away weakly.
But Conall easily pushed her lips away from her teeth with his thumbs and what he saw in that brief moment confirmed his fear.
Eve began to struggle in earnest and Conall released her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Eve, listen to me, lass—you are verra ill. You’ve had naught but horsemeat to eat since you’ve come?”
Eve’s eyes narrowed over flushed cheeks. “What else is there to eat, I’d like to know. I’m not ill, MacKerrick, only tired.”
Conall nodded, not wanting to further upset her. “Where’s the pot, lass?”
“Buried.”
Conall blinked. “Buried?”
“I cooked all the meat I could, put it in the pot, and buried it. But there’s not much left to be had,” Eve answered wearily. She sighed as if in defeat. “Under the large, flat rock, straightaway from the door. Mayhap twenty paces.”
Conall was stunned for a moment by the woman’s ingenuity. He’d had no idea until now how dire Evelyn Buchanan’s situation had been when she’d found Ronan’s hut. ’Twas little wonder she was territorial over the small sod house.
“Well done, lass.” He smiled at her. “You just take your rest and I’ll return in a bit.” Conall kept the smile on his face even when Eve only frowned and rolled away to face the wall once more.
He had to hurry.
It seemed to Evelyn that no sooner had MacKerrick left her be at last, he was immediately returned to the hut, making a cacophony of racket. She dozed during this time, frowning to herself at the aching in her joints. Once, Alinor rudely shoved her cold, wet nose into the warm crook of Evelyn’s neck, but quickly retreated after MacKerrick chastised the wolf with a string of Gaelic spoken too quickly for Evelyn to decipher. She drifted away once more.
Then he was pulling at her shoulder again, coaxing her to roll over, his hand like a branding iron through her thin sleeve.
“Eve,” he called, his palm skimming down her arm to her hand. He molded her fingers around a warm, smooth object. “Take hold of it now, and drink.”
Evelyn opened her heavy eyelids to look first into Conall MacKerrick’s face and then at the object he’d placed in her hand. ’Twas an earthen mug, steam rising deliciously off the reddish liquid within and releasing a scent that was familiar to Eve, but one that she could not put name to.
“What is it?” she asked, drawing herself up on one elbow. She noted with a queer hitch in her stomach the way the highlander had snaked one long arm behind her shoulders expertly to bolster her—his muscled bicep felt like a stone against her back.
“Tea.”
Evelyn cast him a suspicious glance and sniffed the steam from the mug. “It smells…odd. What sort of tea?”
“’Tis good. You need it. Drink it.”
“Tell me what it is,” she demanded.
MacKerrick drew his head back. “You doona trust me?”
“Well, why will you not tell me—”
“It’s nae horsemeat,” he cut her off pointedly, and Evelyn felt properly chastised. She noticed that, up close, the highlander’s amber eyes were ringed with dark green, and his lips were full and oddly soft-looking for one of such savage appearance. His mouth fascinated her, and she wanted to study it while falling back asleep…
“Eve,” MacKerrick insisted.
She blinked, realized she had nearly dozed off while sitting up and frowned into MacKerrick’s wide, concerned face.
“What’s wrong with me?”
He brought the cup in her hand—his fingers guiding them—to her mouth. “Drink,” was his only answer.
Evelyn did as she was told and sipped. The liquid was warm and thin and…absolutely the most intoxicatingly delicious tea she’d ever drunk. The beverage was still quite warm but, after her first hesitant swallow, it was as if she could not help but gulp down the entire mug.
She lowered the mug with a gasp to catch her breath and looked at MacKerrick.
He was smiling. “I told you ’twas good. More?”
“There’s more?” Evelyn asked in disbelief. “More” was a concept she’d put completely from her mind since leaving England.
MacKerrick took the cup with a chuckle and refilled it from a tall clay urn, set near the fire pit. “A whole wood full of it, lass.” He returned to the side of the bed and handed her the mug.
Evelyn raised it to her lips and gulped and immediately regretted it as her mouth, tongue and throat were washed in the boiling hot liquid.
“Easy,” the highlander chastised. “It hasna had time to cool.”
Evelyn’s eyes watered from her scalded mouth but she only blew on the surface of the tea.
“Pine,” MacKerrick said.
Evelyn glanced at him, saw he was watching her mouth when she pursed her lips to blow. “Pardon?”
“The tea—pine needles. With a splash of mead for sweetness,” he added with a grin. “You’ve had nae greens—nae fruits—for weeks, lass.” He gestured to her arm. “Those bruises, the sleepiness…you’ve need of fortification.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And this simple tea will cure all that?”
Conall nodded. “Most of it. Along with what’s in yonder fine pot.”
Evelyn looked to the fire again, still blowing on the delicious brew, and saw the large pottery crock in which she’d buried the horsemeat. Its lid was barely tilted and the tiniest wisps of steam were only just escaping.
MacKerrick rose from the bed and drew a short blade from his belt. Crouching down on his haunches, he wrapped his hand in the hem of his long, tuniclike shirt and moved the lid of the crock away. Evelyn caught a glimpse of rich, brown liquid and mayhap—could it be?—a speck of green, as the highlander stirred the concoction with his dagger.
He replaced the lid and looked up at Evelyn, wiping his blade on a rag before sheathing it. “Stew,” he offered.
Evelyn’s throat tightened with a welling of emotion that stemmed from both relief and desire. She sipped at the tea and noticed the tremors in both hands and arms. Stew. My God. A wave of unexpected—and very unwelcome—nausea misted her face, chest, and back with perspiration.
“You’ll be fine in a day or so,” MacKerrick was saying to her now, approaching the box bed. The angles of his hawklike face were softer than she had seen them since meeting the highlander. He truly was a handsome man.
“Thank you,” Evelyn managed to croak in a low voice. She was grateful for the care this large stranger had shown her, but his generosity also laid a heavy burden on her. How could she continue to demand that MacKerrick depart the hut when
