Read Online Trouble with a Highland Bride by Amanda Forester - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Forester
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know it is my own fault that I have Sir John downstairs, but it was his fault he stepped on his own spike!” She felt the need to defend herself. She paused, but the stone walls of the chapel made no reply. “Truly, I would appreciate it if ye could heal Jack. I ken he’s English, but even so, he’s a good man. And mayhap he can help prevent a war. So please, I ask for yer mercy on him. Heal him please and help me no’ to get in the way o’ yer good healing. Thank ye kindly. Amen.”
Gwyn rose and curtsied again, for it was what her sisters always did. At this point, her sisters would leave, but Gwyn lingered, wanting to know if her prayer had been heard or if it would be answered. No sound save the faint flickering of many candles could be heard. She stepped closer to the altar and noted the wood around the sides of the altar had been inscribed with a verse in Latin. She could make out but one word.
Love .
***
Gwyn sat beside Jack for most of the day, leaving only to bring back water, which she forced him to drink, or food, which she forced herself to eat. His status remained largely unchanged. She took some comfort that he did not appear to be getting worse, but neither did he appear to be getting better. Sometimes he called out in his febrile state, and she learned of his grief over his father’s death, his determination to protect his younger sisters, and his concerns over his uncles.
Beyond the walls of the tower, the games had commenced, archery and swordplay from the sound of it. She wanted to watch, and a little thing like being banished would never have kept her away before, but she would not, could not leave Jack. She told herself she was too concerned for the safety of the castle to leave an English knight unguarded, but it was so much more than simple duty keeping her at Jack’s side. She wanted him to live. She needed him to live.
The light grew dim and Gwyn again gave more doses of her medicine.
“Mummy?” Jack mumbled. “Stay with me.” His eyes never opened, but his hand sought hers and held it.
“Aye, my sweet. I will stay wi’ ye.” She stroked his head and sang a song she remembered her own mother singing so many years ago. Her brothers and sisters were not appreciative of her vocal attempts, generally asking her to listen quietly to the others with more adept musical talents. It rarely stopped her, however, and here was a man unable to cover his ears and run from the room, so she sang on, her heart swelling with her song.
Pleased with her musical offering, Gwyn lay down on the pallet next to him. Maybe she should not, but she could not reject such a plaintive cry from a man so bonny of face. He would be her sweet boy, and she would tend him through the night. She had been banished, so she felt safe in avoiding the ladies’ solar without anyone taking undue notice.
If his fever had not broke by morn, it would be time to call a priest. She snuggled up to him under the plaid. He was still febrile, and she found herself again sending silent supplications to her maker for his healing. She found it was not so hard to do, and her prayers became easier and more frequent until she drifted off to sleep beside her patient…her enemy…the man who stirred her heart.
Eight
Jack was having the loveliest dream. He was being tended by a golden-haired beauty with the wildest green eyes. She had the face of an angel, perfect in form, from her large eyes to her adorable, upturned nose. Her full lips were the pink of a sunrise, and when she sang…it sounded like seagulls squabbling over a piece of crab.
Jack opened his eyes to the gray light of dawn seeping through the cracks in the wooden door. He was vaguely aware of the pain in his foot and tried to piece together where he was and how he had got there. He remembered Gwyn had released him from his gated prison. Even if he had wanted to overpower her, it had been all he could do to stand upright, and only that with her help. Besides, she was
Gwyn rose and curtsied again, for it was what her sisters always did. At this point, her sisters would leave, but Gwyn lingered, wanting to know if her prayer had been heard or if it would be answered. No sound save the faint flickering of many candles could be heard. She stepped closer to the altar and noted the wood around the sides of the altar had been inscribed with a verse in Latin. She could make out but one word.
Love .
***
Gwyn sat beside Jack for most of the day, leaving only to bring back water, which she forced him to drink, or food, which she forced herself to eat. His status remained largely unchanged. She took some comfort that he did not appear to be getting worse, but neither did he appear to be getting better. Sometimes he called out in his febrile state, and she learned of his grief over his father’s death, his determination to protect his younger sisters, and his concerns over his uncles.
Beyond the walls of the tower, the games had commenced, archery and swordplay from the sound of it. She wanted to watch, and a little thing like being banished would never have kept her away before, but she would not, could not leave Jack. She told herself she was too concerned for the safety of the castle to leave an English knight unguarded, but it was so much more than simple duty keeping her at Jack’s side. She wanted him to live. She needed him to live.
The light grew dim and Gwyn again gave more doses of her medicine.
“Mummy?” Jack mumbled. “Stay with me.” His eyes never opened, but his hand sought hers and held it.
“Aye, my sweet. I will stay wi’ ye.” She stroked his head and sang a song she remembered her own mother singing so many years ago. Her brothers and sisters were not appreciative of her vocal attempts, generally asking her to listen quietly to the others with more adept musical talents. It rarely stopped her, however, and here was a man unable to cover his ears and run from the room, so she sang on, her heart swelling with her song.
Pleased with her musical offering, Gwyn lay down on the pallet next to him. Maybe she should not, but she could not reject such a plaintive cry from a man so bonny of face. He would be her sweet boy, and she would tend him through the night. She had been banished, so she felt safe in avoiding the ladies’ solar without anyone taking undue notice.
If his fever had not broke by morn, it would be time to call a priest. She snuggled up to him under the plaid. He was still febrile, and she found herself again sending silent supplications to her maker for his healing. She found it was not so hard to do, and her prayers became easier and more frequent until she drifted off to sleep beside her patient…her enemy…the man who stirred her heart.
Eight
Jack was having the loveliest dream. He was being tended by a golden-haired beauty with the wildest green eyes. She had the face of an angel, perfect in form, from her large eyes to her adorable, upturned nose. Her full lips were the pink of a sunrise, and when she sang…it sounded like seagulls squabbling over a piece of crab.
Jack opened his eyes to the gray light of dawn seeping through the cracks in the wooden door. He was vaguely aware of the pain in his foot and tried to piece together where he was and how he had got there. He remembered Gwyn had released him from his gated prison. Even if he had wanted to overpower her, it had been all he could do to stand upright, and only that with her help. Besides, she was
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