Isobel entered the room, then saw Marcus, his face peaceful in sleep, his blanket resting at his hips, his chest bare. She had seen many men like this when she tended to the wounded, so she was not shocked. And she had seen Marcus's chest before when he fought his cousins in playful combat. She swore it had been just to show off his muscles. She had loved them and him for showing them off.

She hurried across the floor and placed her hand over his forehead, but his skin was cool to the touch. No fever. Thank God.

Finbar pulled the chair over to the bed so that she could sit beside Marcus.

"We will be outside the room. If you need anything, just let us know," Finbar said.

"Aye, thank you."

He bowed his head and he and Rob left, then shut the door.

Isobel leaned over and kissed Marcus's cheek. He didn't stir and she knew she should let him rest. That sleep would help to heal him. But she also believed that if he knew she was here, sitting beside him, encouraging him to get well, he would mend all the faster. If only the situation could be different between them and she was sitting at his bedside in his chambers back home. She would not leave his side until he was well again.

Then again, if things were different, he wouldn't be suffering from any kind of wound inflicted by the English.

She worried that she didn't have much time to stay.

She ran her hand over his arm, loving the feel of his muscles, his skin. She looked back at his face and was startled to see him staring at her as if he were seeing a ghost.

"'Tis me," she quickly said.

"What are you doing here?" Marcus attempted to sit up.

She jumped up and helped him sit. "I came to see you. I had to know that you were well. I had to tell you that I love you with all my heart."

"You crossed the border? With the skirmishes going on? What were you thinking?"

She scowled at him. "I was thinking that I loved you, and I had to be with you. That was what I was thinking!"

He smiled a little, though he grimaced also and appeared that he was still very much in pain.

"You shouldna be here. It will be as difficult for you to return as it was to get here."

"'Twas not difficult coming here." She wouldn't admit how scared she had been when they had come across the group of Scots looking to fight them, until Rob had told them who they were. Or how hearing the fighting going on in the distance had made her heart race with fear. "I would not have stayed away. I had to see you for myself."

"You have seen me." He sounded furious. "Tell Rob you wish to return now. Before you are missed. Before you are in further danger."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I will not leave just yet." She rose and found a flask of mead and brought it to him, then sat back down as she watched him drink it. "I am so sorry that my father sent you away. And that you were injured. If your cousins had met back at the keep at the appointed hour so that there were three of you riding together, the attack would never have happened."

"One of your suitors had to have hired the men," Marcus said angrily.

"What? One of my suitors?" Her heart began to pound furiously. "The man who attacked you was not a thief? Lord Wynfield said he was but that they did not know more than that. How…how do you know he was not a thief?"

"The timing, the close proximity to the castle. They lay in wait like a pack of wolves, like they knew just when I was leaving because they knew I would be forcibly sent away. Then they attacked. The last one who struck me in the back had been too cowardly to face me man to man in a fair fight. They were paid in gold. But the three brigands have paid for their crimes. The man who hired them hasna."

"Three men?" She scarce could breathe, imagining Marcus fighting for his life against three armed men.

She couldn't believe the English could be so bloodthirsty, and yet here they called the Highlanders savages. What concerned her most was that her father was the one who had given the order to have Marcus sent away. He could not have had anything to do with the men attacking Marcus. She wouldn't believe it of him.

"You do not know who hired them?" Overwhelmed with the truth of the matter, she had assumed the man only a thief, who would attack anyone he believed would make it worth his while.

"Nay. There were too many attacking to hold polite conversation."

"I…I am so sorry, Marcus." She bit her lip and took his hand and squeezed it.

"Dear lass, you had naught to do with it."

"If I had not held you so close, flaunting the way I feel about you in front of the others, showing them that I love you—" Her eyes filled with tears and she hated that she could not hold them back, but it was all her fault that he had been sent away and then attacked.

"Ahh, Isobel, come here." He reached out his arms to hold her, though he grimaced as if the movement caused him much pain.

She willingly went to him, wanting to hold him close, and pressed herself gently against his chest, trying to be so careful not to hurt him further. She needed his touch as much as she suspected he needed hers.

"You had naught to do with this," he repeated. "‘Twas my fault for holding you close and stirring your father's ire at the keep."

"He was angry with me over it. Not with you," she said vehemently.

He stroked her back and sighed deeply. "Though I shouldna wish you were here, you canna know how much it means to me to hold you like this. But you shouldna have come."

"'Tis the same for me. I wished to see you, to feel you, to know you were… were going to live."

He kissed the top of her head. "Three brigands couldna get the best of me."

She frowned at him because one had.

"And live," he amended with a small smile.