"No signs of fever?"

I shake my head, pouring boiling water into a cup of tea leaves. Greer has her hands pressed to her temples and is rubbing them slowly. "No."

"That's a miracle in itself... They walked for hours like that."

I hand her the tea, pressing my lips together. "I'm sorry, Greer... that he was hurt getting MacCallan."

She shakes her head. "Dinnae fash yourself for it. Knox- he knew the dangers... so did I. I just hadn't expected it... to actually happen."

"But you saw it?"

She nods, closing her eyes. "I still do. It won't stop. It replays over and over again, at all hours of the day."

I touch her brown hair, settling into the stool beside her. "You should try to get some sleep. You've been up all day."

Her features, usually pretty and young, look haggard from the crying. I can't say I'd look any better in the circumstances. She doesn't answer me but doesn't resist when I grab her arm, lifting her off the chair.

"I'll grab your tea," I whisper as we start towards her bedroom. She turns though, at the door and walks into another room. I close my eyes regretfully when I see a twin bed. A guest room.

She walks before me, discarding her clothing. I turn until hearing her climb into the bed, to which I face her, swallowing nervously.

I realize that while she's not blaming me, I'm blaming myself.

She told me the day Callan left that she'd find a way to help me save him. I didn't stop her and that was why she felt compelled to send Knox to get him.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She shakes her head, taking the outstretched cup. "Nay... will ye be here in the morn?"

I nod. "Only until dawn. I have to be back after that. I'm nervous to leave MacCallan-"

"I will make sure he's taken care of, dinnae fash, Gillian. We have plenty of food here for him and I've sent for some more willow bark and balsams."

I smile softly. "Thank you... for-for everything. I'm sorry for the way it-"

She stares at me, squinting. "Stop blaming yourself. I can feel it, Gillian and it doesnae feel pleasant."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

She chuckles, slapping her hand against her skirt. "Will ye quit with the apologies? You've done nothing wrong."

"I can't help it."

"Aye, ye can. Ken I dinnae blame ye for a thing- take my word and have that be the last on the subject. He was meant- to die. I had seen it. It would have happened no matter what."

I nod, looking down at my hands. "I'll-I'll be with Callan... if you need anything."

"I've got Mary for that. Spend your time with him, Gillian," she says, taking a sip of her drink slowly.

I don't know what she means by the words but I turn for the door, too scared to ask.

...

I lie against Callan's side, listening to his even breaths, glad the sound still calms me. My brain is stubborn but tired. I remain in a uncomfortable state of drowsiness, running my fingers lightly into his chest hair.

The action is so familiar yet foreign. The times I spend with him seem to feel more like memories than moments that have actually happened. My eyes slowly drift from the ceiling to his body. I inspect his wound silently, glad to see it healing nicely.

It's a miracle it didn't infect.

I chuckle to myself, in disbelief, surprised when his arm comes around my waist, pulling tighter. One of his eyes open, in amused suspicion.

"What are ye chuckling to yourself for?"

Shaking my head with a small smile, I lay a hand onto his chest. "Nothing. Sleep."

"Not with ye chuckling next to me through the night with no idea why."

"I just was looking at our stomachs," I clarify.

He looks down at his, frowning slightly. "Ye find our bellies to be amusing?"

"No, the coincidence is funny... kind of. You see, I was looking at our scars. We've both got them, and they're in relatively close spots."

"Ah, I see," he says, looking down once again. "Well, I cannae see yours."

I find myself blushing. "You know where it is."

"Do I?"

"Mhm," I hum, happily, sitting up. I grab my shift and pull it over my head and drop it onto the floor beside the small bed we're on. He eyes me appreciatively as I lie back down beside him, curving into his body. My skin prickles with chill, even with the fireplace raging.

"Aye, I see what you're speakin' about now. The marks are rather close."

"Told ya," I say. "What are the odds... honestly?"

He smiles, looking down. "There aren't odds. Or coincidences. We've been joined by fate."

"That's one way to look at being stabbed."

He laughs. I nearly faint, watching his dimples crease his cheeks. "Ooch, laughin' doesnae feel good."

I press my lips together as he glances down at his stomach. "Are you hurting? Do you need something?"

He shakes his head, pulling me closer. "Nay, quit your fretting, woman."

"I want to fret. I won't be here tomorrow to do it."

He looks down at me and his smile fades slowly. "You're to go back? For how long?"

"A day- or two. I must show my face... or people will begin to notice."

He nods, after a long moment. "Aye."

"Are you worried about staying here with Greer?"

"I dinnae feel pleasant about it, but nay. Ye tell me ye trust her- so I will too."

"Thank you," I murmur, resting my hand on his cheek. I close my eyes, with my forehead against his skin and breathe in deeply. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"Aye, as do I," he answers, in a soft voice. "But... I'll be here when ye return."

...

I throw open the door to the cottage, with a wide smile. I've gone three days, knowing MacCallan was only hours away, stuck in that castle, running errands and sipping tea, pretending that there isn't someone hours away that I'm longing for.

My smile dissipates. "Callan?"

I enter the room, glancing around and frown. He's not here... 

He's not here.

I shut the door gently, swallowing away the fear that approaches. He wouldn't leave.

By the time I reach the main house with no sign of him, I close my eyes, pressing my hands to my temples. He wouldn't be inside the house. I don't think...

Okay, Gillian. Calm down. Calm down.

I knock on the door gently, gasping when it opens immediately, revealing Greer and her maid. Greer has her hair in a bonnet, tightly kept. Her face usually glows but today, not even the small hint of a smile she gives me, feels like her.

"Gillian, how are ye?"

"I'm fine... Actually, I'm not. Have you seen MacCallan?"

She purses her lips, shaking her head dubiously. "I've not. I ken Harold went by to bring him some mash earlier but I've not seen him."

"Oh God."

She gapes slightly, looking to Mary. "Ye dinnae think he left, do ye?"

I can't answer her. I shake my head in confusion and stumble back down the steps, eyes searching.

He wouldn't do this to me.

I hear Greer whisper, "Will ye start supper? I'll speak with Gillian."

"Aye."

There's a hand on my shoulder. "I'll help ye find him. I'm sure he's here."

"You haven't seen him? At all? He's got an injury- it's not like he can work with it!"

She rests a hand on my hair. "... Ye need to calm yourself."

I nod, wiping the tears that fall from my eyes and chuckle. "I know... I just- cannot lose him again, Greer. I can't."

She smiles softly with a nod. "Aye... I ken it."

There's chuckling nearby- both Greer and I look to our right, finding Harold rolling a plow. He's turned, talking to MacCallan, who's dressed in Macintosh colors, following closely behind.

"Aye, ye see?" Greer exclaims. "He's here still."

MacCallan glances up, still smiling. I jump down from the step, exhaling in relief and hurry towards him, unable to care that we have an audience. His eyes squint in confusion as I rush into him, wrapping my arms around his body.

"You're here," I gasp.

He grunts softly but keeps me close, resting a reassuring hand onto my hair. "What's this? Why are ye crying?"

He cups my face gently with both hands when I look up at him. His thumbs swipe the tracks of water rushing down my face. His eyes, soft and calmed, are framed by deep, dark circles.

"I tho-thought you had left."

"Ye think I'd leave ye- without even a word?"

"I don't know. I- you're not supposed to be moving so I thought you had... Why are you up anyway?"

"I was tryin' to lend a hand. I woke up feelin' better. With the funeral tomorrow, we were setting up the plot."

"You're not supposed to be moving," I repeat.

He chuckles, kissing my hair. "Ye worry too much."

"Well, forgive me but I never get a lot of time with you and I came here, expecting you to be in bed rest still and then- and then you're not there. I mean, naturally, I'd expect that you left. I mean, it would have been easier and-"

Slowly, as I ramble on, his brows curved together in realization.

"I frightened ye and I'm sorry," he whispers suddenly, cupping my neck. "I should have left ye a note."

I finally breathe, closing my eyes. "No, it's not your fault. I- just- promise me you won't leave without telling me."

"I won't... mo chridhe." He suddenly chuckles, sounding awed as I curve my face into his chest, exhaling deeply. "I won't."