almost tipped over in her chair.
His feverish eyes fixed on her, but without indication he really saw her. ‘Let me die,’ he begged. ‘Me, not him. My fault.’
His tone was bereft. Mournful. A wave of incredible sadness washed over her. She shook herself. She did not wish to feel sympathy for this man, this stranger. This Englishman.
But she also did not want to witness him dying. She stood and gently pushed on his bare shoulders. ‘Lie down. No talk of dying now. You must rest.’
He lay back against the pillows, breathing hard. ‘No. Better to die.’
The pain in that statement washed through her again. She remembered wishing she could die. After what had been done to her, she’d felt too ashamed to live. She’d once stood on the red sandstone cliff, determined to throw herself over the edge, but then she’d thought of Davina and Niven, and her mother and father. They needed her. No matter her unhappiness, she would not desert them. Gradually, she’d learned to live with what had happened to her.
The stranger rolled on to his side, facing away from her. She strained to see that his chest still moved. She shifted her chair to a better vantage point and tried to stay awake.
* * *
She did not succeed.
She woke to Niven shaking her. ‘Wake up, Mairi! The doctor is here.’
She straightened in the chair and her gaze shot to the stranger. Still breathing, thank God!
He lay on his back, the bedcovers flung off, revealing his undressed state.
Mr Grassie, the doctor, a stocky man who seemed perpetually in a rush, strode into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of her dishevelled appearance and the half-naked man in the bed nearby.
‘Miss Wallace!’ He eyed her disapprovingly. ‘You are tending to this man?’
She stood and lifted her chin. ‘Niven and I watched over him during the night.’ At least the doctor would not presume she’d been alone with the man.
Mr Grassie’s gaze swept over the stranger as he approached the bed. He felt the man’s pulse, then opened his black bag and pulled out a glass tube. He pressed one end of the tube to the man’s bare chest and the other to his ear, moving it to various spots. He frowned. He put the tube away and opened the man’s eyes with his thumb and looked inside his mouth. The Englishman did not rouse.
Finally Mr Grassie stepped back. ‘His chest is not clear. He is gravely ill. How did he come to be here?’
‘Niven and Davina found him at the standing stones,’ Mairi told him. ‘He’s not been sensible enough to tell us anything more.’
Mr Grassie gestured to the scars on the man’s chest. ‘He was a soldier, I’d wager. Those are sabre cuts. I’ve seen the like before.’ Mr Grassie had once been an army surgeon.
‘A soldier!’ Niven’s eyes kindled with interest.
Mairi’s brows knitted. ‘What was an English soldier doing on our property?’
Mr Grassie looked up at her. ‘English, is he?’
‘In his ravings, he spoke with an English accent.’ He’d called for whisky and wished he would die. ‘What are we to do? Is there some medicine for him?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘I’ll have the apothecary mix up something. It might help his breathing.’
‘Might help?’ This was not very encouraging.
He gave her a direct look. ‘If the fever doesn’t break soon, well, there is no hope for him.’
‘Do you mean he could die?’ cried Niven. ‘He must not die.’
Mr Grassie patted Niven’s shoulder. ‘Only time will tell, son.’ He picked up his bag. ‘Give him broth or tea. He’ll need the fluids to flush out the fever. And limit who tends to him. I’ve seen this grippe in the village. It is highly contagious.’
That did it. Mairi would tend to him alone and no one besides Niven would enter the room.
‘Shall I stop above stairs and report this to your father or mother?’ the doctor asked.
She knew he was in a hurry. ‘I will tell them.’ Or some version of the doctor’s report. She did not wish her parents to fret. In any event, they were likely still abed. The morning was not yet very advanced.
‘I will come tomorrow if I can.’ Mr Grassie shook his head. ‘But there is a lot of this sickness about.’
‘Come when you can, sir.’ She walked him to the door. ‘I’ll have Niven or one of the footmen collect the medicine from the apothecary this afternoon.’
The doctor nodded and took one more glance at the patient. ‘I wish I had more to offer.’
So did Mairi.
As he was crossing the threshold, Davina appeared in the hallway. ‘Good morning, Mr Grassie,’ she said brightly. ‘How is he?’
Mr Grassie hesitated to answer her.
Mairi broke in. ‘Let Mr Grassie be on his way, Davina. I’ll fill you in.’
The doctor nodded gratefully and hurried away.
Niven came up behind Mairi. ‘He said the man could die, Davina!’
‘Oh, no!’ Davina cried.
Niven couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Why alarm Davina that way?
‘We will not let him die,’ Mairi assured her, although the truth was more uncertain. ‘We will take care of him.’
Davina gave her an earnest look. ‘I will help. What can I do?’
Mairi certainly would not risk Davina becoming ill. ‘The doctor said he is very contagious and that we must limit who is in contact with him, so I do not want you in his room.’ Even if there was no chance of contagion, she did not want Davina in the presence of a half-naked Englishman. ‘I’ve already been exposed, so I will continue to care for him.’
‘I can help, too,’ Niven said. ‘I’ve also been exposed.’
‘Yes, you can help,’ she agreed. ‘But I must be the only one who touches him. No sense you getting sick.’
‘I must do something, too!’ Davina insisted.
‘Help Mrs Cross. She really needs help and I won’t be able to assist her,’ Mairi said. ‘Or go with Niven to pick up the medicine.’
Davina pursed her lips. ‘Oh, very well.’
She stormed off, and Mairi, still very weary, returned to the bedside of their patient.
* * *
After the doctor left, Mairi sent MacKay and John out to look for this other man the
