Page 42 of A Highlander’s Heart

“And ye bring Mackenzie warriors with ye. Have ye sold our clan to the Mackenzie?” Patrick sneered. “Or did ye sell the clan to the Mackenzie in return for yer whore?”

Morgan saw red and the blood pounded in his ears at the insult.

Emma screamed as he jumped on Patrick. “Nay, Morgan!”

Pain exploded in his still-healing ribs he landed on Patrick, but he got a few good punches in before Gregory pulled him off the man.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Duncan who he knew he could trust not to poison them—and said, “My wife is weary from the trip, so we will retire to the laird’s bedchamber. Please have the evening meal sent up to us. I will expect to see all the men in the morning to assess their abilities.”

“Aye, Laird,” Duncan said, and started in the direction of the kitchens.

Emma wrapped her arm round Morgan’s waist, no doubt as a show of caring, when she was actually helping him walk. He turned back to Patrick. “I will accept everyone’s pledge of fealty before we head to the lists tomorrow. Anyone who has a problem with that should be gone before first light.”

He looked at the men behind Patrick. “Anyone.”

They entered the laird’s bedchamber and, with no surprise to Morgan, discovered all of Patrick’s belongings, were scattered all over the place. There was even a half-full mug of whisky on the sill of one of the windows. He yelled for one of the chamber maids to get some lads to move everything of Patrick’s out.

“Where shall we put it, Laird?”

He was gratified to hear the young lass refer to him as such. “Ask Patrick. If ye can’t get an answer, leave it in the great hall. Also, get someone to unload the wagon we traveled with and have them brought up. My wife’s things are in there.”

She smiled and dipped in a curtsy. “Welcome home, m’laird.”

Once the lass closed the door, Morgan hobbled to the bed and dropped onto it with a very loud groan.

“Ye have probably damaged yer bruised ribs, ye stubborn mon,” she tsked as she hurried to his side and glared at him.

“Ach, wife, I couldna let that comment from Patrick go.” He leaned up on his elbows. “No one speaks of my wife like that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Emma wanted to be pleased by his comment but was more concerned with how Morgan was pale and the way sweat had broken out on his forehead. She truly hoped he’d hadn’t damaged his ribs with his attack on Patrick.

Before she had the chance to admonish him, there was a knock on the door. Morgan immediately attempted to stand, but Emma placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Doona move.”

She pulled the bed hangings across the bed and walked to the door. Two strapping lads walked in. “We came for Patrick’s things. He wants us to put them in the room next to yers.”

To her frustration, Morgan slid the curtains back and climbed from the bed. His face was even more pale, and she was ready to throttle him. He shook his head. “Nay. My wife will need that for a healing room.”

One of the lads frowned. “As ye ken, Laird, we have a healing hut outside the keep.”

Morgan waved his hand. “No matter. Just do as I say and take Patrick’s things to a room at the end of the hall and leave the room next to mine empty.”

Once the men left, Emma turned on him, her hands on her hips. “Ye might be able to fool all these ignorant men, but I know for a fact that ye are in pain.”

Before he could answer, she said, “Lie back down on that bed so I can examine ye.”

Although the pain was evident on his face, he smiled and said, “Aye, I doona mind lying down on the bed if ye join me. Even better, lie next to me so I can feel yer curves.”

She shook her head, ignoring his statement. “Slip off yer breeches.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but once he glanced at her face, he stopped. He gently lowered his breeches and she slid them off. “Turn over.”

The fool man grinned. “Why, so ye can get a look at my—”

“Do. No’. Say. It.”

She looked at the leg, which appeared fine. The stitches were in place, no blood or anything else oozed from the wound.