wife . . . and wee son . . . pains me still."
With an effort, Niall lifted his gaze to hers. "I don't know what you thought or expected, but 'tis too soon."
Anne stared up at him, deeply stirred by the undercurrent of intense sorraw, by his plea for understanding. How quickly he could change from an arrogant, self-possessed warrior to a vulnerable, tormented man! Och, it was too much to fathom, especially tonight of all nights.
She managed a small, tentative smile. "Don't concern yourself, m'lord. I am grateful you'll go slowly with me. 'Tis more than I ever dared hope."
Anne paused to scan his face thoughtfully. He, too, looked weary. The past days had been just as hard for him, with his capture and wounding. She suddenly remembered she hadn't tended to his wounds since yesterday.
"Your leg, m'lord," Anne began hesitantly. "How does its healing go? I should cleanse it and apply more o' my marigold ointment."
Niall stiffened. Though, in truth, he preferred her skills to the castle physician's, he knew he couldn't allow her to care for him, then forbid her doing so with everyone else.
He shook his head. "My leg fares well, lass. Our physician saw to it when I bathed. You needn't concern yourself."
There was a momentary prick of hurt, then Anne quashed it. Niall Campbell had no reason to trust her abilities to that of some physician, even if most were little more than purveyors of purgatives and bloodletting as treatment for every illness. It would take time to win his confidence, that was all.
Anne smiled, a soft, sweet movement of her lips. "Then 'tis good night, m'lord."
"Aye. Good night, lass."
For an instant longer Niall stared down at her, the firelight sending glinting shards of gold to dance in his eyes. Then, turning on his heel, he crossed the bedchamber and entered his own room through the connecting door.
Late the next morning as they were unpacking the rest of Anne's possessions, the maidservant discovered the box of herb plants.
"What would ye have me do with these, lassie?" Agnes held up the container.
Anne turned from the lace-trimmed nightgown she was folding to glance at the old woman. Her face brightened when she recognized the box. Her herbs! How could she have forgotten them?
She lay aside the nightgown and hurried to Agnes. Tenderly, her fingers caressed the delicate leaves, examining one, then the other. They all looked well, if a bit wilted, but needed replanting soon.
Taking possession of the box, Anne carried it to the sunlit window. She watered the herbs carefully. Only when her ministrations were complete did Anne turn back to the servant.
"Is there some patch in the castle garden where I might plant these?"
"Aye, lassie," the older woman replied, a distinctly uncomfortable look spreading across her face. "But 'tisn't my place to grant ye leave. Sir Niall instructed me to send ye to him with any requests."
So, Anne thought in exasperation, and must I also ask him permission to breathe? She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and tucked an errant strand of hair in place.
"Then so be it. Where might I find him?"
"Mayhap in the inner bailey, near the walled garden. He and his warriors always meet in swordplay at this time o' day. Shall I take ye there?"
Anne nodded. "Aye. 'Twill be awhile before I've fathomed the intricacies o'this castle."
As soon as they'd left the imposing bulk of the keep and stepped outside, the sound of clanging swords reached their ears. They passed quickly around the buildings's corner buttress to find eight men engaged in energetic sword practice. Anne easily singled out Niall's broad-shouldered form from the rest.
All were stripped to the waist, the excess of their belted plaids wrapped around and tucked into their belts. Their upper torsos and arms glistened with sweat. Anne swallowed hard and moved closer, Agnes following.
Niall's hands gripped the wooden handle of a claymore, the giant sword as long as its owner was tall and a weapon only of
With an effort, Niall lifted his gaze to hers. "I don't know what you thought or expected, but 'tis too soon."
Anne stared up at him, deeply stirred by the undercurrent of intense sorraw, by his plea for understanding. How quickly he could change from an arrogant, self-possessed warrior to a vulnerable, tormented man! Och, it was too much to fathom, especially tonight of all nights.
She managed a small, tentative smile. "Don't concern yourself, m'lord. I am grateful you'll go slowly with me. 'Tis more than I ever dared hope."
Anne paused to scan his face thoughtfully. He, too, looked weary. The past days had been just as hard for him, with his capture and wounding. She suddenly remembered she hadn't tended to his wounds since yesterday.
"Your leg, m'lord," Anne began hesitantly. "How does its healing go? I should cleanse it and apply more o' my marigold ointment."
Niall stiffened. Though, in truth, he preferred her skills to the castle physician's, he knew he couldn't allow her to care for him, then forbid her doing so with everyone else.
He shook his head. "My leg fares well, lass. Our physician saw to it when I bathed. You needn't concern yourself."
There was a momentary prick of hurt, then Anne quashed it. Niall Campbell had no reason to trust her abilities to that of some physician, even if most were little more than purveyors of purgatives and bloodletting as treatment for every illness. It would take time to win his confidence, that was all.
Anne smiled, a soft, sweet movement of her lips. "Then 'tis good night, m'lord."
"Aye. Good night, lass."
For an instant longer Niall stared down at her, the firelight sending glinting shards of gold to dance in his eyes. Then, turning on his heel, he crossed the bedchamber and entered his own room through the connecting door.
Late the next morning as they were unpacking the rest of Anne's possessions, the maidservant discovered the box of herb plants.
"What would ye have me do with these, lassie?" Agnes held up the container.
Anne turned from the lace-trimmed nightgown she was folding to glance at the old woman. Her face brightened when she recognized the box. Her herbs! How could she have forgotten them?
She lay aside the nightgown and hurried to Agnes. Tenderly, her fingers caressed the delicate leaves, examining one, then the other. They all looked well, if a bit wilted, but needed replanting soon.
Taking possession of the box, Anne carried it to the sunlit window. She watered the herbs carefully. Only when her ministrations were complete did Anne turn back to the servant.
"Is there some patch in the castle garden where I might plant these?"
"Aye, lassie," the older woman replied, a distinctly uncomfortable look spreading across her face. "But 'tisn't my place to grant ye leave. Sir Niall instructed me to send ye to him with any requests."
So, Anne thought in exasperation, and must I also ask him permission to breathe? She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and tucked an errant strand of hair in place.
"Then so be it. Where might I find him?"
"Mayhap in the inner bailey, near the walled garden. He and his warriors always meet in swordplay at this time o' day. Shall I take ye there?"
Anne nodded. "Aye. 'Twill be awhile before I've fathomed the intricacies o'this castle."
As soon as they'd left the imposing bulk of the keep and stepped outside, the sound of clanging swords reached their ears. They passed quickly around the buildings's corner buttress to find eight men engaged in energetic sword practice. Anne easily singled out Niall's broad-shouldered form from the rest.
All were stripped to the waist, the excess of their belted plaids wrapped around and tucked into their belts. Their upper torsos and arms glistened with sweat. Anne swallowed hard and moved closer, Agnes following.
Niall's hands gripped the wooden handle of a claymore, the giant sword as long as its owner was tall and a weapon only of
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