heart fluttered around him. The warmth that crept through her when she touched him. The odd sensation in her heart when he smiled.
Enough daydreaming . She knocked, then went inside. He was lying back down, his breath coming more rapidly and his face white with strain, but the pot was in a new spot.
She moved it away and sat next to him, taking up the cloth and wiping the moisture from his face. Then she made a potion that should ease him into sleep. She lifted his head as he drank it willingly enough.
As she put the cup down, he raised his hand. It brushed her arm, and she felt as if she’d been touched herself by that white-hot dagger. Heat coursed through her body. She jerked away and stood.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend—”
She knew her face must be red with shame. “You did nothing. It is just no man has touched me since Will died.”
“How long . . . ?”
“He died two years ago.”
“You’ve lived alone these years?” His voice was surprised.
“Is that unusual where you come from?”
A look of puzzlement passed over his face. She had hoped that an unexpected question might stir a memory.
“Yes . . . no . . . I . . . God’s tooth but I cannot—”
“Are you from Edinburgh?” she asked.
He shook his head in obvious frustration.
She wished she knew more about Scotland, but all she knew was what came from the minstrels who played songs for a roof overhead and a meal. The tales were of wild Highlanders and rape and pillage.
Yet this man appeared in no way wild. Still he was a warrior, or he would not have been at the side of a king.
“You need rest,” she said. “And I have work to do. The Charlton wishes some herbs.”
“You are a healer then?”
“I just know herbs,” she said, “as my mother did.”
His eyes studied her face. “You are a most unusual woman,” he said.
“Nay, I am just trying to take care of my daughter.”
“Then you would not have brought me here.”
“I wanted a ransom,” she defended herself.
“You knew that was unlikely when you came for me last night.”
“It was not good manners to leave that way,” she said primly.
“Now that is a fearsomely strange reason to haul someone back. But I apologize, Mistress Kimbra.”
“I do not want your apology. I want you to get well.”
“Why?”
“So you can leave, and my daughter and I can have our cottage back.”
“After all your efforts, I will try to do my best.”
His slow smile made her heart pound faster. She forced herself to rise. “I have chores to do.”
She went out and called for Audra. She knew she should have milked the cow earlier but she’d been too tired. Bess would be heavy and sore, and rightfully short-tempered over the neglect. There were several chickens to feed as well. She eyed one as the possible source of soup for the Scot, but they had become pets, and she and Audra depended on the eggs for barter.
While Kimbra saw to Bess, Audra fed and watered Magnus. Together they scattered seed for the hens and one rooster, then gathered several eggs.
The Scot was sleeping when they returned to the cottage, and she breathed deeply in relief. She still felt heat where he had touched her so briefly. It was only, she told herself, because she had been without a man since Will died. And while his lovemaking had often been fast, leaving her wanting something more, she had grown used to his arms, to his warm presence beside her.
But he had not stirred the wild feelings that the Scot did. She felt traitorous to Will’s memory, especially since this man was a Scot, an enemy to Will’s family and to England.
He did not look like an enemy. She couldn’t rid herself of the fact he had almost died to prevent harm coming to her and Audra.
Her heart was becoming far more involved than she’d thought possible.
And that, she knew, was far more dangerous than his physical presence in her home.
Chapter 8
K IMBRA woke to a shout.
Audra, who was sleeping next to her, did not
Enough daydreaming . She knocked, then went inside. He was lying back down, his breath coming more rapidly and his face white with strain, but the pot was in a new spot.
She moved it away and sat next to him, taking up the cloth and wiping the moisture from his face. Then she made a potion that should ease him into sleep. She lifted his head as he drank it willingly enough.
As she put the cup down, he raised his hand. It brushed her arm, and she felt as if she’d been touched herself by that white-hot dagger. Heat coursed through her body. She jerked away and stood.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend—”
She knew her face must be red with shame. “You did nothing. It is just no man has touched me since Will died.”
“How long . . . ?”
“He died two years ago.”
“You’ve lived alone these years?” His voice was surprised.
“Is that unusual where you come from?”
A look of puzzlement passed over his face. She had hoped that an unexpected question might stir a memory.
“Yes . . . no . . . I . . . God’s tooth but I cannot—”
“Are you from Edinburgh?” she asked.
He shook his head in obvious frustration.
She wished she knew more about Scotland, but all she knew was what came from the minstrels who played songs for a roof overhead and a meal. The tales were of wild Highlanders and rape and pillage.
Yet this man appeared in no way wild. Still he was a warrior, or he would not have been at the side of a king.
“You need rest,” she said. “And I have work to do. The Charlton wishes some herbs.”
“You are a healer then?”
“I just know herbs,” she said, “as my mother did.”
His eyes studied her face. “You are a most unusual woman,” he said.
“Nay, I am just trying to take care of my daughter.”
“Then you would not have brought me here.”
“I wanted a ransom,” she defended herself.
“You knew that was unlikely when you came for me last night.”
“It was not good manners to leave that way,” she said primly.
“Now that is a fearsomely strange reason to haul someone back. But I apologize, Mistress Kimbra.”
“I do not want your apology. I want you to get well.”
“Why?”
“So you can leave, and my daughter and I can have our cottage back.”
“After all your efforts, I will try to do my best.”
His slow smile made her heart pound faster. She forced herself to rise. “I have chores to do.”
She went out and called for Audra. She knew she should have milked the cow earlier but she’d been too tired. Bess would be heavy and sore, and rightfully short-tempered over the neglect. There were several chickens to feed as well. She eyed one as the possible source of soup for the Scot, but they had become pets, and she and Audra depended on the eggs for barter.
While Kimbra saw to Bess, Audra fed and watered Magnus. Together they scattered seed for the hens and one rooster, then gathered several eggs.
The Scot was sleeping when they returned to the cottage, and she breathed deeply in relief. She still felt heat where he had touched her so briefly. It was only, she told herself, because she had been without a man since Will died. And while his lovemaking had often been fast, leaving her wanting something more, she had grown used to his arms, to his warm presence beside her.
But he had not stirred the wild feelings that the Scot did. She felt traitorous to Will’s memory, especially since this man was a Scot, an enemy to Will’s family and to England.
He did not look like an enemy. She couldn’t rid herself of the fact he had almost died to prevent harm coming to her and Audra.
Her heart was becoming far more involved than she’d thought possible.
And that, she knew, was far more dangerous than his physical presence in her home.
Chapter 8
K IMBRA woke to a shout.
Audra, who was sleeping next to her, did not
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