more quickly. It will be up to him to decide how you’ll be employed.”
I fell silent, and he continued.
“You will stay in his antechamber, under chaperone, to serve his requests for your company. Your reputation, at this point, is hardly an issue, but if you wish it, your presence in his chambers will remain secretive, aside from myself, Kade, Effie and our sisters, who will assist you with clothing. You will be fed, and you will be under our protection until our brother is fit enough to decide your fate. Our clanspeople, if they ask, will be told that you are an apprentice healer to Effie, hailing from a distant clan...Macduff, perhaps. And you will assist her as she tends to Wilkie’s injury.” His light gray eyes were unsettlingly cool. “Do you agree to these terms?”
Did I have a choice in the matter? I could return to the cave, to Ogilvie, or travel for weeks across the windswept Highlands without food in the hopes that a long-ago acquaintance might take pity on me.
“Aye.”
“’Tis settled, then,” said the laird. “Until Wilkie revives.”
* * *
ONCE THE MEETING HAD concluded, I was taken by Christie and Ailie back to Wilkie’s antechamber, where a bath was being prepared for me. Wilkie’s sisters—now that they had been informed of the ongoing arrangements of my stay—were determined to clean me up.
A large bathing tub, filled and steaming, had been placed next to the fireplace, where flames danced invitingly. An embroidered privacy screen had been placed next to the tub, and several luxurious-looking garments had been laid on one of the beds.
Ailie led me to the bath. “Here, Roses. A hot bath will ease you.”
I hoped she was right. I could admit that I still was not feeling myself at all.
The scent of soap perfumed the humid warmth of the room. Ailie and Christie laid out a robe and a drying cloth. I did not yet begin to remove my clothing, although it might have been expected of me. Christie touched my hair, stroking it lightly. “Such unusual hair you have, Roses. ’Tis lovely. So long and so fair.” I felt out of place being served and attended to; I had always before been the one doing the serving.
Christie remained welcoming and verbose, buoyed by the intrigue of my arrival and my presence. Ailie was quieter, and I suspected she wondered at my ongoing placement in her brother’s chambers and what it might mean to him, to her, to all of us. I guessed from her manner and her curious eyes that she could feel it, and so had I, and strongly: an unusualness to the intensity of my connection to Wilkie, and his to me. She seemed to possess an extraordinary perceptiveness, and I found, rather than feeling wary of her study, I felt drawn to her.
The sisters began to help me undress, and I was hesitant, conscious as ever of revealing my tattoo. But the heavy mass of my long hair covered me and I made a point of moving carefully so as not to displace it. I eased my sore body into to the tub.
The hot water was divine and seemed to wash away many of my aches and my fears for the moment. I washed my body and hair with a scented soap, rinsing several times.
“We brought several dresses for you to choose from, Roses,” said Christie, easing me immeasurably with the happy, easy sound of her chatter. “I thought the green, to go with your eyes. Aside from your golden-white hair, it was the first thing I noticed about you. The light green of your eyes. But then Ailie thought the pale yellow, to offset the tones of your hair.”
“Either one of them will be perfect,” I said.
“Do you have a favorite color, Roses? You know I guessed it to be pink, I don’t know why. So we brought a pink one, as well.”
“It is pink,” I told her. Not that I had ever had the opportunity to wear a pink dress, or a green one, or a pale yellow one. Course calico fabrics woven from wool by Ogilvie seamstresses were generally varying shades of beige or brown.
“Ailie orders the fabrics from Edinburgh. Occasionally we even make the trip ourselves, with escorts, of course. Kade came with us last time. And Knox the time before that. ’Tis so sophisticated, Edinburgh. I simply love the activity of the place, and the shops. Have you ever been to Edinburgh, Roses?”
“Nay, never.” In fact, before this adventure, I had never been away from the Ogilvie keep before, or at least not that I could remember.
The steam of the bath did odd things to my thoughts, hazing them in subtle incoherence, as if I was not wholly aware of this place. I felt almost alarmingly dazed and distant, and I missed Wilkie. My fingertips yearned to feather themselves over the scar-roughened textures of his skin. My mouth watered at the thought of his taste, the exploration of his tongue.
As though in answer, I heard Wilkie’s voice, calling to me from his chambers. My name.
“I should go to him,” I heard myself say.
I rose from my bath, feeling wildly unsteady, looking for a drying cloth.
“Nay, Roses,” urged Ailie, gently easing me back into the bath. “You cannot possibly go to him like this. Finish your bath, then we’ll take you to him.”
But there was a crashing noise coming from Wilkie’s chambers, as if he was up and bumping into things. He was looking for me, calling to me.
“I must,” I said, stepping from the bath, barely noticing my nakedness and the drip of the bathwater onto the floor, such was the muddled and needy state of my mind. “He needs me.”
More banging noises could be heard from Wilkie’s chambers.
“What’s he doing in there?” asked Christie, to no one in particular. I heard another crash and a groan. My name.
I was becoming frantic, making my way toward Wilkie’s door as Ailie acquiesced, wrapping a dressing gown around me, not bothering to dry me first. “Here, then, Roses. Wait. Let me tie it.” She pulled the tie tight around my waist just as I was able to open the door.
And Wilkie was there, reaching the door at the same time. When he saw me, his eyes widened. He was flushed, his blue eyes blazing. Behind him, several chairs were overturned, and the furs of his bed were disheveled; some of them had fallen to the floor. He was dressed only in his underclothes. His wound was rebloodied from his exertions, and a small line of dark red had bled through the bandages.
Before I could even react to him, I was surrounded in an all-encompassing clinch against his big, fiery body. He buried his face in the damp strands of my hair, weaving his fingers through it almost painfully, inhaling deeply, holding me close as though trying to pull me into himself. “God in heaven, deliver me,” he murmured, clearly overcome by delirium. “I need you, angel.”
He was unsteady on his feet and leaned us against the wall, swaying slightly as though he might fall.
“Wilkie!” cried his sisters.
I tried to pull away from him, to lead him back to his bed. But he wouldn’t budge. He was thoroughly unconcerned by my robe, my wetness, the inappropriateness of our coiled embrace, and his own aggravated injury. He held on to me tightly, blindly pressing his face into my neck, breathing heavily of my scent.
“’Tis dark indeed without your sunlight, Roses,” he rasped gruffly, quietly, into my ear. “Come back to me.”
“I’m here, warrior,” I said, unsettled both because I wanted to calm him and also because the worried faces and hands of his two sisters were pulling me away from him. They were leading Wilkie back to his bed and me along with him, as he would not loosen his hold on me. They were wiping at his wound and calling for Effie. I felt disengaged from them, focused only on Wilkie and his clear delirium, and also my own, and his strong refusal to follow any request unless I was within his grasp. I held on to his hand as he was eased back into his bed. All was hazy, as though I was channeling Wilkie’s fever, following him into it, deeper and deeper, to lead him once again back into the light.
I was aware only that I was holding his hand. Abstractly, I noticed that Christie was settling