Page 11 of A Highlander’s Heart

Once she no longer needed to work on his gash, she would give him a pair of clean breeches. Now, the two of them worked to get him into the léine and she continued wetting his skin with the new water.

As she smoothed the water over him, she noted the darkened muscled skin from years of exposure to the sun while training. Despite pretending to ignore how it affected her, nevertheless it drew her like a bee to a flower.

Even though he was unconscious, his muscles twitched as she worked. She was fascinated by the dark hair on his chest. Soft and curly.

Emma had seen many patients in the years she’d been healing, but for some reason, this man intrigued her as no other. Maybe because he was the enemy, and therefore off limits.

She rewet the cloth and returned to smooth his arms, both as muscular as his chest. Would his back fascinate her as well?

Thankfully, the door opened to admit Agnes Mackenzie and her elderly da, Adair. The man walked bent over and even though Emma had told him more than once to summon her instead of making the trip to the castle, he groused that as long as he could walk, he would.

Today, with her thoughts wandering where they were, she was very glad to see him. “Good morn, Mr. Mackenzie. What brings ye here to see me today?”

“Canno’ I just come to see a bonny lass?” He cackled and stomped his walking stick.

Just then a groan came from Morgan. She turned to him. “Are ye in pain?”

He frowned. “Nay, why would I be in pain with a bruised rib, a serious cut, and a fever?”

Emma smiled, agreeing he had the right to moan. “Can ye wait a minute or two so I can attend to Mr. Mackenzie?”

Morgan turned his head to the wall, so she considered that his consent.

Grumpy mon.

“What can I do for ye this morning, Mr. Mackenzie?”

He glared at his daughter. “’Tis tired I am of eating food for bairns. All she gives me”—he pointed to Agnes—“is porridge and bread soaked in milk. I’m a mon. I need food.”

Emma took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy, but the life of a healer sometimes wasn’t.

“Mr. Mackenzie, we’ve been over this before. Yer stomach canno’ tolerate heavy foods.” She looked up at Agnes. “Ye might mash up some soft potatoes and dribble gravy over it. We can see how his stomach does with that.”

Agnes nodded. “Thank ye, Emma. My da is a stubborn one.”

He scowled in her direction. “And a hungry one.”

Morgan huffed. “Aye I agree. Our healer is quite skimpy with the food.”

Another country heard from.

Chapter Five

Morgan felt as though he was standing in Hell, which was where he’d always assumed he would be one day. He opened his eyes to see Emma crushing leaves in a bowl. “Why is it so hot in here?”

Emma turned and hurried over to him. She placed her hand on his forehead and shook her head. “Yer fever is no’ coming down.”

He frowned. “Then fix it, healer.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “I canno’ ‘fix it,’ patient. Yer body has to do that. Ye need liquids and a cool bath. But a grumpy attitude isn’t going to help.”

He grinned at her. “I would feel a great deal better if ye are the one giving me a cool bath.”

His grin grew wider as the flush moved from the top of her kirtle to her forehead. Why he enjoyed teasing her was a question he refused to consider. After all, she was an Emma.

Despite her obvious body’s reaction, she chose to ignore his words, and raising her chin, said, “I will see if Enoch from the kitchen who helped me before can assist ye, and we’ll need a few of the lads who work in the castle to carry buckets of water from the creek.”

He almost suggested he go to the creek instead when he remembered he couldn’t walk with the gash and bruised ribs, which twisted his stomach, causing the oatcake he had earlier to almost travel back up to his mouth. He turned his head away from her and said to the wall, “Then unless yer plan is to have me die from the fever, I suggest ye do that.”