Page 8 of A Highlander’s Heart

Finally, with a deep breath, she said, “I asked one of the kitchen men to bring cold water and dip yer cloth into it and lay it on yer chest.” She refused to look at him.

“And when will that be?”

“When he has time,” Emma said with gritted teeth.

After a few moments of silence, Morgan said, “Emma.”

She took a deep breath, and still didn’t turn around. “What?”

“Look at me.”

She placed the last jar on the shelf and turned. “What?”

“I, ah…I want to apologize.” He had red spots on his cheeks, like he was embarrassed, though his face was pale underneath. Placing her hands on her hips, she said, “For which insult? Which complaint? Which temper tantrum?”

The man had the nerve to smile. “Can ye come closer?”

What would he do now? Strangle her? Test the muscles in his arm by hitting her with his fist?

She wasn’t truly afraid of the man, but she wasn’t feeling too pleasant toward him. She took in a deep breath and moved a few steps.

Morgan’s smile widened as he reached for her. “Closer.”

Aye. He did intend to strangle her.

She moved, ignored his hand, and looked into his eyes, something she should not have done. His smile didn’t quite reach his deep brown eyes, but that smile alone had done enough to her.

She swallowed and said, “What?”

“I want to apologize for my behavior since I’ve arrived. I ken ’tis no’ yer fault I was injured. In truth, I am concerned for my future. Being a warrior is all I have ever been.” He shrugged, apparently uncomfortable offering that much of himself.

His eyes were shining, glassy, as if he’d been crying. That was odd, she thought, but she felt herself softening. “I canno’ say I have ever faced a challenge like that, but I do ken a good attitude does help healing.”

His smile vanished. “’Tis been a while since I’ve had a reason to smile.”

After a few moments of silence when they just stared at each other, Emma cleared her throat. “I would check yer leg now before I make the rest of my visits.”

Chapter Four

Morgan flinched when Emma removed the bandage from his leg and then drew in a breath. She turned her head to study his face, her brow furrowed. “Nay,” she breathed softly.

“Nay? Is it my handsome face that has ye looking so disturbed, Emma?” he joked, though he already sensed that wasn’t the reason for her concern. His wound was throbbing and the pain radiating from it was worse than the ache in his ribs.

Her lips tightened as she returned her gaze to his leg wound. “I’m afraid ye have developed an infection.”

“Aye. So now what?” He tried not to appear afraid. As a warrior, he’d faced death many times, on his horse, with his sword in his hand. He’d never expected to face death lying on his back in an enemy’s healing hut. That was a woman’s death, not a warrior’s. He felt helpless.

“It means I have to take out the stitches to drain the pus, then apply some other, stronger healing salve to it before I restitch it.” She pressed her soft hand to his forehead, then both hands to his cheeks.

“Ye do feel a bit warm to me. The fever is starting.”

“Why now?” Try as he might be full of courage, he could hear the mixture of fear and anger in his own voice. “I’ve been here more than two days already.”

Emma sighed. “I am truly sorry about this. It happens, though no one is sure why. There are some who say it’s caused by an imbalance of the humors in the body, or simply because it is an act of God.”

He frowned. “I’m sure it wouldna have happened if I was with the healer at Clyth Castle.”

Emma drew herself up. “Mayhap. But ye’re not there. Ye’re here with me. And ye ken, sometimes ye canna be sure of these things.”