The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,78
face. Ah, God, that bonnie face. Golden-hazel was surrounded by weary creases and streaks of red.
She blinked. Tried to move her arm. It weighed more than her eyelids.
Her Englishman knelt beside her. Then, the mattress moved, and he lay on his side next to her, his face inches from hers, his arms scooping her body into his.
“Huxley,” Angus warned from the doorway across the room. “Mind yerself.”
She ignored her father’s growl to sigh and smile. “English.”
Perfect lips touched her cheek. A bristly jaw chafed her mouth. “Good morning, love.”
Suddenly, she wanted to cry. Her eyes didn’t want to stay open. She felt like she was folding in upon herself. “English,” she whimpered.
He gathered her tighter, his arms binding her body to his. “Shhh, Annie. Rest, now. You’ve exhausted yourself, and you need sleep.”
Her breath stuttered. “B-Broderick?”
“He’s settled in. Betty is tending him, along with the surgeon from Inverness. Marjorie MacDonnell has been helping manage things here whilst you recover. Everything is fine.”
The world darkened to gray again. She didn’t know how long she drifted, but when she opened her eyes, he was still there. A warm, lean hand caressed her back. Gentle fingers played with her hair.
“H-how long … since we returned home?”
“A few days.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
She fought to lift her hand from where it nestled on his chest. She only just managed to trace his jaw before her strength gave out. “Ye’ve … stayed with me, English?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” Warm lips caressed her eyelids, which had a great deal of trouble remaining open. “Angus is none too happy about it. But he can go hang. Wherever you are, that is where I belong.”
She wanted to thank him. She wanted to tell him how deeply she’d longed for him every day. Every hour. Every second he wasn’t beside her. But the sleep she’d missed over the past weeks robbed her strength.
With the scraps that remained, she whispered to her Englishman, “Dinnae let Marjorie MacDonnell near my kitchen.”
A deep, surprised chuckle sounded from his chest, moving through her ear and cheek. “No, love. I wouldn’t dare.”
And this time, she fell asleep with a smile.
Chapter Fifteen
TlU
Annie tugged Bill the Donkey along the newly graveled road, thinking how lovely it would be if every day could be this grand. The water of the loch shimmered in a soft summer breeze. All around, light danced and leaves laughed and birds sang a merry tune.
John Huxley had stayed with her for four days and four nights before she’d ordered him to go home, change his shirt, and have a shave.
That had been yesterday. Today, she would see him again. She shimmered like the water, danced like the light, laughed like the leaves, and sang like the birds.
She glowed bright as the bonnie sun. Because of him.
“Careful ye dinnae float away, lass,” said Mrs. MacBean with wry affection.
Annie grinned over her shoulder. The old woman looked rather handsome in her new tartan gown. When Annie had presented her latest gift to Mrs. MacBean earlier that morning, she’d insisted on helping with the woman’s wild hair, as well. Apart from a milky eye and a vaguely puzzled expression, Mrs. MacBean now looked like a proper chaperone.
Except for the apron. A worn, not-quite-white apron did not belong on such lovely wool.
“I’d be happier if ye didnae cover that fine gown I made ye with ugly auld canvas.”
“I’ll nae go soilin’ such a bonnie dress.”
Annie rolled her eyes.
“’Tis a protective cover,” Mrs. MacBean insisted. “Akin to the ones on books.” A pause. “Mayhap I should have a leather apron.”
Annie laughed. Then sighed. Then petted Bill’s nose. Then kissed Bill’s nose. He snorted as if to say she was mad.
Perhaps she was. Utterly mad for a certain Englishman.
“Now, yer gown, that one is made for seein’.”
Annie glanced down at her own dress, a simple sweep of satiny blue silk. She ran a hand over her hip and felt her skin warming at the thought of her Englishman’s face. How his eyes would glow. How his jaw would flicker. She lifted her hem. How much better it would be if she didn’t stain the silk with mud before he ever saw her.
Fortunately, the road to Glendasheen castle was much improved from the last time she’d made this journey. Dougal and his brothers had done