Page 74 of His Secret Highland Bride

“Do you want me to do it?” Bess asked. “My eyesight isn’t what it once was, but I can shut a wound.”

“Nay. I can do this,” Lindsay said quietly, more to herself than in answer to Bess.

“Do ye need a dram of whisky to settle your hands, mistress?” Fitz asked while holding out a flask.

She considered for a moment but then shook her head. Plying whisky wouldn’t help her in the long run. She needed her wits about her to help Shane. She focused on one stitch and then the next and next. God, there were so many needed to seal up the large wound. She could only hope he hadn’t lost too much blood. There was no way to know for sure. His body was cool to the touch, but he didn’t shake, which was a good sign. The bleeding slowed to a trickle and then a stop. Bess coated the whole mess with honey to help with the seal.

When Lindsay finished bandaging the wound, she placed a kiss to her fingers and lightly touched it over the tied cloth. It was a silly thing. She didn’t know what would come next. There was still much unsettled between them, but she wanted him to wake up that instant.

Alec and Fitz were speaking quietly but urgently out on the porch. She guessed they were in a disagreement over what was to be done next. With a deep breath to steady herself, she went out to face the men.

“How is he?” Alec asked anxiously. For all his bluster before, it was clear he’d actually been worried.

“The bleeding has stopped. I don’t think anything vital was damaged. He is resting now, and he’s cool but not shaking, so while he’s lost a good bit of blood, I’m not sure yet if it was too much. It’s up to him now.”

She stood to the side as the men discussed traveling to the MacColl stronghold to take the castle while it was weakened. Lindsay thought it was a good strategy, though she couldn’t care when all she saw when she closed her eyes was her husband lying inside.

Once the men agreed on a plan, they turned to her as she stood there numbly. Her hands shook.

“Did ye hear me, mistress?” Alec asked, closer to her now.

She startled and shook her head.

“Ye are in charge of the clan until he wakes. There’s much to be done.”

She could only nod as Alec and Fitz loaded the injured MacColls into the cart and came back for Shane to take them all up to the castle, where she would be in charge of the clan.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Shane had been injured once in France. When he’d woken in the hospital, he’d been surrounded by the groans of injured and dying men. He’d wished his wife was by his side.

He was thinking of that when he tried to open his eyes to ask for water. He swallowed and forced the word from his throat. “Agua,” he asked in Spanish. “Por favor.”

“Uh. Water? That’s what you asked? I’m sorry, my Spanish is not good,” the woman said.

Lindsay. He recognized her voice, and everything came flooding back. He was in Scotland, not France. He’d been in a battle with the MacColls, and his clan had won. His eyelids fluttered open as he forced himself to look at her, eager to make sure she was well.

“Are you…?”

“All is well. I’m glad you’ve chosen to wake up.”

Her voice trembled on the last word, and he reached out for her hand. For all the anger and confusion and mistrust they’d shared, he was heartened to see she’d worried over him. She cared. Her warm palm pressed against his cooler one. He felt a small, warm weight against his opposite hip and managed to look down to see the dog sleeping against him on his bed in the castle. If he’d had the strength, he may have shooed her away. But he imagined he wasn’t in any condition to argue at the moment and let the little dog rest.

“Alec?” he asked.

“He is well. He’s seeing to things with the men. The MacColls have been defeated or surrendered.”

“How many men did we lose?”

“I-I’m not sure. Some. I will ask my father when he returns.” She frowned, and he thought maybe she’d heard more but didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t press; he wasn’t certain he was ready to hear the tally anyway.

Whatever the number, every life lost was his fault, as if he’d drawn his blade against their throats himself. He should have anticipated his letter would lead to war. He’d felt like it was the best way to recover their losses, but now…

He remembered something his father had told him after catching him ordering his brothers around as the heir—that being a good leader wasn’t about ordering people about and sitting on your arse while others serve you. Every order given should be thought out fully. Every ruling had a repercussion. And every decision had the opportunity to be a mistake. Wise words from a man who’d abandoned the idea of leadership and being responsible for his clan. Shane remembered them.

He was now the laird of the MacPhersons, as well as what was left of the MacColls who had pledged loyalty to him, and now, while the MacColls had surrendered, he’d go to Collier to claim the castle as his. But it would mean he had two clans to feed and see through the winter with no money. He hadn’t anticipated that outcome. It seemed like everything he did as laird turned out to be the wrong thing—including the secret he’d kept from his wife, that he was indeed the very laird.

When he asked to stand up, she offered her support as he took a few steps. His body was stiff and the stitches pulled with each movement, but he was up and moving about.