stake on MacLeod land I’ll send him to hell myself.”
“Aye, I thought that’s how you’d feel. I’ve sent a couple of men into the villages to keep an eye on him,” Fergus informed him.
“Eat yer parritch, brother.” Iain gestured to the bowl the lass had left, and pulled up a stool alongside him.
“And how is it I have parritch? I was under the impression Cook quit.”
“Aye, he did, but I managed to smooth his ruffled feathers.”
“And who would it be that ruffled his feathers in the first place—Lady Aileanna?” Rory asked, raising a brow.
“Aye, but—”
He interrupted his brother with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just tell me what she did.”
“’Twas more what she said.” Iain glanced at him, then sighed. “She told Cook his kitchens were no better than a pigsty, and she was surprised he hadna’ killed anyone as yet.”
Rory snorted. It was something he himself had meant to do, and he wasn’t at all certain that no one had died. But before he could admit as much, Connor returned.
“I thought I told you to bring Lady Aileanna to me.”
“I tried, but the lady says she’s busy and will come when she gets the chance.” The lad, head bowed, twisted his hands in front of him.
“She will, will she?” Rory muttered, rising to his feet.
“And…and she said I was to tell you you’d better damn well be in bed when she does,” Connor stammered, obviously quoting the lady verbatim.
Fergus covered a snort of laughter with a cough, shrugging when Rory shot him a quelling look.
“That’ll be all, Connor.”
“Rory, she’s lookin’ to the men who were wounded in the battle with the MacDonald. There are a fair number of them.”
“Yer quick to her defense, brother.” Rory narrowed his gaze on Iain. The lad had a reputation with the ladies, and he wondered if he’d charmed his way into Lady Aileanna’s affections—a thought that didn’t sit well with Rory, not with the memory of her naked in his arms and her passionate response to his touch. Fists clenched at his sides, he reined in the spurt of jealousy. An emotion he had no right or reason to feel, he reminded himself.
“Nay.” His brother gave an adamant shake of his head. “’Tis no’ like that.”
He ignored Iain. Lowering himself into the chair, he leaned back. “I appreciate the lass seein’ to the men’s care, but what I’d be needin’ to ken is where she’s from. Is there a chance she could be a spy sent by the MacDonald?”
Iain guffawed. “Brother, you’d think yer own mother a spy if she was alive.”
Rory shrugged. “You canna’ be too careful.”
Fergus cleared his throat. “She’s no spy, lad. She’d been kidnapped by those bloody lowlanders on the account of her healin’ abilities, but she escaped. I found her when I went back to the battlegrounds lookin’ fer our wounded.”
Rory scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking on what Fergus told him.
“I thought I told you to stay in your bed.”
He looked up. Aileanna Graham stood only a few feet from him, hands on her hips, more bonny than he remembered. The tops of her milky white breasts filled the square neckline of a gown the color of heather. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze to her face. His hands twitched at the memory of how she’d felt in his arms.
Bloody hell, if he didna’ get his heated thoughts under control they would all have a verra good idea what he was thinkin’.
His plaid would soon resemble a tent.
He cleared his throat. “Lass, in case you hadna’ noticed, I am the laird. I listen to no one.”
She arched a brow. “I know exactly who you are, Lord MacLeod. But you are also my patient, and until I decide you are no longer under my care, you will do as I say. Now get back into bed.”
He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her. “I’ll no’ get into bed. I’ve been in there long enough.”
“I think I hear Mrs. Mac callin’ fer me.” Iain rose from the stool and headed for the door with Fergus fast on his heels.
“Fergus, Iain, I expect a full update on the army’s condition before evenin’ meal,” he yelled, cursing when they shut the door firmly behind them without a word.
“That hurt, didn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over and placed cool fingertips to his forehead.
Rory shook his head, not certain he’d get the words out. His mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips. She was so close he felt the heat of her body; the scent of lavender enveloped him.
“Let’s get you into bed,” she said, slipping her soft hand into his. “I want to make sure you haven’t done any damage.”
“I told you, lass, I’m no’ gettin’ back in that bed.”
She sighed. “You’re a stubborn man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shaking her head, she knelt before him.
“Aye, often.” He bit back a groan when she tugged at his belt.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Eyes the color of sapphires, awash with concern, met his.
“Nay,” he muttered. Brushing her hands aside he undid his belt, dropping it to the floor.
She inched his plaid lower, exposing the wound, exploring with a firm yet gentle touch. Meeting his eyes, she lowered hers quickly, and he wondered if she could see the desire in his. He didna’ doubt it was there. He wanted her with a need that surprised him. Closing his eyes, he imagined his wife, tiny and fragile, so slight and delicate. The memory of Brianna served to dampen his desire for the woman on her knees between his thighs.
“Are you all right?” she asked, the timbre of her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat. “Lord MacLeod?”
“I’m fine, lass,” he said. “Are you finished with yer pokin’?”
“Yes.” She patted his knee and rose to her feet. “I’m surprised at how well you’ve healed. It’s quite amazing actually. You’ll be as good as new in no time. Now, if you don’t mind, I had better get back to your men.” She retrieved his belt and handed it to him.
Rory adjusted his plaid. “I’d like a word with you first.” He studied her, watching for a reaction.
“Oh.” She smoothed her hands over her gown. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked at him.
“Fergus tells me you were abducted by the lowlanders.”
“Umhmm,” she murmured, twisting the long length of her braided hair between her fingers.
“Does it trouble you to speak of it?”
“No.”
“They didna’ hurt you, did they?”
She shook her head, perfect white teeth worrying her full bottom lip.
“Lass, look at me.” He stood up and tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “You can tell me.”
“No one hurt me.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “How did you escape?”
“I…I don’t remember.” She dipped her head. “I think I must have hit my head.”
Rory framed her face with his hands, searching her eyes. She sucked in a startled gasp when he ran his fingers through her hair, probing her scalp. Her braid came undone, and silken tresses slid between