The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,95

pressed against her temple. “Five sons first to keep their four sisters safe. Because if my daughters are half as beautiful as their mother, they’ll have to be guarded against every male in Scotland.”

Chapter Sixteen

The soft light of the rising sun shooed away the sweet drowsiness tempting Sorcha to keep her eyes closed. It was so comfortably soft and warm in the bed. Da had ordered the plump feather ticking removed from atop his mattress and placed on hers until another could be made. Heckie had ripped her ticking to pieces when he had used it to drag her through the tunnels. Poor geese. They were in for a great deal of plucking.

Fully awake now, she fluttered her fingers through the rays of sunlight, smiling as the dust motes danced in the golden beam. Dust fairies, Mama had always called them. They rode the sun’s rays to sneak into houses and weave their wee balls of dust in the corners and under furniture. Mama had always told the best stories. Sorcha smiled. Someday, she would retell those tales to her and Sutherland’s wee ones.

Thank goodness the maidservants had done as she asked and left her draperies tied open. As far as she was concerned, they would never be closed again. She had experienced enough suffocating darkness to last a lifetime.

The empty chair at her bedside made her frown. Sutherland had slept there last night. He had refused to sleep in the bed at the risk of bumping her poor battered body, as he had so delicately put it. She pushed herself upright, flinching with the effort as she shoved more pillows behind her.

“Put yer arm back in that sling,” Aderyn scolded as she entered the room with a tray between her hands. “Do ye wish yer shoulder deformed by a poor mending?”

“It feels better out of the sling.” Sorcha lifted her arm and worked it back and forth. “See? My ribs are all that bother me now, and I truly think they’re merely bruised rather than broken. My shoulder’s nearly healed. It’s only the tiniest bit sore.” She tugged at the bandages wrapped around her chest. “I think my ribs would be so much better if we removed these. I dinna need them anymore at all.”

“The wraps stay,” Aderyn said. “And yer shoulder isna fully healed.” The healer placed the tray on the bedside table and began mixing some sort of concoction. “I agree yer ribs may verra well just be battered instead of broken, but I willna take any chances. And all ye’ve survived these past few days is why ye dinna notice the remaining pain in yer shoulder.” She held out a small wooden bowl. “Drink.”

Sorcha knew better than to argue, but it took all the control she possessed to keep from gagging. Fingers pressed across her lips to keep from spitting it back out, she handed the empty bowl back to the healer.

“Now, this.” Aderyn switched the bowl with a glass containing a milky liquid that had a buttery sheen floating across it. “This will wash away that fearsome taste, and the honey’s good for ye.”

Not entirely sure she could trust Aderyn, Sorcha sniffed the contents. Whatever it was had a richly pleasant smell with the hint of apples and cloves. She hazarded a sip, then licked her lips. It was delicious.

The healer winked and gave her a toothless smile. “I knew ye would like that one.” She leaned in close. “It will help ready ye for plenty a bairns, too.”

“I dreamt of nine,” Sorcha shared before taking another sip.

Aderyn frowned as she tapped a crooked finger to her chin. “The bones said thirteen, but I could be mistaken. I checked them when I was overly weary. I shall read them again and let ye know for certain. Be it nine or thirteen, that’s a great many blessings for ye to chase after.”

“Thirteen?” Sutherland repeated from the doorway.

The wily healer cackled and clapped her hands. “Aye, laddie. Ye best rest up while yer lady wife is mending.” She pointed at the bedside table, then shook a finger at Sorcha. “I shall return with more of both remedies at sunset. Rest now and heal, aye?” She winked again. “Ye best enjoy this peace and quiet whilst ye have it with that many bairns in yer future.” Then she toddled out of the room, her pleased chortling echoing in her wake.

“I promise I only dreamt of nine,” she reassured her husband as she scooted the empty glass to the