“Listen to me, you little harridan. Two people who are more important to me than my life have need of your skills. My brother is grievously injured and my lady wife will bear my child this winter. I need your skills, not your disrespect. While you are on my lands and in my keep, my word is the law. I am the law. You will recognize me as your laird or so help me, you’ll weather the winter with no shelter and no food.”

Keeley pinched her lips together and gave a short nod.

“ ’Tis better not to anger the laird, lass,” Gannon whispered close to her ear. “He’s on edge with Lady McCabe so near her time. Our entire clan depends on the healthy arrival of the babe.”

Keeley swallowed, feeling contrite for her flippancy. Still, she couldn’t conjure up too much guilt. She’d been stolen from her home and expected to take up with the McCabes. She hadn’t been asked or given a choice. Why, if the laird had only outlined his problem, she might have accepted the offer to travel to his keep. Too much in her life had been beyond her control and too long had she not been given a choice in her destiny.

“I’ve delivered well over twenty babes safely into this world, Laird,” she said grudgingly. “I’ve never lost one. I’ll do my best by your lady wife, and I’ll not let your brother die. I’ve already set my mind to his survival, and you’ll find, I’m not one to give up.”

“Imagine that. A stubborn lass,” Caelen muttered. “She and Mairin should get along famously.”

Keeley cocked her head. “Mairin?”

“The laird’s wife,” Gannon supplied.

Keeley studied the laird with interest because it was evident that he’d spoken the truth. His brother and wife meant a lot to him. She could see the worry in his face, and her romantic heart took over.

How sweet that the laird would spirit away a healer just so his wife would have someone when her time came.

Keeley nearly groaned. How ridiculous was it to wax poetic about how romantic the laird was. He’d abducted her, for the love of all that was holy. She should be screaming the forest down, not dwelling wistfully on the laird’s obvious affection for his wife.

“You are a simpleton,” she muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Gannon sounded positively affronted.

“Not you. ’Tis myself I’m referring to.”

She thought she heard him make reference to daft women, but she couldn’t be sure.

“How long is the journey to your keep, Laird?” she called out.

The laird turned in her direction. “Barely a day, but with Alaric having to be carried, we can count on it taking longer. We’ll travel as far as we can and camp as close to McCabe land as possible.”