Page 47 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Perhaps one day, I shall have that same presence… and the ability to command my own destiny.
Lydia sighed and turned back to the pallet where Laird Ranald lay, the spark of amusement dying as she studied his face. Though the laird of the Ranald Clan still slept, there were signs that his sleep was not a peaceful one. The muscles around his jaw were tight, and he shifted uneasily underneath the blanket.
A cool cloth cannot hurt.
Lydia hurried to pour some cool water into a basin, then dampened a cloth and dabbed it across Laird Ranald’s face. Some of the tension left his expression, but Lydia suspected it would return soon enough, especially when she recalled the quiet conversations they’d shared.
Still, there was little she could do about the matter. With a final lingering look, she turned away and began the work of cleaningup the empty vials and stained bandages from where they had treated him.
Evelyn returned from the barracks with a supper tray for the two of them. Afterward, they gave Laird Ranald more medicine, and the healer retired for the night. Lydia settled herself beside the bed for the night, watching for any sign of recovery or a worsening condition.
One candle-mark passed, then two. Lydia was on the verge of dozing when a low moan drew her attention to her patient.
Laird Ranald’s face was coated with a sheen of sweat, and he moved restlessly on the pallet. Even as she watched, his whole body twitched, as if attempting to escape something, and his expression contorted in pain. A hoarse whisper came from his throat. “Nay… please…”
Lydia rose from her seat and laid a hand on Laird Ranald’s forehead, only to wince at the feverish heat she felt there.
He is burning up.
She hurried to get a fever remedy and more cold water from the basin. At the first touch of the cold cloth on his forehead, however, Laird Ranald jerked away, his expression becoming almost frantic, his body shivering as if she’d struck at him with a whip. “Wait…”
Trying to get the fever remedy down his throat was no easier. Laird Ranald fought her, and had he been any stronger, she might not have succeeded. As it was, they were both panting and soaked with sweat by the time she’d managed to coax the remedy down his throat.
Every touch, no matter how comforting she tried to make it, no matter what soft words she used, seemed to make him tremble and struggle against her. With every effort she made, Lydia saw and felt her worst fears confirmed.
Donall Ranald was a man haunted by nightmares and memories, and now that the fever had felled him, he was defenseless against them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The air was cold and damp, the ground around him slick with moisture and stinking of mold and decay and filth. He shivered and burned, too weak to do anything when the guards came around. When he tried to move, the heavy chains weighting his limbs down held him back. He could scarcely even try to drag himself upright.
“Look at the little traitor an’ kinslayer, trying tae move. Did ye want tae stand? Sit up? Let me help ye with that.” Coarse laughter followed the statement.
He knew what was coming, and he tried to pull himself into a defensive position, tried to protect himself. But it was too late. A heavy boot hammered into his gut, shoving him backward into the stone wall. His stomach rebelled, sending him into uncontrolled retching.
A kick to his face. “Dinnae get yer filth on me boots. If even one fleck o’ spit or bile lands on me clothing, ye’ll taste the whip fer it.”
But of course he couldn’t help himself. His body wouldn’t obey him. The guards knew that, and the man before him - cruel and cold commander of the third watch - was only waiting for an excuse to inflict further torment on him. Soon enough, another blow came, and another, and he coughed blood and bile onto the edge of the man’s trews.
Donall groaned, already knowing what was to come next.
But then something intruded, unfamiliar and gentle. A phantom hand across his forehead, brushing across his cheek, and a whispered voice that quietly and insistently worked to silence the cruel laughter and harsh words.
“It is all right. Do not fear. You are safe. You are safe. No one will harm you now. Rest easy. You are safe, and there is no danger. Leave the dark dreams behind, my laird. You are safe at home, and surrounded by those that care for you.”
“Calm yourself, my laird. Be at ease.”
Very slowly, the walls of the dungeon faded away. The heat and cold did not diminish, but the chains and the cruel guards vanished into the mists. He was aware of a hand on his forehead, a kind touch that smoothed his hair and caressed his cheek.
A woman. There was a woman beside him, speaking to him with soft, sweet, kind words.
The voice was familiar as well.
Maither? Nay, the sound is all wrong. Isnae Alayne either.
Lydia. ‘Tis… Lydia…
For some reason, knowing the name seemed terribly important. Something about Lydia was important… she was important to him…
