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"I jest . . ." He hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and then sighed and asked, "What are yer feelings fer MacDonnell?"
Saidh stared at him blankly and then asked, "What? Why? What're ye--?"
"I think he loves ye, lass," Aulay interrupted, looking truly uncomfortable now.
"Aye," Saidh said.
Aulay raised his eyebrows. "Aye? That's it? Aye?"
"What else should I say?" she asked with a frown. " 'Tis no' a surprise. He already told me that."
"Oh." He looked surprised and then asked. "And what did ye say?"
"Nothing," she admitted.
"The man tells ye he loves ye and ye say nothing?" Dougall growled, looking horrified.
"Well, I did no' get the chance to say anything," she snapped. "It was while we were talking to Bowie and--"
"All right, all right. Do no' fash yerself," Aulay soothed, glancing toward Greer. Following his gaze, Saidh saw that her husband had stopped pacing and was eyeing them suspiciously from across the room.
" 'Tis no wonder he's so fashed," Dougall muttered, once Greer started to pace again. "He's declared himself and no' yet received one in return."
"Do ye love him, Saidh?" Rory asked curiously as he worked. He'd sliced her gown away from the waist up, but had tucked a bit of cloth over the little bit revealed of her uninjured breast she saw. Now he moved around to clean the stab wounds on her back.
"Well, do ye?" Dougall asked when she didn't answer right away.
Saidh shrugged helplessly. "I do no' ken. How do ye ken if ye love someone?"
Aulay considered the question and then asked, "Do ye enjoy consummatin' with him?"
Saidh smiled faintly. "I want to punch him e'erytime he kisses me."
"What?" Rory barked, straightening and coming around in front of her to see her face.
"Well, that's how it feels," she said helplessly. "O' course, I do no' do it. 'Tis jest that he fair makes me blood boil with his kisses and I want to . . ." She shook her head. "But I do no' hit him and then he starts in touching and thrusting and me head fair explodes and I do no' want to hit him anymore."
"Ah," Rory said weakly and moved around back of her again to return to work.
Saidh glanced to Aulay and frowned when she saw the amusement on his face. "What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, clearing his expression.
"So does she like it or nay?" Dougall asked, appearing uncertain.
"Aye," Aulay assured him dryly.
"Then why does she want to hit him?" Dougall asked. "It seems an odd reaction if she's liking it. And it can no' be healthy fer her head to explode."
Aulay turned to him with disbelief. "Ha'e ye e'er e'en lain with a woman, Dougall?"
"O' course I ha'e," he snapped. "But I ha'e ne'er wanted to hit one while doing it, and me head certainly does no' explode. At least no' the head on me shoulders," he added with a grin.
"She does no' mean she really wants to hit him, or that her head really explodes, Dougall," Rory said with exasperation behind her.
"Well, then why did she say it?" Dougall asked with a frown.
"She means . . . I'll explain later," Aulay said with a grimace, and then turned back to Saidh. "Is there anything else ye like about him?"
"Oh, aye. He's got a pretty . . . arse," she finished, saying arse instead of face as her gaze landed on Aulay's scars and she recalled his self-consciousness about it.
"What does it matter if his arse is pretty?" Dougall asked with disgust as Rory made a sound that might have been a laugh, or just as easily could have been a cough.
Saidh scowled and rushed on, "And I like to talk to him. He's verra clever. I like the way he thinks. And I like when he fusses o'er me."
"Ye do?" Rory asked with surprise, beginning to bind her waist to cover the wounds he'd just cleaned. It seemed to have gone quickly, and hadn't been too painful, but she had been distracted.
"Ye jest get angry when we fuss," Dougall grumbled.
"Aye, well, he does it different," she said dryly. "He makes me feel like he cares, no' like he thinks me weak."
"If the castle was on fire, who would ye rescue first?" Aulay asked suddenly.
"Alpin," she said at once. "He's weakest."
"No' MacDonnell?" he asked with a frown.
Saidh snorted. "He'd already be up trying to rescue me."
Aulay smiled slowly.
"What?" Saidh asked suspiciously.
"Ye trust that ye can rely on him," he said simply and then turned his back and gestured to Dougall to do so as well to give her privacy as Rory began to cut away the bindings around her chest wound.
"O' course I trust him," Saidh said with confusion.
"Saidh," Aulay said solemnly without turning around. "Ha'e ye e'er before met a man ye thought strong and smart and that ye could depend on?"
"Ye mean besides me husband?" she asked and when he nodded, answered promptly. "Da. You. And Dougall, Rory, Conran, Geordie, Niels--"
"Men who are no' Buchanans," Aulay interrupted.
Saidh considered the question. "Mayhap Sinclair. He seems a'right, but most men are puling, lackwitted--Oh," she said with understanding.
Aulay nodded. "Ye like and respect the man, trust him and enjoy him in bed."
"She loves him," Dougall announced, and she saw her brothers grin at each other.
"Aye," Rory agreed with a smile as he finished cutting away the bandages and began to examine her chest wound.
"I am glad ye do. I like and respect him too," Aulay said quietly.
"Aye," Dougall said. "He could ha'e been a Buchanan."
Saidh smiled, knowing that was the biggest compliment her brother could give.
"Ye've made a fine choice fer a husband, sister," Rory murmured.
"Thank ye," she whispered and glanced down as he began to replace the bandages he'd cut away with fresh strips of linen. "I do no' need more stitches?"
"Nay. A couple stitches had torn a bit, but are still holding and already healing. Ye're a fast healer," he added, as though congratulating her on an unexpected skill.
Saidh just shook her head and watched as he finished binding her up. By the time he was done, she was pretty much covered from her waist to her neck in bandages with just her arms and one shoulder still on view. He'd even fully covered her uninjured breast this time, she noted mournfully.
"All done," Rory announced, straightening.
"Then we should leave the two o' ye alone," Aulay announced, then bent to kiss her cheek before saying. "Put yer husband out o' his misery and tell him ye love him."
"Aye." Saidh nodded, and then watched her brothers leave, before turning to peer at Greer. He'd stopped pacing to watch them leave as well, his expression unreadable, and Saidh bit her lips, wondering how she should tell him she loved him. Should she just blurt it out, or wait for him to say it again? She wondered and then worried that he might not say it again. He might even regret saying it the first time. Or he might be waiting for her to say it herself, ere repeating it.
"What were ye and yer brothers whispering about o'er here?"
Saidh raised her head at that quiet question and found her husband standing in front of her. He looked . . . She frowned, trying to find the word. Stoic was the only one to come to mind, but that was not it. It was more as if he were braced for a blow.
"We were no' whispering," Saidh protested, and then admitted, "They were trying to help me sort out if I loved ye."
That had definitely surprised him, Saidh thought wryly as his jaw dropped to hit his chest. Quickly pulling it closed, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "And? What was the conclusion?"
"That I want to hit ye e'ery time ye kiss me, and would no' save ye were the castle on fire," she blurted.
He reacted as if she'd punched him in the gut, stumbling back a step, his face paling. Pulling himself upright, he asked gruffly, "When are they taking ye?"
"Taking me where?" she asked with confusion.
