Page 57 of Laird Of Her Heart

Or he did.

The energy between his brother and his woman was just as it should be. A prickling irritation.

He might have chuckled because she turned to him. Her eyes widened and she dropped the book and rushed to his side. “He’s awake! Look Declan, he’s awake!”

“I see that. Welcome back, brother.”

“Welcome back?” The words clung to his throat. Maggie poured him some water and helped him drink—although he needed no help. It was a delicious wash, bathing his throat with cool clear water.

“Ah.”

“Aye. We feared we would lose you.”

“That bad?”

“Your wound became putrid,” Fergus, the doctor, said from somewhere beyond his field of vision. But then, all he really saw was Maggie.

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t use that term. It’s revolting.” She patted his shoulder gently. “You had an infection,” she said, enunciating each word as though he were a child. “We gave you some medicine.”

He frowned at her then shot a glance at his brother, who nodded. “Penicillin.”

“What is that?”

“A miracle potion, apparently.” Fergus stepped forward, his palms raised to the heavens. “It brought you from death’s door in three days.”

Maggie frowned at the doctor. “Pish. It’s just medicine.”

“And where did you get this just medicine?” Dominic asked her.

She glanced at the doctor and pressed her lips together, then murmured, “Um, Declan went to Seattle to get it.”

What the hell?

She patted his hand. “We’ll tell you all about it later.”

“Right,” Declan nodded and for the first time Dominic noticed what he was wearing. The same strange breeks Maggie had worn the first time he’d seen her. He opened his mouth to ask…something, but Declan didn’t allow him a moment. “Now,” he said. “According to Maggie, a great rain is coming. One that will flood the valley. She thinks we should have an early harvest, though if we do that, we will likely lose half our crop…”

He babbled on, but Dominic wasn’t listening. Not really. His gaze was locked to Maggie’s face as she glared at his brother.

God he loved her.

He needed to tell her.

And he would.

Soon.

With that thought, his exhaustion overcame him and he drifted off to sleep while they squabbled around him.

* * *

He was stronger every day, a fact that made Maggie’s heart ache. There was no way she could have the dreaded conversation with him while he was ill…but he wasn’t so ill anymore, was he?

Though she desperately needed to know how he felt about them, most specifically, if he wanted her to stay, she was frightened to death the answer wouldn’t be the one she needed to hear.

That was probably why she put it off for over a week.

Not that they didn’t spend time together—they did. Talking, cuddling, kissing. Nothing more, though, because his wound was still healing. She had to insist. Though he was somewhat adamant as well.