Highlander Claimed. Juliette Miller

without your sunlight, Roses,” he rasped gruffly, quietly, into my ear. “Come back to me.”

      “I’m here, warrior,” I said, unsettled both because I wanted to calm him and also because the worried faces and hands of his two sisters were pulling me away from him. They were leading Wilkie back to his bed and me along with him, as he would not loosen his hold on me. They were wiping at his wound and calling for Effie. I felt disengaged from them, focused only on Wilkie and his clear delirium, and also my own, and his strong refusal to follow any request unless I was within his grasp. I held on to his hand as he was eased back into his bed. All was hazy, as though I was channeling Wilkie’s fever, following him into it, deeper and deeper, to lead him once again back into the light.

      I was aware only that I was holding his hand. Abstractly, I noticed that Christie was settling me into a cushiony chair next to his bed, draping me with furs, giving me a sip of tea, as Effie arrived and once again attended to Wilkie. My focus was entirely on the hold of his hand, the heat and strength of it, the rough texture of his fingers. As my consciousness drifted from me, I grasped his hand as tightly as he was clutching mine. It took effort, maintaining my grip even as darkness overtook me. If I could just hold on to that hand. I would be strong and safe. Warmed by the sun. Alive. And I would not be alone. If I could just hold on...