He opened his eyes and saw that he was slumped over her, nearly crushing her with his weight. Why then did her voice seem so far away? He knew his strength was ebbing, and struggled to remain awake and alert.
“We are almost home,” she whispered.
“Home.” He savored the word, seeing in his mind’s eye plump Mistress MacCallum, hovering like a mother hen, while the servants scurried about seeing to his every comfort.
He wanted desperately to lie down. With his arms firmly around Merritt, he lowered his head until his lips were pressed to the little hollow between her neck and shoulder. Despite his pain, a not altogether unpleasant sensation welled up inside him.
“If I must die, then at least I will do so with a smile,” he muttered.
The words, spoken against Merritt’s sensitive flesh, sent chills racing along her spine. “You will not die, Campbell. I will not let you. For I would like the pleasure of killing you myself.”
“Then do it now.” He set his teeth against the pain. “I must lie down, else I will plunge headlong from my mount.”
“We cannot stop,” came Merritt’s voice, low, soothing, warming him despite the chill of the night. “See. There.” She pointed, and he roused himself enough to look up.
“The towers of Inverene House,” she cried excitedly.
“Aye.” He felt a moment’s frustration. Not Kinloch House. Not home. But at least it was sanctuary. He could put a stop to this painful jarring. He could rest. He forced himself to sit up straighter.
The horses, sensing home, broke into a run. From sheer strength of will, Shaw managed to hold on until his mount came to a sudden halt.
As he began to slide to the ground, Shaw felt a hand beneath his elbow.
Merritt’s voice was close beside him. “Just a few steps, Campbell, and then a few steps more, and we will be warm and safe.”
“Warm and safe,” he echoed, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other.
And then the door was opened, and he was being propelled up the stairs to his chambers. He saw the pallet where he’d been lying... was it only hours ago? He was eased down upon the bed. Someone tugged off his boots, and he felt his shirt and tunic being cut away.
Voices drifted in and out of his consciousness.
“...told you it was too dangerous.”
“’Twould not have been, had the lout not followed me.”
“...must remove the arrow, else it will fester.”
“Aye... lodged in the bone.”
“He was most brave.” Merritt’s voice came to him, soft, almost dreamy, and he felt her hands upon him, or thought he did. “I do not know how he managed to sit on his horse with such a wound.” Then her words sounded close to his ear, and her tone returned to its usual brisk command. “Bite down on this, Campbell.”
Something thick and leathery was placed between his teeth. A terrible, searing pain seemed to go on and on, until he thought his whole body had been put to the torch. And then, just when he could bear it no longer, he slipped away. And the pain was no more.
“How does he fare?” Astra entered the chambers and was surprised to find Merritt lying beside Shaw’s pallet, too weary to return to her own room.
The lass had not changed from her breeches and boots. Her torn, bloody shirt bore testimony to her night’s ordeal.
“He sleeps.”
“The arrow?” Astra asked, pointing to the clean dressing on Merritt’s arm.
“A minor wound, which will cause some pain for a few days, but no lingering effects. The Campbell, on the other hand...”
“His wound is clean,” Astra whispered. “But it will cause him considerable pain. He will be forced to endure great discomfort. Sabina has sent her potions and ointments, as well as willow bark tea. Shall I see to him?”
“Nay. You have done enough.” Merritt took them from the old servant’s hands. “It will be up to you to see to Father and Edan on the morrow.”
“Aye. I’ll see to them. But ye must get some rest now,” Astra scolded. “Else ye will be the next one to be ailing.”
“You know better than that, old woman. I have ne’er been ill a day in my life.”
“Too stubborn, y’er mother used to say.” The servant limped away, closing the door of the chambers.
Merritt knelt beside Shaw and applied ointment to his wounds, then, pillowing his head in her lap, she held a goblet of willow bark tea to his lips.
As the first few drops of hot liquid trickled down his throat, he began to cough and sputter.
“Woman, on top of everything else, would you poison me?”
She was so delighted to see him awake she could barely disguise her joy. But at once she sharpened her tone. “Aye. The temptation is strong. However, this is merely a healing brew.”
“Healing brew or witches’ brew?”
She laughed. “Tis the same one you’ve been forcing down your brother’s throat.”
“No wonder he resists. It is foul tasting indeed.” She placed the goblet between his lips again, forcing him to swallow several more sips before he shoved her hand aside.
“You must be feeling much improved,” she commented, “since the strength has returned to your grip.”
“Aye. And you’d best remember that if you try to ply me with willow bark tea again.”
She set aside the goblet and pressed a hand to either side of his face. Her tone softened. “You were gravely wounded, Campbell. You must sleep.”
He closed his eyes a moment, savoring the gentleness of her touch. “I nearly went mad back there.”
“Aye. The pain must have been unbearable.”
“Nay. It was not that.” He opened his eyes and stared up at her. “It was because of the way those two brigands dared to touch you.”
For the space of several heartbeats their gazes locked. She wanted to make light of the incident, but the look he gave her was so powerful, so keen, she swallowed and said, “I can take care of myself, Campbell.”
“Aye. So you can, firebrand. But if those louts had harmed you, I would have killed them. Even if it had cost me my last breath.”
At the intensity of his words, her throat felt unusually dry. Shifting his head from her lap, she rolled aside and scrambled to her feet. Peering down at him she muttered roughly, “Go to sleep now, and stop wasting precious energy with such foolish words.”
But his eyes were already closed. His breathing was slow and rhythmic.
It was pain that woke Shaw. Pain that seemed to radiate to every part of his body. His skull felt as if it had been crushed. His shoulder throbbed, shooting spasms along his arms, his hands, even his fingers, which he clenched and unclenched as he tried to control the pain. He glanced down and realized that he was naked. A length of linen covering had been tossed over his lower torso for modesty.
He rolled to one side in an effort to find some small measure of comfort, and discovered, to his surprise, that Merritt lay sleeping beside him.
She was still wearing the garb of a stableboy that she had worn for her nighttime escapade—mud-spattered boots and breeches and torn, bloody shirt.
The sight of all that blood had his heart pounding as he remembered the stricken look on her face when she’d been hit by an arrow. She’d been surprised, and stunned. But even at that, she hadn’t been the least bit overwhelmed.
A tender smile touched his lips. Firebrand. The name suited her. Awake, she was always charging about, filled with restless energy. And, as she’d proved again and again, she was fearless in the face of danger.
In sleep she seemed so much younger, so much more innocent. He studied the gradual rise and fall of her chest, and his gaze was drawn to the darkened cleft between her breasts, clearly visible beneath the tattered garment. At once he felt a rush of heat and forced his gaze upward, to the pale column of throat, where a pulse thrummed steadily. He could still recall the feel of her flesh as he’d buried his lips there, struggling to hold on. It had been the touch of her, the feel of th
at warm, vital flesh, that had infused him with the strength to resist giving up.
She sighed in her sleep, and his gaze flew to her lips, pursed in a little pout. Surely God had created those full, sensual lips for but one purpose. The thought of kissing her had his pulse racing, and he lifted his gaze to her small, upturned nose. Sweet heaven, how she could lift that nose in the air and look down at him as though he were an errant child.
He studied the shadows cast upon her cheeks by her lowered lashes. The sudden shocking urge to press a kiss to each eyelid had him wondering about his sanity. How was it that the mere sight of this female had him forgetting all about his pain?
The woman was a contradiction. Those small hands had been made for embroidering fine linen or lifting a crystal goblet to her lips. They had not been made to wield a sword or grasp the reins as she scampered about the countryside like a thief in the night.
He studied the untidy spill of fiery curls and reminded himself of her equally fiery temper. Merritt Lamont was not a particularly pleasant person to be around. She found fault with everything he did. It was plain that she resented his intrusion into her life. And she certainly didn’t need his help. Last night, she had made that abundantly clear.
His gaze was drawn again to her eyes, and he was startled to find her studying him from beneath a fringe of lashes.
“So, Campbell, you are awake. Are you in much pain?”
“Aye.” He turned his head away, uncomfortable at having been caught staring at her.
At once she sat up, shoving the tangles from her eyes. Leaning over him she murmured, “What can I do? Shall I prepare a potion?”
“Nay,” he said, a little too quickly. The unpleasant taste of willow bark tea was still on his tongue. “But perhaps you could... knead the stiffness in my shoulders.”
“Roll over,” she commanded.
He did as he was told, and she straddled him. A sigh of pleasure escaped him as her strong fingers began massaging the muscles of his back and shoulders.
“Does this ease your pain?” she whispered.
“Mmm. Aye.” He closed his eyes and gave himself up to her ministrations. He couldn’t recall having ever felt anything so soothing as this touch of her fingertips on his flesh.
“Does this hurt?” she asked, lightly skimming the area around his wound.
“Nay. It feels good.”
Merritt worked in silence, kneading his flesh, all the while marveling at the difference between his body and her own. Broad of shoulders and narrow of waist. Skin bronzed from the sun. Sculpted ridges of sinew and muscles that rippled beneath her fingertips.
Why this strange tingle at the touch of him? Was it because she had begun to imagine those strong arms holding her? Those big hands moving over her? How could she permit such foolishness? Had she not fought him each time he’d tried to kiss her? Aye. And she must continue to resist.
For he was, after all, not only a mere man, but a Campbell, as well.
He lay so still, she thought he might have slipped back into sleep. Her movements slowed, her touch gentled. Perhaps she had misjudged the Campbell. Though he resisted using his sword, he had behaved in a most heroic manner last night. Without him, she wondered whether or not she would have managed to escape the angry mob.
“You have the touch of an angel.” Shaw surprised her by rolling over and catching her hands in his.
At once she tried to pull away, but was held fast.
“Release me, you oaf.”
“An oaf, am I?” In the blink of an eye his arms came around her, roughly dragging her close, until her breasts were flattened against his chest. The thrill that shot through him was as unsettling as an arrow. “Last night, while you tended my wounds, I heard you sing my praises.”
She struggled to show none of the acute discomfort she was experiencing. The press of her body against his caused a rush of heat that left her shaken. “The pain must have affected your mind. Never would I heap praise upon a Campbell.”
He bit back the smile that sprang to his lips. “And did I imagine the gentleness of your touch just now, my lady? Or the softness that I detected in your eyes?”
“You did indeed, lout.” She shot him a scathing look, hoping to cover the fire that blazed within as his hands began a lazy exploration of her back.
His words were warm with unspoken laughter. “I thought you a better liar than that, firebrand.”
As she tried to pull away, his hand cupped the back of her head, and his lips met hers. “Am I imagining this kiss, as well?” he murmured as his mouth claimed hers.
For one brief moment, time was suspended. All thought scattered. Even, their hearts forgot to beat as they came together in a fiery embrace. Merritt’s arms slid around his waist and her hands clung to warm, bare flesh. Shaw’s hands tangled in her hair, pressing, kneading her scalp, as his lips moved over hers. There was hunger in their kiss. And need. A need so deep, so compelling, they moaned as they took the kiss deeper and clung to each other as if clinging to life itself.
Merritt was stunned by her response. At least before, when he’d kissed her, she had managed some show of resistance. But this time, she was lost. Lost in a kiss so filled with hunger and desperate need that she could no more resist than she could hold back the day.
“My lady,” came Astra’s voice from the hallway.
At once Merritt’s head came up sharply. For a moment she seemed utterly confused.
“I have brought clean dressings for m’laird Campbell’s wounds,” the servant called.
As the door moved inward, Merritt gathered her wits about her and scrambled to her feet.
The elderly servant paused. She saw the confusion on Merritt’s face as she rearranged her clothing. The flush of guilt on her face was unmistakable. Astra glanced from her mistress, who avoided her eyes, to Shaw, who lay upon his pallet. He had modestly drawn a linen covering over himself.
“There are clean clothes for both of ye and a pitcher of hot mulled wine,” she said, placing a pile of linen upon a table.
“Thank you, Astra,” Shaw said, and the servant heard the warmth of a smile in his voice as he sat up. “Would you say the mulled wine has healing powers?”
“Aye.”
“Then, since it is far more tolerable than willow bark tea, I shall have some at once.”
The servant filled a goblet and handed it to him. He drank deeply.
“Shall I stay and help ye dress the laird Campbell’s wounds?” Astra’s sharp eyes burned into her young mistress’s, and she was rewarded by a deeper flush on cheeks already heated.
“There is no need.” Merritt’s tone was abrupt, to cover her embarrassment. It galled her to think how easily she had succumbed to the Campbell’s charm. And how easily the old servant could read her confusion. “I can manage, Astra. See to my father and brother.”
“Aye.” Without another word, the old woman left the room, closing the door behind her.
As soon as the door closed, Merritt poised for attack.
“Do not look so smug, Campbell. Mine was a momentary lapse. But it will not happen again. And there will be no further talk of what happened here. Praise heaven it can remain our secret. There are no servants in Inverene House to carry tales about your prowess.”
“I know not what you mean,” he muttered, sipping his wine.
His lack of remorse only made her own temper rise. “Does it not bother you that we were nearly caught in a... most awkward position?”
“Not a whit,” he responded.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed back the oath that sprang to her lips. “I wish to wash and dress,” she said stiffly. “I would be grateful if you would turn your back until I am decent.”
Rolling to one side, Shaw got cautiously to his feet, draping the linen around him for modesty. For a moment the room started to spin and he was forced to hold on to the edge of a table for support. As his surroundings slowly came into focus, he made his way to the far side of the room, where he poure
d himself another goblet of wine before striding to the fireplace. For long minutes he stared moodily into the flames.
Hearing a splash of water, he turned for a glimpse of the female. She refused to look at him. But though his glance took in the slender hips encased in snug-fitting breeches, and the spill of fiery tangles, it was the bloodstained shirt that caught his eye. Though he couldn’t explain why, the sight of her blood made him angry. Angry and determined.
Setting aside his goblet, he stirred the hot coals and added another log. As fire licked along the bark, he came to a decision. He would have to remain alert. Alert and watchful. And if the female should try to slip away again for one of her nighttime visits to a neighbor, he would follow. Not to interfere, of course. Just to make certain that the bounty was indeed Lamont property. And to see that she came to no harm.
It was obvious that this lass took far too many dangerous risks for the sake of her family. The fact that she seemed completely unconcerned about the Highland Avengers bothered him. He was becoming convinced that she knew their identity. Why else would she defend them at every turn? Most probably they were lads from the village, and she was determined to keep them from facing retribution by the Campbells. But whether or not she knew who they were, she was behaving in a most foolhardy manner, traipsing about the countryside without benefit of armed companions.
While he resided in Inverene House, it would be up to him to save the little firebrand from herself.
Chapter Ten
“Sit,” Merritt commanded when she had finished her morning ablutions. “I will change your dressings before you wash.”
Shaw sat in the chair she indicated, and was achingly aware of his discomfort as he was once more forced to endure the touch of her fingers upon his flesh. But this time, her touch was far from gentle. As if to prove that their kiss had indeed been but a momentary lapse, she refused to meet his eyes as she roughly tore away the bloody linens and smeared liberal amounts of stinging ointment over his wounds.
Though he made not a sound of protest, Merritt was rewarded with a clenching of his fists. At least, she thought, this Campbell was human. All too human, if that kiss be any proof.