Page 6 of Beguiled By the Highlander
“Can ye stand?” she enquired. “Ye’ll be more comfortable on the bed. And once ye’ve some good hot broth inside ye, maybe yer memory will return.”
The spinning in his head wasn’t too bad. He was certain he could stand. And then realization struck.
Where the hell were his clothes? Gingerly, he lifted the edge of the blanket that draped across the top of his thighs.
He was stark naked.
He cast a wary glance around the chamber. Besides Isolde and her older relative, four grim warriors eyed him with varying degrees of distrust, and three young serving maids huddled by the open door, clearly agog by the proceedings.
Dull heat washed through him. What had possessed him, to imagine he and Isolde had been alone?
Had she been the one to strip him?
Even in his befuddled state, the possibility that she had touched his body in so intimate a manner caused his cock to thicken. At least some things still worked the way they should. Except he’d much rather be in full possession of his senses, so he could recall such a pleasurable interlude.
What in the name of God was he thinking? He resisted the urge to groan and involuntarily tightened his grip on the blanket. He was certain that, in the normal course of his shadowed life, he didn’t care who saw his naked body. But Isolde aside, the prospect of having been in so vulnerable a state before a chamber full of strangers was most disconcerting.
“Oh.” A faint blush swept across her cheeks, and he could not tear his gaze from her. “Maybe Patric could give ye a hand? The bed is just there, behind ye.” Then she waved her finger in the vague direction of his legs and avoided his eyes. “We, uh, had to dry yer clothes, ye see.”
He grunted in acknowledgement, but when one of the burly warriors approached, apparently to make good on Isolde’s offer of assistance, he forced his tongue to work. “I can manage on my own.”
The warrior folded his arms, and Isolde hastily rose from her knees as he attempted to stand without losing whatever slight dignity he retained. Once on his feet, gripping the blanket around him as if his life depended on it, the chamber swayed as though he stood on the deck of a storm-tossed ship.
For a hazy moment the sensation was so visceral he staggered. A ship. A storm? Yet when he tried to hold onto the fleeting fragment it dissolved, as if it had never existed.
Isolde gasped and grasped his biceps. “Are ye certain ye can walk?”
The temptation was great to say no, just so she would assist him, but it was more likely her burly warrior would intervene instead. “Aye. I simply stood up too fast.”
She released him, although she appeared reluctant. But that was likely only his own warped perception. A box bed stood against the far wall, and he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until, with barely concealed relief, he reached it and sat down.
As Isolde brought over a small table, the warriors and serving maids left the chamber, although the older lady remained by the fire, her keen gaze never leaving him. And then she spoke.
“Ye have no recollection of how ye washed up on Sgur Beach?” She raised her eyebrows as if she found the notion somewhat unbelievable.
Not that he blamed her. Until this moment, he would never have believed it possible to lose all memory of who one truly was.
“Aye, milady.” The honorific fell automatically from his tongue, even if he did not know who she was. “I wish I could tell ye more, but there’s a dark cloud I cannot shift inside my head.”
“It’s not surprising,” Isolde said. “Ye banged yer head badly on rocks or some such. Tis fortunate ye didn’t drown. Truly, Njord favors ye, and that’s a fact.”
He stared at her blankly. “Njord?” The name was faintly familiar, but he couldn’t fathom why.
“The ancient Norse god of the sea.” She smiled, and he damn near forgot how to breathe at the sight. “How else could ye have survived that storm, if he hadn’t watched over ye?”
“I confess, I know little of this god.” And he had the feeling it wasn’t because of his memory loss, either. Had he washed up on some forgotten foreign shore, where the inhabitants worshipped old, pagan ways? He was sure the prospect should alarm him more than it did.
“Ah, do not fret. We will not sacrifice ye for yer ignorance.”
“That’s gratifying. It’d be a waste, after ye went to so much trouble to save my life.”
“Aye, that’s true. Although it could’ve been worse. At least ye’re awake.”
He acknowledged the truth of that. “Awake, aye. But still no closer to knowing who I am.”
She glanced at the door, where a servant entered with a bowl. “Ye’d best have this broth now, while it’s hot. It might help bring yer memories back.”
He couldn’t see how, but he hoped to God it did.
