of Aindreas holding her gently from infiltrating her thoughts.
