The Warrior Trainer by Gerri Russell

Author:Gerri Russell [Gerri Russell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0843958251
Amazon: B005G8SBQQ
Published: 2007-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Ian sat in a chair near Scotia's bedside in the overly warm room. He had stoked the fire into an intense blaze to keep away the chill that usually hung about the castle. The light of the fire illuminated the woman and small child who slept within a tangle of bed linens. After he had finished sewing Scotia's wounds, she had fallen into a fitful slumber. It was not until Lizbet came to snuggle beside her that Scotia grew calm and relaxed.

Like mother and daughter, they appeared so at ease together. For that one miracle, Ian was grateful. Because Scotia seemed happier now that she had allowed someone other than Maisie and Burke into her heart. Would she allow him the same access? Ian frowned at the thought. He had never been worthy of anyone's love before. What made him think he deserved such a precious gift now, especially from Scotia?

Ian tore his gaze away from her, shifting his attention to the length of cloth in his lap—a gift from the weaver in his village. A plaid of red and green and blue and white. The colors of the MacKinnon, designed by the weaver herself. Almost against his better judgment, his gaze drifted back to Scotia. He should have given the gift to her upon his first arrival, but her dismissal of him had held him back. Why it suddenly seemed urgent he give the gift to her now, he did not know. But it did.

Most likely it was his own guilt over her injuries that made the effort seem vital. At least that was what he told himself as he moved to the bed and spread the cloth across her, tucking the top ends near her face. He brushed his hand against her cheek and allowed his fingers to linger there. Within moments, his tenderness slipped into unease. He pressed his hand closer against her skin. Saints! She burned, and not from the warmth of the room.

"Maisie," he yelled as he reached for a cool wet cloth near the bedside. He kicked off his boots and sat above her in the bed, cradling her head in his lap. Methodically, he sponged her face and neck with his other hand to draw away the heat, leaving a trail of coolness behind.

The door burst open. Maisie panted to a halt at the bedside, her face contorted with worry. "A fever?"

"Aye," he replied without a break in his duty. With gentle fingers, he smoothed the hair back from Scotia's brow. "Please take Lizbet from the room. Then I need you to make me a mixture of peppermint, chamomile, and elder flowers to cool her. It was one of my foster mother's most successful remedies."

Without hesitation Maisie nodded, scooped up the sleeping girl, then hurried out.

Ian returned his gaze to Scotia. As he did, an odd pang flashed through him with such force that he was not even certain what it was.

She appeared so pale and weak wrapped in the cocoon of his plaid.

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