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Abby’s mind felt paralyzed as she attempted to process what had just played out before her. She’d dealt with scoundrels, like the man who stole her purse on the street, but she’d never in her entire existence expected to be nearly engaged in a blasted sword fight. Defending, attacking, killing was a way of life for these people.
Those kinds of scenarios belonged in her history texts and enthralling epic fantasies. She gazed unseeingly around her. It was far too much for her to fathom. Numbness and inexplicable fear simultaneously pervaded her emotions, one doing its best to overcome the other. It was a dreadful combination.
Abigail searched out Iain. He pierced her with his gaze, waking up her numb body. She ran to him and flung her arms around his waist.
He brought her in close. His strength, not just physical but emotional, propped her up and fortified her shaking legs and calmed her breaths. Her heart still beat quickly, but the rhythm altered, and instead of it rearing up in fright, it pattered like butterfly wings in her chest.
He rested his chin on the top of her head and stroked her hair to where it was caught in the braid. The tips of his fingers lightly brushed her neck at each pass, sending electric thrills through her body.
Iain’s hand moved from her side to her lower back. The charge increased as shivers ran down Abigail’s back. His fingers spread over her skin.
Everyone crowded around Iain and Abigail. “Go on,” Colin said. “Kiss yer wife.”
Iain let out a noisy frustrated breath and, kissing the top of her head, moved apart from her.
The men slapped Iain on the back and thanked him for his bravery.
Abigail reluctantly stepped back to allow them room for their greetings.
The women hugged and kissed him. Abby wasn’t overly keen on the women kissing Iain, but she agreed wholeheartedly that he was a fine, brave man.
She’d been so scared when the bandit grabbed her. She’d thought she would have to save herself again. She’d thought no one would come to her aid. Her last encounter with muggers flew into her mind.
Peter, her so-called boyfriend in what now seemed like a previous life, had turned and fled from the scene as Abby cried out his name.
She hadn’t even called out to Iain, but he, an injured Scotsman, roared at the man who manhandled her. Iain’s eyes flashed with dark fury as he bore down on the bandit with his sword. He had cut the man’s hand where he’d held Abby and chased the rogues away with his fierceness. Yet, he had not made her any promises. She was not even his to protect, and still he fought for her like she was his own.
Tears burned Abby’s eyes at both scenes. One filled her with angry hurt, and the other overwhelmed her with emotion.
Iain gazed intently at Abby. She wiped her eyes, refusing to let the tears flow. Something hard and cold sparked in Iain’s gaze. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “No.”
***
After a celebratory feast of dried meat, bread, and watery wine, Iain built a smaller fire away from the main one. He covered the ground with a blanket and stretched his body out full-length upon it.
“Come here, Wife.”
His twisted smile was downright sexy, and it had excited shivers crawling all over Abby. She glanced at her newfound friends. Mary smiled at her and then returned her attention to her husband.
With dark—sultry was the only word that came to Abby’s mind at that moment—eyes, Iain held up another blanket and shook it. “Wife.”
She couldn’t refuse, nor did she want to. She took the blanket, sat beside him, and pulled it over both their bodies.
“Thank you for today,” she said.
He pulled her down onto her back as he rolled onto his uninjured shoulder and stared at her. His eyes flitted from her forehead to her eyes to her nose and lingered on her lips. She bit back an excited gasp. The fire softened the burgeoning beard on his face but flashed orange in his irises. Before she knew what was happening, he brought his lips down on hers. She opened her mouth in surprise, and he took the advantage.
Abby’s brain clouded, and a low roar buzzed in her ears. Her mouth opened wider, and her arms slithered around him, her hands splaying across his hard, broad back. She wanted to get as close to him as she could. She wanted to push her body right into his. Heat like a sunny Californian day seeped through his muscled back and straight into her. His whole body was afire, and she knew her skin burnt with passion as well because the heat fueled her core.
A voice screamed in her head, Stop him! Although the logical part of her brain knew he was only kissing her to make a show of their love for the benefit of the MacDonalds, she was enjoying it way too much. She couldn’t let it go on any longer, so she tried to end the kiss without making a scene.
He acquiesced and moved back. Abby thought she heard a soft sigh but couldn’t make out his features in the dark to see his expression. Before she could say anything, he rolled over.
She snuggled down beside him, trying to keep a gap between their bodies. Having to keep up the pretense she was married to Iain was unleashing feelings inside her she didn’t want to feel. She had to go back home, and Iain had to return to his home, so there was no way they could get involved, even if it was only physical. It would be wrong, so, so wrong.
Abby woke up during the night with Iain throwing his hands about and rolling his head from side to side. He shouted something that sounded like ancient Gaelic. She placed her hand on his cheek. No wonder he felt so hot during the kiss; he was burning up. How could she not have noticed? And now he could be getting delirious.
She quickly filled a bucket with ice-cold loch water and, dunking in a clean cloth, began wiping Iain’s now-sweating face. She cooed soft calming noises close to his ear as she worked.
After about twenty minutes of her ministrations, he settled enough to sleep quietly. Exhausted, Abby slept, too, but it wasn’t long before Iain began thrashing about again.
Three times during the night, Iain’s fever sent him into some horrible nightmare. Abby did what she could, cooling his skin and soothing him with her voice, but each time, his convulsions, if that was what they were, got longer. The last time, somewhere close to dawn, it had taken Abby over an hour to calm him enough that he slept somewhat peacefully again.
Once the morning showed up disguised as dark clouds, she had made up her mind. It was too risky to travel in an open wagon. She had to find somewhere dry and warm where she could tend Iain until he was well. She wouldn’t let the flickering thought of him dying take hold in her mind.
The night before rose unbidden in her thoughts. The rush of his skin against her own had to be because of her heightened emotions, because she was scared and so out of her depth in this time. She was terrified that if she stayed any longer, she would either lose her mind or her heart. Neither was a scenario she wanted.
She gazed at him. She would make him well again, get the device back, and go home.
Abby put the wet cloth on his forehead. If only she could get him to a modern doctor. He needed antibiotics. What could she do? Nothing but make him comfortable and watch and wait. It was ridiculous. She shook her head. If she had the blasted time device, she could take him home, guarantee his safety.
He could die, and she would be alone. In this era people died more often than not with the smallest ailments.
She decided to rebuild the main fire so at least he would be warm.
“You look terrible,” Mary said at the sight of her. “Are ye sick?”
“I’m not, but my husband has a fever.” Abby looked up at the threatening sky. “We need to find somewhere dry. The jostling of the wagon is causing him pain.”
Colin and his sons were already packing up the wagon. Mary stood up and put her hand on Abby’s arm. “You must stay with us until we get to Inverell. There be doctors there. It is too dangerous out here.”
The day before exploded in Abby’s mind. Mary was right; she couldn’t very well haul Iain across the country alone in the hopes that they would find somewhere to shelter. As if to cement that assumption, rain began to fall on them. She gave a slight shake of her head. At least the canvas wagon cover would keep them dry. A stuffy wagon was better than staying out in the miserable weather alone.
Abby ducked her head yes. “Thank you.”
Colin and his youngest son, Tavis, carried Iain to the wagon, and Abby poked as many blankets as she could under Iain to help cushion the wagon’s jerky movements.
It rained steadily all morning, and Abby watched the isolated country pass by.
She was about to give up searching for a likely building, when she spotted something some distance to the left of the road. “What’s that?” She pointed to what looked like a dilapidated farm building of sorts.
Mary peered into the distance. “Nay. Ye have to stay until we get to Inverell so ye can get a doctor for the lad.”
Iain moaned. “Nay”...mumble...“Inverell . . . Cumberland.”
Looking from Iain to Abby, Mary nodded. “Aye, there will be English there for certain.” She felt Iain’s forehead. “Mayhap ye can stop his fever, but if ye cannae, he weel die.”
Iain grabbed Abby’s hand. “Must leave.”
Abby didn’t know what to do. If they stayed with the MacDonalds, the English would catch them for sure and the family themselves would be in danger, but if she left with Iain, he could die.
Colin talked to Mary quietly at the end of the cart, and once he’d left, Mary pulled some plants from a small box and handed them to Abby.
“This one is Peruvian bark from France, and this is willow bark. Boil them in water and feed it to him on the hour. Ye must do this until the fever breaks.”
Abby smiled. She could do that. “Thank ye,” she said, using the Scottish term for you.
Lara handed Abby a small bottle of cream. “It is a lotion made from carline thistle. Put it on ye man’s wound to ease the infection.”
“Very good, Lara, I had forgotten about that,” Mary said, and then she called out, “Stop the cart.”
Once Tavis brought the cart to a stop, all except Iain hopped out of the wagon, and Mary frowned at Abigail. “Be careful, child, and do as we say.”
Abby nodded. “I will.”
They hugged and said goodbye. “I hope I see ye again,” Mary said.
“Me too,” Lara said, giving Abigail a bag of food.
Abigail gazed inside, tears welling in her eyes. “This is too much.”
“Nay,” Mary said. “Colin and the lads weel hunt now that we are in the hills. There’s plenty of game aboot.”
Giving her a one-armed hug, Abigail said, “Thank you for your kindness.”
Colin and his sons carried Iain to the rundown building. Tavis helped Abigail drag out a cot from a side room and place it in the main room. It was the only room with a fireplace. Actually, it was a hole in the ground in the middle of the room, but Abby recognized it as a fire pit. A great kettle hung to the side from a chain attached to the roof. A pot and a griddle rested against the back wall.
Colin and Parlin placed Iain on the cot with as many blankets as they could spare, and once they’d started the fire, they left, and Abby was once again alone with the Scot.
She gazed at the man and willed him to wake up and get well.