Highland Barbarian Part 38

Meredith gave Angus a grateful look.

At a knock on the door they both turned and watched as Mistress Snow entered, followed by a serving girl carrying a tray.

"This is the broth you ordered, my lady." Mistress Snow directed the servant where to set the tray, then turned to study Meredith, noting her pale features, accentuated by the dark circles that rimmed her eyes.

"If you do not soon rest you will be joining my lord Campbell in a sickbed."

"I am fine." Meredith knelt and tasted the broth before nodding her approval to the servant.

"Are the wounded below stairs beginning to heal?"

"Aye, my lady." The housekeeper chanced a glance at Angus before adding softly,

"Though it has been a difficult task to keep some of them in bed long enough. Already some," she said, staring meaningfully at the man who faced her with a grin, "are determined to begin repairs on Kinloch House before their wounds have even begun to heal."

"I heard the sound of axes in the forest and trees being felled. I thought perhaps only necessary repairs were being made."

"Necessary." Mistress Snow gave a hollow laugh.

"If Angus had his way, the castle would be as good as new before Brice had a chance to view the destruction left by the MacKenzies."

"It will cause him pain to know that his ancestral home has been burned by Lowlanders," Angus said softly.

"I would spare my old friend any more suffering. And now I must go below and see to those repairs."

When he left the room, Meredith glanced at the housekeeper, who was staring at the closed door with a look of concern.

"I know that you fear Angus is pushing himself and the others beyond their limits. But it is how a man deals with his feelings of hopelessness. With their leader cut down, and the enemy beyond their reach, they have a need to do something that is physically punishing."

"How did a sheltered woman like yourself learn such things?" The housekeeper watched as Meredith dipped the spoon into the bowl of broth.

"My father was a peace-loving man. But he was also a warrior."

Meredith held the spoon to Brice's lips and watched as he swallowed the first trickle of broth.

"Each time he was forced to recover from battle wounds inflicted by the English, he quickly undertook a difficult, draining task. My mother explained that it was a necessary part of healing."

"Your mother was a wise woman." Mistress Snow gave a loud sigh.

"As for me, I would prefer to take Angus to bed and find a gentler way of healing."

When she realized what she had revealed, the housekeeper blushed to the tips of her toes.

"Oh, my lady. Forgive me for my lapse."

Meredith's laughter rang through the room.

"Oh, Mistress Snow. If you could but see your face."

"I--must see to the scullery," the woman said, hurrying to the door to escape her humiliation.

"I will send Cara to see to your needs."

When the door closed behind her, Meredith shook her head and continued to laugh. Then, filling the spoon with more broth, she cradled Brice's head in her lap and forced a small amount of the liquid between his lips.

It was the sound of Meredith's laughter that seemed to penetrate the fog that shrouded Brice's mind. The sound trilled like the gentle warble of a bird. There was no mistaking it. It was truly the beautiful Meredith, come once more to visit him in this place of misery.

He felt his head being lifted gently, as it was placed upon her lap.

He inhaled the steaming broth as the spoon was placed to his lips. He tasted its delicate flavor as the liquid slid down his throat, warming, soothing. His parched throat was eased and he gratefully accepted a second spoonful.

From beneath slightly open lids he watched as she cradled his head in her lap and bent over him, intent upon her task. Her hair swirled forward, the silken strands brushing his hand. As she dipped the spoon once more in the bowl, she leaned forward slightly. He felt the imprint of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and experienced a rush of heat that left him flushed and weak.

Now it was no longer the fragrance of the broth that filled his senses.

It was the clean delicate fragrance of pine and wildflowers that seemed to surround her. He inhaled, filling himself with her scent, wishing he could fill himself with her.

She brought the spoon to his lips and he opened his mouth, accepting the broth. When he swallowed, the warm liquid snaked through his veins, giving him precious strength.

Again and again she fed him, grateful that he no longer fought her.

It was the first time he had willingly accepted nourishment. When at last, unable to take more, he pushed her hand away, she glanced down and realized that he was watching her.

The spoon dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. It lay there forgotten.

"Oh, Brice. At last you are awake."

"Am I?" On his face was a dreamy half smile.

"I was afraid you were a ghostly specter, my lady."

"I am no ghost."

He glanced around, trying to focus his blurred vision. "Where are we?"

"In your sitting chamber at Kinloch House."

"Truly?"

"Aye. Truly." She laughed and laid his head back against a pillow of fur.

He wanted to tell her that he preferred to have his head in her lap.

But it was proving difficult to keep his thoughts from scattering.

And even more difficult to put them into words.

After a prolonged silence he murmured,