Page 104 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Colin ignored them both and pushed himself upright with his good arm. The motion pulled at the bandage and sent another wave of pain rolling through his shoulder. He took it in silence, because there were limits to the humiliation one man ought to provide before breakfast.

Elspeth stirred in the chair. Colin stilled at once. She did not wake. Her hand tightened briefly in the folds of her robe, then relaxed.

Breac saw where Colin’s gaze had gone, and something in his expression softened in a manner Colin disliked immediately.

“She hasnae left ye.”

Colin looked at him.

“Since they brought ye in,” Breac continued. “Skye tried. Fionn tried. I tried, which I mention because me bravery is rarely appreciated. She said if any of us attempted tae remove her, she would begin with the nearest injury and create others.”

Murdoch gave a grunt. “I believed her.”

Colin looked back at Elspeth. She stayed.

The knowledge settled strangely in him, heavier than the pain and far more difficult to dismiss. He had known duty. He had known loyalty, in soldiers, in friends, in men who would stand at his back because they trusted his blade and his judgment. But this was not that.

Elspeth owed him nothing of tenderness. He bought her into this life. He brought danger to her feet. He made her a target for a madman’s vengeance. Yet she had sat beside him through the night, wounded herself, pale with exhaustion, and refused to leave.

His chest tightened with a discomfort that had no decent name.

Colin swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Breac cursed under his breath. “There it is. The foolishness has gained legs.”

“I need tae meet the Council.”

Murdoch stared at him. “Ye need tae lie down.”

“I have lain down.”

“Fer six hours.”

“Then I have rested.”

“That isnae what rest means.”

“It will serve.”

Breac stepped closer. “Colin.”

There was too much in the way he said it. It was not said out of mere irritation or friendship. There was fear, perhaps, though Breac would have preferred death to calling it so.

Colin did not look at him. “Help me stand, or move.”

Breac muttered something so impolite even Murdoch’s brows rose, but he came to Colin’s good side and braced him. Murdoch took the other, careful of the wounded shoulder. Colin stood.

For one humiliating breath, the chamber tipped. He locked his knees and waited for it to obey him.

“Splendid,” Breac said. “Ye are nearly the color of oatmeal. Very commanding.”

“Get me me boots.”

“Shall I fetch yer coffin as well, or will that wait until after the meeting?”

Colin’s gaze cut to him. Breac fetched the boots. Before dressing, Colin looked again at Elspeth. The blanket slipped lower. The dawn chill crept into the room despite the fire. He took two steps toward her before either man could speak.

It cost him more than he liked. The chair seemed farther away than it had any right to be. He reached for the fallen blanket with his good hand and drew it carefully over her shoulders. She shifted slightly beneath the touch, turning her face into the warmth. A strand of hair lay across her mouth.