Though she had hoped they would talk more, to take her thoughts off her dark fears, they didn't. Did they suspect that Torrin wouldn't be alive when they arrived?

She bowed her head and tears dripped from her eyes. Please God, keep him alive.

As late afternoon approached, Jessie could not believe how tired and sore she was. It had been a long time since she had ridden a horse for more than a few minutes. She feared she would be unable to walk once she dismounted.

A glistening loch reflecting the blue sky came into view in the distance as they rode carefully down a rocky incline.

"'Tis Loch Assynt," Dirk said.

"We are close?" she asked.

"Aye."

Her heart rate sped up and her stomach knotted. Pressing her eyes closed, she said another prayer.

Minutes later, they arrived at a smoother trail by the loch's edge and kicked their horses into a gallop, her heart pounding at the same quick pace.

A castle came into view in the distance. That had to be Munrick. As they approached, she saw that the gray stone castle had three towers and sat on a small island in the loch. 'Twas a beautiful, magical setting with the green hills in the background.

She imagined Torrin inside the walls. Would he be better or worse?

As they drew nearer the guard house and drawbridge, the men riding in front of them moved aside, allowing Dirk and Jessie to approach first.

Sim was one of the first people she recognized.

"Chief MacKay, Lady Jessie! Am I glad to see you," he greeted, his eyes wide with excitement. "Lower the bridge," he told the other guards.

"Are you certain?" one of them demanded, frowning and eying Dirk suspiciously.

"Aye, these are our allies, and they're here to help the chief."

"How is Laird MacLeod?" Jessie asked.

"He's alive but ailing something fierce. Thank the saints you've come. You can help him recover as you did last time."

"I hope so." She blinked back the tears burning her eyes once again.

The gate opened and the drawbridge was lowered. She, Dirk and the rest of the MacKays proceeded across into the walled cobblestone bailey.

Jessie quickly dismounted, her legs and derriere so sore she could hardly move. But she forced herself to walk stiffly toward the entrance. Where was Flora? She stopped and turned, seeing that one of the men was helping her dismount. The healer, completely unaccustomed to riding a horse, waddled forward. "I'm coming, m'lady," she said, carrying her satchel.

"Lady Jessie! Thank the saints."

She turned to find Iain standing in the portal.

"Come inside." He offered his hand to help her up the steps, then helped Flora. "Torrin needs you and your healer now more than ever."

"Is he bad?" Jessie asked.

Iain frowned. "Aye. I'm afraid so."

Please, God, don't let him be too far gone. She followed Iain along one end of the great hall and up a narrow turnpike stairwell, Flora and Dolina trailing behind. At the end of a short corridor, Iain opened a door and motioned her inside. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll send a maid to assist you."

Jessie rushed into the bedchamber. Torrin lay in a large four-poster bed with his eyes closed, his skin was so pale. "Saints!" She touched his feverish brow. "Torrin?"

His eyelids fluttered and then he moved his head. "Jessie?" 'Twas naught more than a breath.

"Aye, I am here."

Frowning, and with seemingly great effort, he opened his eyes a crack. "Missed you."

Tears filled her eyes. "I missed you, too. You must get better."

"Aye."

"I've brought Flora, the healer, with me."

At the moment, she was conversing with another woman in the corner of the room, near the door. Another healer, perhaps.

Torrin's hand moved from beneath the layers of blankets and clasped onto hers.

"Have you eaten anything?" she asked, holding his hand tight.

"Not hungry."

"How long has it been?"

He shook his head a little and frowned. Saints! Could he not even remember when he'd last eaten? "Would one of you go see if there is any fresh broth in the kitchen?" she asked the two women. "And if there is, bring some. Some ale, too."

"Aye, m'lady. My name's Margie. We tried to get him to eat, but he'd have none of it." She hurried out the door.

Well, at least they'd tried. He would have to eat for her; she'd make him.

"Is she the healer for Munrick?" Jessie whispered.

"Aye. Their main healer passed a few months ago. Margie admits she isn't well trained."

"Saints! Torrin, why on earth did you not hire a competent healer?"

"Didn't ken I'd need one," he whispered.

She shook her head.

"I need to examine his wounds and see if they are festered," Flora said.

"Aye." Jessie said. "I'll help you." Knowing one of the injuries was on his left thigh, Jessie moved the blankets aside while trying to keep his groin covered, although she was certain Flora had seen countless naked men while performing her healing duties.

Flora removed the bloody linen bandage from his thigh, revealing a swollen, angry gash. It had been roughly stitched up. Jessie wanted to mutter several curse words, but kept her lips sealed tight.

"'Tis a festering wound. I must bathe it, then apply a poultice." Flora turned to the MacLeod maid who waited near the door. "I'll need a kettle of boiled water if you please."

"Aye." The maid hastened away.

"It looks bad, does it not?" Jessie asked.

Flora nodded.

"You can help him though, aye?"

"I will certainly try, m'lady. But you must pray. Your prayers seem to work miracles." Flora dug into her satchel and pulled out several wee cloth pouches of dried herbs.

Jessie nodded, her throat closing. Her prayers had been answered thus far. Torrin was alive, as she'd asked. Now, she must ask for his rapid healing.

Holding his hand, she kissed his overheated forehead, then silently said a swift but heartfelt prayer.

"Don't cry, Jessie," Torrin whispered. "Don't like it when you cry."

She wiped her tears away. "Then you must recover quickly."

"Don't leave me," he said.

"I won't."

"Ever," he added, his pain-filled gaze locked on her.

Realizing what he was saying, she bit her lip. He was asking her to stay with him permanently. Was that what it would take to give him the strength to fight for his life? She would do anything to keep him alive.

"I will stay with you… always," she said.

"In truth?" He frowned, his eyes searching hers.

"Aye. I love you," she whispered, stroking his cheek, sporting a weeks' worth of beard stubble.

"Love you, too." He turned his head slightly and kissed her palm.

Margie and the maid rushed into the room, one carrying a kettle of hot water and the other a tray of food.

Flora set about making an herbal tea. While it steeped, Jessie fed Torrin a couple of spoonfuls of warm venison broth. It smelled fresh and delicious. It had been many hours since she'd eaten and she was hungry. But Torrin's well-being was far more important than her own.

"'Tis all I can stomach," he said after another sip.

Flora and Jessie helped him turn onto his side so they might check the wound on his back. It was healing well because it hadn't been as deep a cut.

Once Jessie forced him to drink the tea containing the poppy, willow bark, thyme, red clover blossom and several other things, Flora bathed the wound on his thigh with hot water containing herbs over the basin. She then gently applied a poultice of plantain, red clover, comfrey and calendula to the wound and covered it with clean linen.