He let out a breath. “The man who attacked me was one of the Mackenzie’s guards. He stated that he wished me dead because he believed I killed the Mackenzie.”
Everyone exchanged looks at his statement.
“Aye, I did it,” Ewan stated. “Ye are aware.”
“So ye finally admit to doing it?” Laird Fraser asked. “We all did suspect.”
Ewan wanted to groan at his actions on the day of the tournament. He looked to Keithen. “Yer wife knows then?”
“She’s not come out and said it, but I think she suspects.”
The laird motioned for him to continue. “What was the guard doing there?”
“Skulking about. I believe because it was he and whoever was with him that attacked the farmer’s family.”
“To what end?” Broden asked, frowning. “They have little to gain from a battle against us. If anything, they have more to lose.”
Everyone went quiet considering the reasoning.
Finally, Ewan decided to give his opinion. “It could be whoever is responsible, be it the Mackenzie or not, hoped ye would blame another clan, perhaps a smaller one and begin warring with one another.”
“There have been similar attacks to both of them. That is enough of a reason for them to retaliate, thinking it was us who are responsible,” Laird Fraser noted. “And yet, that the Mackenzie guard was about does not mean it was them who are responsible.”
“As much as I would like to blame them, I have to agree with father,” Keithen added.
“How can we ever find proof?” Broden asked.
An idea struck and Ewan straightened. “Meet with the other lairds. Perhaps it will be easier to find the truth if ye work together.”
Laird Fraser looked at him and nodded. “I believe I will.”
Messengers were dispatched and Ewan left the laird’s study needing to rest.
His midsection ached, the discomfort growing with each step he took. Holding his arm over his stomach, Ewan walked through the great room toward where his room was.
“Do ye require help getting to bed?” The maid from earlier appeared from the direction of the kitchen.
Ewan could barely stand up straight. The idea of any kind of lovemaking made him cringe. “Although it’s a tempting offer, I must refrain.”
He turned away, but the woman was persistent, her hand on his arm. “Ye do not have to do anything,” she purred, a curve to her lips.
“He said no.” Catriona appeared at the end of the corridor. “Go see about yer tasks,” she snapped and glared at the maid, who’s eyes widened and cheeks flushed with consternation. “Yes, Miss.”
As the maid scurried away, Catriona frowned up at Ewan. “Ye must learn to be firmer. If ye are not interested, make it clear.”
“Thank ye for coming to my rescue,” Ewan said. “Do ye know if the healer is about?”
Immediately, she pinned him with a direct look. “If ye are hurting, it is because ye have not remained abed as the healer insisted. Come, I will help ye to lay down and then see about fetching the healer.”
Catriona walked with him into his bedroom, and Ewan almost chuckled at the thought that he’d turned down one lass, and now another, much lovelier and not at all with any intentions in mind, walked beside him.
“Give me a moment,” Ewan said, standing next to the bed. “I have to prepare myself to lower to it.” It would not do to embarrass himself by crying out in pain when lowering to the bed.
“I’ll help.” Catriona neared and untied the strings at his throat. Then she helped him remove the tunic. It was painstakingly slow, and he had to keep blowing out breaths, his midsection sending streaks of pain up and down his torso.
If not for reeling from the aching, he would have enjoyed her proximity and the act of removing his clothing.
“I think I need to...sit,” Ewan stuttered, barely able to get his breath.
“Ah!” he exclaimed when Catriona lifted his left arm and pulled the tunic off. “Ye should have stayed in bed and not put on a tunic. What exactly are ye trying to prove?”
Now he felt like a lad being lectured by his mother. Things could not get any worse. If it continued, she’d never be attracted to him as a man. Ewan glared up at her. “I need the healer to make me a poultice, as well as some of that vile tonic to take away the pain.”
“What ye need is...” Catriona stopped talking when he fell sideways onto the bed. “Are ye about to pass out?”
He opened his eyes and gave her a droll look. “I’m trying to lie down.”
“Oh,” she frowned down at him. “I am not sure how to help.”
“I hate to ask,” Ewan began, “but can ye remove my boots?”
Catriona made quick time of removing his boots and then, slowly, they managed to slide him up until his head was on the pillow.
At this point, he blew out breaths, fighting the urge to moan out loud.
“Ewan,” Catriona said in a low voice.
“Aye.”
“I am going to have to take the bandage off and inspect the wound. It will hurt.”
With only the bandage around his midsection, he already felt naked in front of her. When she barely acted as if it were a strange occurrence, he dared to speak.
“Ye helped treat the many wounded after the Clan Mackenzie attack, did ye not?”
“I did,” she replied, cutting away the bandage. “I will not bother the healer. I can clean yer wound and make a tonic for ye.”
She looked him over. “Other than having someone tie ye to the bed, that is all that can be done for ye to heal properly. If ye insist on getting up and about tomorrow, the same result will occur.”
Properly chastised and barely able to breathe through the waves of
