Highland Lover. Hannah Howell

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      Gregor shook his head and turned his attention back to Alana. He placed his palm against her forehead and cheeks and then frowned. She definitely had a fever, and a dangerously high one, if he judged it right. He told himself that the fear knotting his insides was born of a natural concern for a lass too young to die and one who had been a good companion as well.

      He rose and walked to the bed. Deciding that until he could gather more wood, he would be unable to build the fire up high enough to heat the whole room adequately, he moved the mattress close to the fire. When he took the blanket off Alana to spread it over the mattress, he studied her for a brief moment.

      “She is a bonnie, wee lass, cat,” he murmured as he settled Alana’s limp form on the mattress and tucked the other blanket around her. “Wee enough to play the child, although I dinnae ken why she couldnae trust me with the truth.”

      The cat gave him such a disgusted look, Gregor suspected it was a female. “I shouldnae be surprised if I have a fever. Thinking ye ken what I am saying has to be a sign of delirium.”

      Recalling one thing he had seen done for someone with a fever, Gregor fetched the bucket he had set out to catch rain. He searched out the other shift he had seen in Alana’s pack, took it out, and tore it into strips. Heartily wishing he knew more about healing, Gregor began to bathe Alana with the cool water in the hope of bringing down her fever.

      “Artan?”

      Startled by that unexpected voice and the sharp annoyance he felt over her calling out another man’s name, Gregor stared into Alana’s fever-glazed eyes. “Nay, ’tis Gregor.”

      “When did the Gowans allow us to have a light in our pit?”

      “We arenae in the pit now, lass. We escaped, remember?”

      For a moment, she frowned and glanced around her. “Oh, aye. We escaped. Did we get verra far?”

      “Far enough for now, and I think this will prove to be a good hiding place.”

      “Ah, that is good to hear, for I am feeling verra tired.”

      “Who is Artan?” Gregor heard himself ask and inwardly cursed.

      “My brother. Thought ye were him for a moment. Foolishness, for he didnae e’en ken I was following him.”

      “Why were ye following him?”

      Even though her eyes were closed again, Gregor waited for her to speak. He sighed when, after several minutes had passed and she made no effort to say anything else, he realized there would be no answer to his question. She had apparently gone right back to sleep. Although he knew sleep was best for her, he regretted the lost chance to get some answers to the many questions he had.

      When he finished washing her down, Gregor fetched himself something to eat. He ended up sharing nearly half of his meager ration of meat with the cat and decided he was much too soft of heart. After stepping outside just long enough to relieve himself, he wiped off the small amount of rain that had fallen on him and returned to Alana’s side.

      He had never felt so helpless, and he hated the feeling. Fever could be a deadly thing, and he did not even know how to tell if her fever was of that ilk or just a natural reaction to being exhausted, cold, and wet. Even if he was able to find some herbs to use, he did not have any idea which ones would heal her. In his ignorance, he could easily poison her. Gregor was not even sure wiping her down with cool water and forcing her to drink whenever possible did much more than give him something to do. As he began to bathe her fever-flushed face yet again, Gregor promised himself that he would take the time to learn a little more than how to ease the bleeding of a wound until a skilled healer could be fetched.

      “I think we must fetch Grandmere,” Alana said. “I dinnae feel weel.”

      “I cannae fetch your grandmere, lass. I dinnae ken where she is.” When Alana became a little fretful, Gregor decided it might have been wiser to lie to her.

      “Then ye must find my sister Keira. Mayhap Cousin Gillyanne or Cousin Elspeth. I truly dinnae feel weel and they will ken what to do.”

      “I shall search them out. Ye rest. ’Tis what ye need most now.”

      “Aye. Sleep is a good healer, but one of their potions would be good, too.”

      Gregor hoped she had gone back to sleep when she grew still again. He also hoped she did not recall what he had said. If she had the wit to catch him in a lie, it would become difficult to keep her calm.

      One of the names she had mentioned was familiar to him, and he frowned. His brother Ewan was married to a woman who had a sister-by-marriage named Gillyanne. It could be just a coincidence, yet he did not think the name was that common. If one considered that Alana seemed to be calling for a healer and that the Gillyanne he knew was a healer, such a coincidence became more of a possibility. And if it was the same Gillyanne, that made Alana a Murray, he mused, and scowled. What was a Murray lass doing traveling alone and disguised as a young girl?

      That was a question he would not get an answer to soon, he thought as he collected his now-dry plaid. Settling himself on the mattress next to Alana, he spread the plaid over them and decided to get some rest. One thing he did know about a fever was that it often got a lot worse before it got better. There was a good chance he would find little time to sleep in the next few days.

      Gregor winced and then cursed as one of Alana’s small fists connected sharply with his jaw. She was a lot stronger than she looked, he thought, as he struggled to pin her down. He had managed to get several hours of sleep before the fever madness had struck Alana. Since then he had only been able to catch an hour or so of rest now and again. After two long days and nights of that, he was both exhausted and frightened. He did not like to see anyone die, save for a few enemies he had known, but the thought of Alana dying left him feeling cold and empty in a way he did not understand. He breathed a hearty sigh of relief when she grew still, only to start cursing when she then began to weep.

      “I must find Keira,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse as she cried.

      “Your sister?” he asked as he slid his arm beneath her shoulders, lifted her up a little, and tried to get her to drink a little water.

      “Aye, my twin. She needs me, but they wouldnae let me look for her.”

      “Ah, and so ye went to hunt her down by yourself.” Gregor sat next to her, kept his arm around her shoulders, and held her close to his side.

      “I can find her. I am certain of it.”

      “So, there is another wee lass roaming the country, aye? One just like you?”

      “Nay. Keira is beautiful and clever and sweet and has a true healer’s touch. I am just a wee brown lass.”

      Gregor looked down at her in surprise, but her eyes were closed again. “Ye are a bonnie wee lass.”

      “Nay, just a wee lass. Keira is the bonnie one. Everyone loved Keira, and I cannae find her.”

      “Ye will, lass. Cast off this fever, get weel and strong again, and we shall go ahunting.”

      She did not really answer him, only muttered something about lack-witted brothers and smelly Gowans СКАЧАТЬ