“Alaric,” he called out, his voice enough to wake the dead.

Alaric? ’Twas a fine name for a warrior. But Alaric didn’t so much as flinch. The man kneeling over him turned his worried gaze toward Keeley and then his green eyes, so much like Alaric’s, turned cold and stormy.

“What has happened here? Why won’t he awaken?”

She turned and glanced pointedly at the warrior holding her arm and then down to where his hand clamped around her flesh until he got the message and released her. Then she hurried over to where Alaric lay, determined that whoever this man was, he wouldn’t bully Alaric while he lay so riddled with fever.

“ ’Tis a fever he’s taken,” she said huskily, trying to ward off the fear that surrounded her just as these men surrounded her.

“That much I can surmise on my own,” the warrior growled. “What happened?”

Keeley reached to push aside the remnants of Alaric’s tunic where she’d stitched his side. There were several quick intakes of breath and Caelen, who’d squeezed her arm so hard it had nearly broken, advanced to stand over Alaric as he looked down at the stitched wound.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said honestly. “His horse bore him here, and he fell onto the ground outside my door. It took all my wits to get him inside so that I could tend his wounds. ’Twas a nasty cut to his side. I stitched it the best I could and have tended him well and kept him warm ever since.”

“She did a fine job of stitching him,” Caelen said grudgingly.

Keeley bristled but held her tongue. What she’d like to do is give him a swift kick in his arse. Her arm still hurt where he’d gripped her.

“Aye, she did,” the leader said softly. “I only wish I knew what transpired for him to arrive so grievously injured.” He turned his seeking gaze on Keeley, probing, as if he considered whether she was being truthful with him.

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” she grumbled. “ ’Tis shameful. He must have been ambushed or fought unfairly. He seems fit enough to handle himself in a fight.”

The leader’s eyes glimmered for a moment and she swore he almost smiled.

“I am Laird McCabe and Alaric is my brother.”

Keeley cast her eyes downward and bobbed an awkward curtsy. He wasn’t her laird, but still, a man of his position commanded respect, and it wasn’t as if her laird was a man deserving of any.

“To whom do I speak?” he asked impatiently.

“Keeley,” she stammered out. “Keeley … Just Keeley.” It wasn’t as if the McDonalds claimed her as kin any longer.

“Well, just Keeley. It would appear I owe my brother’s life to you.”

Her cheeks pinched tight as heat gathered and pooled there. She shifted uncomfortably, unused to such praise.