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When the tea had cooled enough, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped, allowing the pleasing warmth of the liquid to slide over his tongue and soothe his throat. He didn’t know much about teas, but this one wasn’t half-bad. He took another sip and then another. Before long, the mug was empty.
He glanced over at Fiona. “That was quite good, actually,” he said politely.
She smiled. “You sound surprised, Mr. Dumas.”
Embarrassed, he muttered, “I’m not much of a fan of tea, as a rule.” He coughed and hastily set the mug on a nearby table. When he finally managed to control the wracking coughs, he sighed and dropped his head against the back of the chair, closing his eyes once more.
When he opened them sometime later, Fiona stood before him, holding his mug full of fresh tea out to him. “This will help,” she said, her voice gentle.
He sighed, looking up at her. She was being very kind, he thought. The coughing spell had taken so much out of him that he had trouble focusing on her or the mug.
As though she could read his mind, she leaned over and held the warm drink to his lips. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t a child, but speech took too much effort at the moment. Greg found it easier to drink the tea in silence.
He rested his eyes as soon as he finished the tea. He knew that she didn’t immediately move away from him. The light scent of flowers drifted past him, bringing a vision of sunshine and meadows and happiness and… She must have stepped away because the fragrance gradually dissipated along with the sunshine and happiness.
He needed to thank her for the drink. He needed—
She spoke and her voice sounded far away. He forced himself to open his eyes. She continued to shimmer, as though she were a figment of his imagination. Not even his fertile imagination could have conjured up a woman like this one.
Greg gave his head a shake in an effort to clear his thoughts. It didn’t help. Thinking took too much effort. He gave up trying to figure out what she was saying to him. Instead, he allowed himself to drift while he listened to the soothing sound of her lyrical voice.
“It’s much too late for you to attempt to find the village tonight, Mr. Dumas. You’re not well and you need to rest. Come with me. I have a guest room where you’ll be more comfortable.”
She held out her hand and he stared at her for a moment before accepting it. When she tugged, he slowly stood. Greg felt the room shift when he tried to follow her. Something was wrong with him. There was a hum in his head that seemed to drown out all other sounds.
Fiona led him across the room and into the hall. After opening a door across the hallway, she flipped on a switch and quickly moved to the bed.
“Why don’t you take off your jacket and shoes?” she suggested with her angelic smile. He fumbled with the zipper of his leather jacket, but he couldn’t make the darned thing work. Must be stuck, he thought. She gently pushed his hands aside and quickly removed his wet jacket. When she motioned to his shoes, he sat on the side of the bed and clumsily removed them.
She walked to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers back. “I think you’ll be comfortable enough here for the night.”
He roused enough to realize what she was saying. “What did you give me to drink?” Delayed adrenaline kicked in, somewhat clearing his head. “You’ve caused this blurry feeling, haven’t you? Who the hell are you?” he demanded to know before the coughing took over once more.
“We can talk in the morning, Mr. Dumas. You’re safe here. Rest,” she said softly, going to the door. She turned off the light and pulled the door closed, leaving him in darkness.
Greg sat there, wondering how he’d ended up in this woman’s bedroom, wondering what she’d given him to make him feel so dopey. His arms felt as if invisible weights held them down. With his last ounce of energy, he removed the rest of his clothing except for his boxer shorts.
He shivered uncontrollably from the chill in the air and curled beneath the covers, their immediate warmth comforting him. All right. The most sensible course would be to stay there for the night, but then he would insist that this woman give him the necessary directions to continue his search for the correct Fiona MacDonald.
That was his last thought before sleep overtook him.
Chapter Two
Fiona woke with a start to the sound of her visitor’s breath-stealing cough echoing through the cottage. She glanced at her bedside clock and saw that it was almost five o’clock.
The tea had given him a few hours of rest, which he needed. Not that he would have admitted it. No, sir. Mr. Greg Dumas had certainly been convinced he could continue with his journey.
She sat up, yawning. He needed more of the herbal mixture she had given him. With that in mind, Fiona pulled on her robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she mixed the necessary herbs to relieve his cough and congestion, as well as bring down his fever.
While she measured and crushed, her mind wandered into the past.
By the time she was a teenager, she had known that she wanted to help heal people. She had worked with her dad—even though he had retired—with some of the older people who insisted on coming to him for treatment. Because of her interest, he had encouraged her to attend university and to consider medical school, which she had done.
She had left medical school disheartened and more than a little discouraged. She’d learned little to nothing about nutritional needs, preventative medicine or natural remedies that worked as well as pharmaceuticals but with fewer side effects. She and her father had discussed the wide range of healing modalities more than once. Instead of continuing with her medical studies, she’d taken courses in nutrition and natural remedies.
When her parents died, Fiona walked away from her studies and sought a place where she could be alone and come to terms with her loss. She’d stumbled onto Glen Cairn while exploring the Highlands, and on a whim checked to see if there were any available rentals.
The cottage was exactly what she had needed—close enough to people if she wanted to reach out—secluded enough to allow her time to heal. She had never regretted her move.
As word of her training and abilities spread through Glen Cairn, villagers had come to her with their ailments and she had found her grief being eased by helping others.
She’d never told anyone why she was so good at diagnosing illnesses. First, because they wouldn’t believe her. Secondly, because she didn’t want to be considered odd, as she had been in Craigmor.
The truth was that she saw shimmering colors around each person she met. Over the years she’d learned that certain colors represented physical problems, and certain emotions appeared to her in defining colors, as well. There was no way she could find the words to explain what she saw.
As a child she’d thought that everyone could see those colors and knew what they meant. She’d assumed that was how her father was able to diagnose what was wrong with his patients.
However, as she’d grown older she’d discovered that she was the only one around who witnessed what she saw. After being laughed at several times, she’d learned to keep quiet about seeing colors that no one else appeared to detect.
Instead, she used her knowledge and skills to diagnose and treat others with her home-grown herbs, salves and her intuitive messages.
Fiona poured the steeped herbal tea, let it cool a bit and took it to her guest bedroom. After tapping on the door and getting no response, she quietly turned the knob and walked into the bedroom. Rather than turn on the overhead light, she reached for a small lamp near the door. Once there was light, she turned and looked at her guest.
The covers were bunched around his waist, displaying his bare chest. He lay on his back, his head turned away from her, his latest coughing spell still echoing in the room.
“I’ve brought you some tea.”
He slowly turned his head toward her and the light, his eyes appearing unfocused.
She touched his arm and discovered that he was burning up. She gave his shoulder a light shake. “Can you sit up for me, please?”
He blinked. When his eyes opened a second time, they were somewhat clearer. “What do you want?” he asked, his words slurred.
“I want you to drink this,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and offering him the cup.
He came up on one elbow and took the cup, draining it as though he was thirsty. Without a word he handed it back to her and fell back on the bed.
She smiled, almost amused at his change in attitude. Perhaps he was too sick to care what she gave him. Fiona went over to the tall dresser in the corner and opened one of the drawers. She pulled out a large flannel shirt and brought it back to the bed.
“Here. Put this on…. You need to stay warm.”
Greg opened his eyes and frowned at her. “I’m hot. I don’t need a shirt.”
“Take my word for it. You really do need to keep your chest warm.”
His frown grew, but he sat up and pulled the shirt over his head without another word. With a glare that spoke volumes, he rolled over so that his back was to her and said, “Turn out the light when you leave.”
He sounded as gruff as a grizzly disturbed in his rest. She may not know much about her visitor, but he’d made it clear he would not be an easy patient to look after.
She turned on a night-light, turned off the lamp and returned to the kitchen to find the salve she needed for his chest.
McTavish had followed her downstairs and now sat just inside the kitchen door, giving her a disgruntled look. “Yes, I know,” she said soothingly. “I have disturbed your rest, as well. Go back upstairs. I’ll be there shortly.”
With a muffled snort the dog went into the hallway, pausing for a moment in front of the stairs to glance at the closed bedroom door before he trotted up them. Sometimes he acted as if he understood every word she said.
Perhaps he did, she thought.
Fiona quietly reentered the guest bedroom with the jar and more tea. The night-light cast enough of a glow for her to see the bed and nearby table. She placed the items on the table and sat beside him on the bed.
Once again he lay sprawled on his back, his arms thrown wide. When she brushed her hand against his forehead, she knew she had to do whatever was necessary to break his fever.
His immune system was struggling and needed help. No doubt Mr. Dumas pushed himself beyond his physical limits on a regular basis, which made him human, she supposed, but didn’t help when an infection managed to overcome him. He had little energy in reserve to combat his illness.
She reached for the ointment.
He stirred, turning his face toward her. “Jill?” he murmured. “I’ve missed you so much.” He took Fiona’s hand and tugged her toward him. She managed to catch her balance enough not to fall directly on him. Instead, she now lay next to him, her head on his shoulder.
“Mr. Dumas,” she said softly. “We need to bring your fever down. I’m also going to rub an ointment on your chest to ease the congestion there.”
She pulled away from him and reached for the cup.
He didn’t let go of her hand. “Jill?” He sounded puzzled.
“No. My name is Fiona.”
She pulled her hand away from him and slid her arm beneath his head, raising him slightly. He opened his eyes without a sign of recognition before closing them again.
Fiona held the cup to his lips. “This will help your cough and your fever, I promise.”
He drank as greedily as he had earlier. Once he finished, she returned the empty cup to the table and lowered his head back to the pillow.
She picked up the jar again and took out a dollop of the salve with her fingers. She cupped the ointment in her hands to warm the soft mixture. When the creamy medication reached body temperature she lifted his shirt and stroked her hand across his chest.
A charge of energy shot through her hand and arm, catching her off guard. She felt as if she’d just stuck her finger into a live electrical socket.
Greg Dumas was a powerful man regardless of his present condition. At least he was having a powerful effect on her. She forced herself to move her hand with a calmness she was far from feeling and applied the soothing mixture over his chest.
He smiled without opening his eyes. The smile unnerved her. She smoothed the ointment more swiftly, wanting to be finished with this part of the healing process. His chest was broad and muscled, and touching him created a fluttery feeling inside her, a sensation she was unused to experiencing.
Fiona made certain she’d covered the area adequately before she withdrew her hand from beneath his shirt. Or tried to. As soon as she began to withdraw, he trapped her hand beneath his.
As calmly as she could, Fiona said, “You need to rest now, Mr. Dumas. It’s early yet. Try to sleep a few more hours.”
He opened his eyes. They glittered in the faint light. He stared at her for a moment before he said, “I’ll sleep but I want you here beside me.”
He no longer sounded like a bear. Instead, he had become a virile male who knew what he wanted, and at the moment he wanted her in his bed.
Fiona had never run into this situation before. For one thing, she’d never had an occasion to treat a male without another family member being present. For another, she had never expected any male, regardless of his fevered condition, to show a personal interest in her.
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea,” she finally replied, speaking as softly and soothingly as possible. The man had no idea what he was saying and probably wouldn’t remember any of this once he recovered from his illness.
In the meantime…she wasn’t sure what to do.
Greg took matters into his own hands, literally, by pulling her toward him until she tumbled onto the bed beside him. With a grin that enhanced his attractiveness, he wrapped his arms around her.
“Now I’ll sleep,” he said, as though keeping a promise.
The man was much stronger than she’d realized. Fiona wasn’t certain she could get up without a struggle. Her most startling realization was that she was in no way frightened of him, despite the fact that she’d never been this close to a male other than her father.
She forced herself to relax, hoping he would release his hold on her. The tea she’d given him should ease him into sleep in a few minutes.
He turned his face toward hers and nuzzled her neck.
“Mmm,” he murmured, “you smell nice.”
She froze in disbelief. He flicked his tongue along her earlobe, causing her to shiver. When he slipped his hand beneath her robe and gown and stroked her bare breast, she almost strangled on her gasp. He made a sound of contentment as he continued to stroke and caress her, causing her nipple to pucker in the palm of his hand. A surge of pure sensual pleasure swept over her.
Fiona panicked. She could not allow this to continue. He would be horribly embarrassed later on—as would she!—when he recalled what he had done.
Greg nibbled on her ear before he licked it again.
“Mr. Dumas,” she managed to say when she was able to catch her breath. “You really need to rest.”
He ignored her and trailed kisses along her neck and the curve of her shoulder. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his husky voice vibrating in her ear. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart. There were times when I thought I’d die from the pain of losing you. But you’re here now. Stay with me and let me love you.”
Finally, the soporific effect of the tea kicked in and his hand slid away from her breast. She swallowed, willing her heart and breathing to slow down.
Fiona carefully left the bed, watching him with a combination of dismay and an unexpected yearning she’d never experienced before. His thick dark hair fell across his forehead. His face was flushed with fever and Fiona had an almost uncontrollable urge to push his hair away from his face and thread her fingers through its silky softness.
She knew better than to act on her impulse. She slipped out of the bedroom before temptation became too much for her to resist and hurried to the kitchen. She needed a dose of her own herbal tea to soothe and relax her.
While she sipped from her cup a few minutes later, Fiona reminded herself that Greg hadn’t known what he was doing. His fever had climbed rapidly since he’d gone to bed, which wasn’t a good sign.
She was worried about him. She gathered up supplies, including tea and ointments, and returned to his room. She felt she needed to keep a closer eye on his condition.
Fiona found him restlessly moving his legs, muttering incomprehensibly. He said the name Jill several times, as though she were there. He was talking to her, pleading with her.
His fever needed to come down. Fiona had mixed stronger herbs to help contain the infection that was causing the fever.
She sat beside him and said, “Mr. Dumas…please drink this.” She slipped her arm beneath his head, held the cup to his lips and managed to get him to drink without spilling it.
Once the cup was drained, she stepped away from him. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing that the infection appeared to have progressed enough to overcome him.
Fiona settled into a large overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. Within minutes McTavish showed up at the door. He watched her for a moment before he ambled across the room to the chair where she was. He stretched out on the floor in front of her, forming a footrest for her.
She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and began her wait for her newest patient to respond to the medications.
He couldn’t breathe.
