Page 9 of Beguiled By the Highlander
He cast a furtive glance at the bed. Maybe he shouldn’t have been too hasty to leave it.
A distraction at the open door caught his attention. Isolde stood there, with two young women, and she smiled at him, which caused a bolt of heat to fire his loins.
Thank Christ the blanket was thick.
“Are we disturbing ye? My sisters wished to meet ye.”
With more effort than he liked, he relinquished the support of the wall. “Ye’re not disturbing me.”
At least, not in the way she imagined.
“Freyja, Roisin, may I introduce the stranger from the sea, Njord.” She flashed him another irresistible smile, and he couldn’t help but return it. “Unless ye have recalled yer own name?”
“I have not.” He hoped he didn’t sound as frustrated by that fact as he felt.
“’Tis early days.” Isolde waved at the young women who flanked her. “Njord, my sisters: Freyja and Roisin.”
“’Tis an honor.” He bowed his head and gritted his teeth at the pain that stabbed through his brain.
One of the sisters, Freyja, frowned, and stepped forward. “May I examine yer wound?”
He stared at her, unnerved by the unexpected question. Before he could formulate a denial that wouldn’t cause offense, Isolde gave an impatient tut.
“Frey, really.”
Freyja ignored her, focusing on him. “There’s no need to look so alarmed.”
Involuntarily, his grip tightened on the blanket. Hellfire. Did he look alarmed?
“Isolde and our amma are more than adequate, of course,” Freyja continued, apparently oblivious to how Isolde glared at her. “But my calling as a healer compels me to ensure nothing further needs to be done for yer wellbeing.”
He hiked the blanket from where it had draped around his hips, so it was secure at his waist. Certainly, he was aware he’d been prodded and probed while unconscious, and washed, God help him, since he didn’t smell of the sea, but he wasn’t unconscious now, and the prospect of a young woman further examining him wasn’t something he relished.
Did these people not have a physician in their castle? He couldn’t say how he knew that was how things were done. He only knew it was.
“If he wants a third opinion,” Isolde said, “I’m sure he would ask for it. Wouldn’t ye?” she added, pointedly, to him.
There was no way out of this. Whatever he said, he risked offending one of the sisters. “I’m greatly obliged by yer concern, my lady,” he said to Freyja. “If I experience any worrisome symptoms, might I share them with ye?”
“Hmm.” Interestingly, Freyja didn’t appear affronted by his response. “Ye appear lucid enough. If ye fall into a fever I shall be back, make no mistake.”
“He would have already succumbed to a fever by now,” Isolde said.
“Aye, but ’tis always wise to be cautious,” returned her sister.
The third sister had yet to speak, but she stood slightly behind both Isolde and Freyja and clearly had no insight to add on the state of his health.
He returned his attention to Isolde. “Yer kindness to a stranger is much appreciated. I should like to convey my thanks to the master of Sgur Castle, at his convenience.”
“Our grandmother, Lady Helga, is the mistress of the castle.” There was no mistaking the pride that infused Isolde’s words. “She’s happy to accommodate ye until ye regain yer strength.”
“Or yer memories.” Freyja cast her sister a sideways glance before looking back at him. “Yer kin must be worried by yer absence.”
His kin. Christ, who were his kin? Was he wed? Did he have bairns? Surely, he wouldn’t forgetthat?
“Alas, the storm still rages on the sea.” Concern wreathed Isolde’s face. “We cannot send word to the other Isles until it calms.”
He released a tortured breath. It was true that nothing could be done until it was safe to leave this Isle and search for his homeland. But where was he meant to begin such a journey, when he had no idea where to start?
