Her warrior was quiet and seemed to be resting even if fitfully. He twitched and stirred in his sleep, but he’d ceased his ramblings. She heaved a sigh of relief. ’Twas the truth she hadn’t had to fake the weary, half-sick look to convince Jane that she was ailing. She was exhausted. Probably looked on the verge of death herself, and she’d give anything for a restful night.

She knelt by the warrior and laid her palm over his brow, frowning at how dry and hot his skin was to the touch. He gave a light shiver and his muscles coiled and tensed as if trying to ward off the cold.

She eyed the hearth and knew she’d have to venture out once more to replenish the wood stock for the night ahead. Already the wind howled and whistled by her window, ruffling the skin covering the opening.

Knowing it was better to have done with it so she could spend the rest of the night in the warmth of her cottage, she pulled her shawl around her tightly and ventured out to collect another armful of wood.

By the time she returned, her shawl had ripped away from her and blew in the wind, held only by one corner. She shoved inside, dumped the wood on the floor by the hearth, and set about stoking the fire until the blaze licked high up the chimney.

She was hungry but was simply too tired to eat. All she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes. She surveyed the sleeping warrior and pondered the likelihood of getting a sleeping draught down his throat.

Thrashing about did his injury no good, and neither of them got much-needed rest when he flopped around in the throes of God knew what kind of delusion.

Wondering if she’d ever take her bed this night, she mixed the draught and knelt back down, curling her arm underneath the warrior’s neck. She hoisted him as far up as she could muster and held the cup to his lips.

“Drink now,” she said in a soothing voice. “ ’Twill set things to right for this night. You have need of a peaceful sleep.”

And so do I.

He drank it down docilely, grimacing only as the last washed down his throat. Blowing out her breath, she lowered him back down, arranged a fur over him to keep him warm, and then settled beside him, her head resting in the crook of his arm.

It wasn’t the most modest of accommodations. If anyone saw her, they’d be scandalized and she’d be labeled a whore all over again. But no one was here to judge her, and she’d be damned if she allowed it under her own roof. She’d given up her warm bedding for the warrior. The least he could do was share his body heat.