Read Online Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) by Veronica Bale - Free Book Online Page A

to the fireplace, exactly where she’d left him, was the Scot. Initially, she was afraid that he had expired after all—he had not moved even minutely from the position in which she’d left him. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she detected that his chest was rising and falling with his shallow but regular breaths. She moved closer and bent to check his forehead again. His fever still persisted, and he would need another dose of thyme infusion.
    Immediately she set to work. She gathered fresh wood and kindling from the forest outside to revive the fire, and fresh water from the stream. Once the stones underneath the burning logs were hot enough, she placed one in the cooking pot to heat the water. And finally she crushed fresh thyme leaves in the bottom of the cup to prepare more of the infusion.
    While she waited for the water to boil, she checked the Scot’s wound. The honey had largely been absorbed into the gash, and the poultice was due to be changed. It was not urgent, however. It could wait until he was awake.
    Her lack of sleep soon took a toll on her, and despite the work she still had ahead of her, she was forced to lay her head down. She intended only to close her eyes for a brief moment, but so strong was her fatigue that she soon fell asleep.
    Jane awoke several hours later, groggy and thick-mouthed. The first thing she noticed as she ground the sleep from her eyes was that the water was not steaming like it should be. Peering into her cooking pot she dipped a forefinger in to test the temperature. Cool; the stone had boiled the water and then lost its heat in the time she’d been asleep.
    With an annoyed sigh, she fished another stone from the fire and replaced the one in the pot. Then, clenching her eyes shut and giving her head a firm shake to revive her senses, she glanced towards the Scot where he lay a short distance from her.
    A pair of wide, green eyes gazed back at her, curious and amused.
    “Oh,” she cried, startled.
    The eyes continued to stare, unmoving but for a blink or two.
    “S-sir, I, um ...” she searched for words to say, unnerved by the Scot’s silence. Finally managing to gather her wits she asked, “How are you feeling?”
    “I feel like I’m burning wi’ fever from the gash in my side,” the Scot answered. His voice was raspy and weak, but there was a note of humour in it that brought a smile to Jane’s lips.
    “I daresay you are,” she agreed. “You were very close to death when first we met. I cannot say you are clear of danger now, but you do look much improved.”
    “That canna be saying much. I feel like I have the hand o’ the reaper on my back right now,” the Scot replied.
    “That may be, but rest assured that I shall do my best to prevent him from claiming your life—this time, at any rate.”
    She had meant nothing by her off-handed statement, but in response, the Scot held her gaze with a mixture of surprise and confusion. There was a tenderness in the set of his features that provoked a curious flutter in her belly. She lowered her eyes to the floor nervously, suddenly self-conscious.
    “Why would ye help me?” she heard him say weakly.
    “What do you mean?” she answered, glancing up again. “You were in desperate need of it.”
    “Ye’re an English lass.”
    “I am, yes.”
    “I’m Scottish,” the man persisted, his brows drawing together.
    “You say that as if the mere fact of it is an explanation,” she noted, confused herself by what point he was trying to make.
    He closed his eyes. “Around here it is, love.”
    The Scot was silent for a long moment, and Jane thought he may have fallen asleep again, but then he spoke.
    “May I ask yer name?”
    “Jane,” she answered simply, offering no more. “And yours, sir?”
    “I’m Robbie,” he returned. “I thank ye, Jane. I dinna deserve yer kindness, but I am grateful all the same.”
    The strange fluttering intensified in her belly as he opened his green eyes again and fixed