“Have you experience with birthing children, lass?” he called out to her.
She shot him a frown and her eyes narrowed. “Aye, I’ve delivered a babe or two in my time.”
“Have you any skill at it?” he persisted.
“Well, none have died if that’s what you’re asking,” she said dryly.
Ewan pulled up his reins and held up a fist for Gannon to do the same. He pinned the little wench with the full force of his glare.
“Listen to me, you little harridan. Two people who are more important to me than my life have need of your skills. My brother is grievously injured and my lady wife will bear my child this winter. I need your skills, not your disrespect. While you are on my lands and in my keep, my word is the law. I am the law. You will recognize me as your laird or so help me, you’ll weather the winter with no shelter and no food.”
Keeley pinched her lips together and gave a short nod.
“ ’Tis better not to anger the laird, lass,” Gannon whispered close to her ear. “He’s on edge with Lady McCabe so near her time. Our entire clan depends on the healthy arrival of the babe.”
Keeley swallowed, feeling contrite for her flippancy. Still, she couldn’t conjure up too much guilt. She’d been stolen from her home and expected to take up with the McCabes. She hadn’t been asked or given a choice. Why, if the laird had only outlined his problem, she might have accepted the offer to travel to his keep. Too much in her life had been beyond her control and too long had she not been given a choice in her destiny.
“I’ve delivered well over twenty babes safely into this world, Laird,” she said grudgingly. “I’ve never lost one. I’ll do my best by your lady wife, and I’ll not let your brother die. I’ve already set my mind to his survival, and you’ll find, I’m not one to give up.”
“Imagine that. A stubborn lass,” Caelen muttered. “She and Mairin should get along famously.”
Keeley cocked her head. “Mairin?”
“The laird’s wife,” Gannon supplied.
Keeley studied the laird with interest because it was evident that he’d spoken the truth. His brother and wife meant a lot to him. She could see the worry in his face, and her romantic heart took over.
How sweet that the laird would spirit away a healer just so his wife would have someone when her time came.
Keeley nearly groaned. How ridiculous was it to wax poetic about how romantic the laird was. He’d abducted her, for the love of all that was holy. She should be screaming the forest down, not dwelling wistfully on the laird’s obvious affection for his wife.
“You are a simpleton,” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
Gannon sounded positively affronted.
“Not you. ’Tis myself I’m referring to.”
She thought she heard him make reference to daft women, but she couldn’t be sure.
“How long is the journey to your keep, Laird?” she called out.
The laird turned in her direction. “Barely a day, but with Alaric having to be carried, we can count on it taking longer. We’ll travel as far as we can and camp as close to McCabe land as possible.”
“And when I’ve cared for your brother and delivered Lady McCabe’s babe safely, then may I return home?”
The laird’s gaze narrowed. Caelen looked very much like he wanted to shout aye!
“I’ll consider it, aye. But I make no promises. Our clan has need of a skilled healer.”
She frowned, but she supposed it was better than an outright refusal.
Bored and restless from the slow pace the warriors set, she leaned back against Gannon’s chest again, uncaring of whether it was proper or not. It wasn’t as if she’d asked to be abducted, and it certainly hadn’t been her idea to be tossed from man to man like foul-smelling rubbish.
She set her sights on the countryside, trying to muster excitement for seeing beyond the area that she’d grown up and resided in since her birth. In truth, it wasn’t so different. Rugged landscape. Rocks scattered across the ground. They rode in and out of densely forested areas to valleys that were richly green and etched a path between rugged peaks.
Aye, ’twas beautiful, but not the difference she’d always imagined.
When they approached a stream that connected two lochs, Laird McCabe called a halt and ordered his men to secure the perimeter of their encampment.
Like a well-honed operation, they each took a different task, and soon tents were set, fires were built, and guards were posted.
As soon as Alaric was settled close to the fire, she hurried to him, feeling his brow and laying her head close to his chest to listen to his breathing.
His prolonged lack of consciousness bothered her immensely. He hadn’t woken once during their travels. She strained to hear his breaths. They were shallow and his chest barely rose with the effort.
His forehead burned to the touch. His lips were dry and cracked. Grimly she turned her head in the direction of his brothers, knowing they were watching.
“I need water and I need one of you to assist me in getting him to drink.”
Caelen went for the water himself while Ewan knelt on Alaric’s other side and put his arm underneath his brother’s neck. Ewan lifted as Caelen handed a tin down to Keeley.
She carefully put it to Alaric’s lips, but when she dribbled the water into his mouth, it spilled right back out again.
“Stop being stubborn, warrior,” she scolded. “Drink so that we may all sleep this night. I’ve gone long enough without sleep because of you.”