Page 49 of The Guardian

Liam blinked. “Days?”

Hendry nodded solemnly. “Since the battle, it’s been near a fortnight. Ye have been lucid here and there some days. The healer feared ye would nae awaken this time.”

Memories surfaced, blurred pain, distant voices, shadows flickering at the edge of consciousness. “How many?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He didn’t need to explain. Hendry’s jaw flexed as if he were biting down on grief.

“Ten and two,” he said quietly and began naming them, coming to those Liam called friends and slowly stating the names. “Peter, Lachlan, Colin, and Little Ben.”

Liam flinched as if struck. Each name like a knife plummeting into his chest, and he shut his eyes tight to stop the tears. They came anyway, silent and hot, slipping past his lashes into the linen beneath his head.

“Who went to the families?”

“Cynden and Ian,” Hendry answered gently. “Yer men would never let the dead go alone. Many rode with them. Even some wounded, those barely able to walk, insisted on paying respects.”

Hendry lifted a hand, stopping the question he saw coming. “All of yer men live. Atoll took a blow to the head, but the healer says he’ll recover. That he fell may’ve saved him, they must have mistaken him for dead.”

Liam opened his eyes again, finding Hendry’s steady gaze.

“Will I walk?”

“The healer believes ye will. He does nae ken if ye’ll ride again. At least, nae for a time.” Hendry’s voice cracked then, almost imperceptibly. “But ye’re still here, Liam. And that is no small miracle.”

Liam stared at the ceiling, the names of his fallen men echoing in his mind. Guilt, grief, and gratitude warred in his chest. He was alive, and they were not.

Long after his friend departed, Liam considered all that had occurred. He’d asked Hendry to tell his men not to come see him. He needed time.

“I brought broth with bits of meat,” came the gentle voice. The woman’s words tugged Liam from the haze of pain, and he shifted just a bit then stopped when a piercing ache crisscrossed his midsection.

He turned his head, sluggishly, and forgot how to breathe.

There she was.

A lass he’d seen only from a distance in the village, now sitting at his bedside. Her flame-red hair was pinned at her nape, though rebellious curls had escaped, curling around her exquisite face. Blue eyes the color of a cloudless sky met his, and her lips, soft and pink, curved into a smile that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with his wounds.

He’d never spoken to her before, but she’d captured his attention long ago. That hair had turned his head, her curves had held his attention. More than once, he’d found himself searching the crowd at the village square for a glimpse of her. Then he’d seen her once, accompanied by a Ross warrior whose hand gripped her elbow possessively. Liam had turned away. Best not to chase what might already be claimed.

“It is best that ye eat,” she said, leaning in, her brow creased with worry. “Ye’ve nae had a bite in days. The healer asked that I do my best to feed ye all the broth and some bread.” She motioned to a small table next to the bed.

Sure his stomach must be caved in by the hollow feel of it, he didn’t feel hungry at all. He’d always been a hearty eater, enjoying food as much as he enjoyed admiring women. He scanned her face, glad for the distraction from the pain racking his body.

“Aye, I will eat,” he croaked, reaching shakily toward the table.

The lass gave him a smile that reminded him of a mother telling her child they were being naughty. “Nae yet. Let me help ye sit up a bit first.”

His body tensed, dread replacing the idea of eating. Moving would hurt. Each time he’d been jostled in order for his bandaging to be changed and his wounds inspected, Liam had ended up drenched in sweat, panting and in so much pain he’d cried out.

He closed his eyes and gave a hesitant nod.

Seeming to understand his reluctance, she gave him a gentle smile. “I will do my best to nae hurt ye.”

Her hands were warm, steady, and slow as she slid an arm behind his back and lifted him with surprising strength. “Dinnae help me,” she murmured. “I’ll stop when ye’ve had enough.”

The floral scent of her hair reminded him of the outdoors, and he inhaled deeply. Her proximity pulled him away from the painful throbbing across his hips.

Once she’d propped him against two rolled blankets, she did something unexpected… She climbed onto the bed, sitting carefully beside him, her hip pressing lightly to his uninjured thigh.

Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. “It’s easier to feed ye from this angle.”