Beloved Stranger by PATRICIA POTTER Page A

palm to his head. He was still feverish but not as much as earlier. Her herbs were working their magic. But why had they not done the same for Will?
    “My apologies,” he said, a contrite expression on his face. “’Twas not what I intended.”
    Her fury faded away. She had no doubt he had left to save her trouble and danger. His intentions had been good, even as the result had almost been disastrous.
    “You will not try it again?”
    “Not without telling you first,” he promised.
    She frowned. It was not the promise she wanted, but she suspected it was the only one she would get. He may not know who he was, but ’twas clear he was more used to giving orders than taking them. He was gentry, or royalty, or noble. That was clear.
    “I will get a potion for the pain.”
    “You have done enough.”
    “There is no sense in suffering more than you must.”
    “Do you . . . ever take any rest?”
    “Not when men do foolish things.”
    He looked contrite. “I will try to keep any further foolishness to a minimum,” he said solemnly.
    She sighed heavily. “You do not want to use such words,” she reminded him. “You are a borderer now. You would not use fancy words.”
    “Are they fancy?”
    “Aye,” she said, then realized he was teasing her.
    He was obviously better.
    Still, she persisted. “You must remember. And you cannot stay here long. The Charlton wants to take you to the peel tower, and then they may well learn you be a Scot if you do not watch your speech. Without a name for ransom, they will kill you. They showed no mercy to those wounded on Flodden Field.”
    He tried to move again, and the effort showed on his face.
    “Stay where you are.”
    Audra entered then, and she could say no more. “Audra, take an oatcake to Bear as a reward for finding Mr. Howard last night.”
    Audra smiled shyly at the Scot. “I am glad he found you.”
    “He did not let me out his sight,” the Scot said wryly.
    “He knows I like you,” Audra said.
    The Scot gave her a crooked smile. “That must be . . . why.”
    It was obvious even those words required as much strength as he had.
    “Go,” Kimbra told her daughter.
    Audra glanced at the Scot and appeared reluctant, though ordinarily she would have been delighted at the prospect of playing with Bear.
    The Scot nodded, and Audra headed toward the table, found an oatcake, and went out the door, Bear at her heels.
    Kimbra felt a momentary resentment that her daughter obeyed the stranger more readily than she did her own mother, but then she was angry already. She had spent too much effort for the Scot to throw it all away.
    She said nothing more as she found the chamber pot and started to help the Scot as she had her husband. A man’s body was a man’s body and nothing to be shy about. But the Scot refused to help.
    “I will do it myself.”
    “And do more harm?”
    “I swear not.”
    She gave him a look that she hoped told him what she thought of that promise.
    But his gaze—so blue—held hers, and she knew he would not relent.
    “I will be outside the door,” she surrendered.
    She went out, but stayed at the door, ready to reenter at the first groan and cry, or bump, or crash. There was none.
    She allowed her attention to wander over to Audra and Bear who were chasing each other, or Bear was pretending to chase. She couldn’t imagine Bear leaving the cottage and following the stranger. The beast must have thought the Scot was important to them.
    He was not important at all. There would be no ransom or reward. How could you collect one for someone who didn’t know who he was? And she was certainly in no position to discover his identity on her own.
    Yet there was something about the Scot that had made her care far more than she should. She knew that when she searched for him last night. She’d been frantic, far more than she should have been for someone she’d known only a short time.
    She did not wish to explore her other reactions to him. The way her