Relic - Jaid Black Page 0,17

Doctor said tentatively. “And forgive this old man for forgetting to thank you for the fine venison. It is most delicious.”

The laird grunted his approval of Doctor’s contrition, but said ought else. ‘Twas the lady who held his rapt attention now. He but prayed she awoke the soonest so he could feed her more meat.

Octavia awoke in the giant’s arms to the feel of him pushing a bite of venison into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed, wondering what exactly she’d missed. “Dinna speak, milady,” the laird’s deep voice commanded. “Let me get more food in you afore you attempt to say ought.”

She nodded, her eyes as round as saucers. The translation device had worked! It had obviously knocked her on her ass, but it had worked regardless. Speaking of the device, where was it? Her hands were empty.

James’ groan of misery put a speedy end to that mystery. She cocked her head in time to see him fall to the ground, as out of commission as she’d once been.

“For the love of the saints,” the laird said, his exasperation obvious. “See what is the matter, Colban.”

Octavia opened her mouth to speak, which earned her another bite of venison. She felt like a baby bird being fed by its much, much larger father. She stayed quiet and chewed, uncertain how to explain the predicament she and James shared.

“He looks dead,” Colban returned. “Aye, verra dead.”

“There’s nothing dead about him!” the doctor argued. “My God, stay away from me. You’ll have me buried in a grave at the first hint of a sneeze.”

Colban ignored him. “He’s breathing mayhap. Think you he too succumbed to the vapors?”

Octavia took umbrage at that. Okay so maybe she had fainted, but she couldn’t have anybody talking about one of her men like that. “He’s fine!” she snapped. “We’ve barely eaten in days.” That much was true at least. “Having so much food after having so little obviously caused both of us to fall ill.”

“You speak Gaelic?”

Her face flushed. She reached for an answer. “I-I didn’t know who you were or if you meant me harm until you rescued me.”

The laird grunted. Her answer had apparently appeased him. “Eat,” the giant demanded, shoving cheese between her lips. “’Tis good for you, this.”

She obeyed, though mostly because she was too awestruck not to. It was weird hearing her own voice speak in Old Gaelic as if she’d known the language her entire life. The tongue came to her now as readily as twenty-first century English. She was glad James was enduring the process too because nobody else could comprehend what she was going through. Putting the translation sensation into words just—she couldn’t. But soon, when he awoke, James would understand.

“Doctor told me of your escape from Rome,” the laird said, snagging her wary attention. “’Tis no need to worry o’er the loss of your fine clothes. We’ve seamstresses a plenty back home.”

She opened her mouth to tell him she couldn’t possibly go to his home, but all that earned her was a bite of apple. Octavia had noticed the apple trees when they first dismounted, but had been in too much pain to reach for one of the treasured things. She chewed now, as eagerly as that proverbial baby bird.

“You like this,” he murmured. “Good. Have another bite.”

His tone was seductive, though she doubted he meant for it to be.

She squirmed uncomfortably. Forcing her thoughts to other matters, she decided it was probably best if she spoke as little as possible. At least until she discovered what precisely Dr. Kincaid had told the massive man about her so-called escape from Rome.

Bloody hell. Angus wanted to keep cradling her in his arms for the whole of the eve, but he needed to get some water in the wee lass. Her faint had given him more of a fright than he wished to concede to. He would get her well-nourished and this fainting business would not happen again. He sat her up on his knee and coaxed her into drinking.

Her mesmerizing eyes were wide, but she complied. Mayhap they were seated too intimately for an unwed lady’s sensibilities, yet he did not wish to let her go afore she was feeling better. Hell, he did not want to let her go, ever. She was soft, lush, and lovely. She was gentle and delicate. She was… throwing his dagger over his shoulder at a target who cried out in pain? What in the saints?!

Angus turned, the lady still