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Ian stood from the bed and returned with a soaked towel. “Wash your face with this.”

Helen complied and dabbed her face with the warm towel.

“Do you want to have a bath?”

Helen hesitated. Want? No, she didn’t want it. Could she have washed herself if she were deposited naked into the hip bath? Probably not. Did she need to? Most likely.

While she was debating her options, Ian silently walked toward her and started to undress her. “You can just go to sleep if you’re too tired,” he whispered, making her hair move at her temple with his warm breath.

He took off her dress and wrapped her in his clean shirt before bending down, picking her up, and laying her down on the bed.

He covered her with the blanket, and then sat beside her, running his fingers against her hair, tracing his finger along her forehead, her cheek.

Helen instinctively moved her head toward his touch, chasing his warmth.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his fingers tracing a scaly rash on her cheek.

Helen swallowed and turned away, wishing she could hide from him. “It all hurts.”

He covered her tightly with the blanket and leaned in, his nose at her temple, and pressed a kiss to her skin. “Sleep. I shall wake you when it is time to leave.”

* * *

Ian undressed, but before he could lower himself into a bath, he heard the soft snore coming from Helen.

She was so tired, his poor little bonnie lass. He wished he could wrap her up in a magic gauze and keep her safe and healthy for the rest of her long and happy life.

He lay in the bath, remembering her lithe, elegant body as he undressed her. He wished he could forget her scent, the warmth of her body as she lay on his lap, her fingers curling into his flesh. He wished he could ignore how arousing she was in her stockings and his crisp white shirt. It was so large on her that it hung from her shoulders in an inelegant heap, and covered her legs down to her knees. She was frail and sick and yet she was the most desirable woman to him nonetheless. And now, lying in a warm bath, going through the images of her in his mind, he was quite uncomfortably aroused.

He knew that the last thing Helen needed right now was his amorous attention. What she needed now were plenty of rest and a good night’s sleep.

So Ian scrubbed himself as best as he could, dried his skin, and climbed into bed beside her.

Helen immediately turned toward him and burrowed her cold nose into his chest.

Ian wrapped his arms around her thin waist and kissed her on the top of her head. His body stirred and heated, but his desire to make her feel safe won over his desire for anything else. He pressed her closely to his heart.

They were not out of the woods yet. This journey was dangerous. But what worried him more than the Shadows on their tail was her health. He was a spy. Evading pursuers, disguising himself and the people around him, fooling everyone, and lying his way out of dangerous situations was what he was built for. But looking out for a fragile woman who depended on him and him only was something he had never done before.

He had never looked out for anyone in his entire life. He’d spent his life unburdened and carefree. And that life seemed meaningless now. Without Helen, he could no longer imagine his existence.

Chapter 20

The next few days of travel were the most trying days of Ian’s life. Helen kept falling in and out of consciousness, her skin burning, her joints swollen, and her face and hands covered with an angry rash.

Ian fed her laudanum during the rough carriage rides as the carriage swayed and rattled, constantly waking her up and causing her pain. Helen had refused to eat anything, only occasionally having a few drops of broth.

After realizing that she suffered in bed equally to the carriage, Ian started spending less and less time overnight, choosing to end this journey as soon as he could.

He didn’t even know if he would be welcomed back into his home.

Surely his father wouldn’t kick him out on the spot, especially if his sister was anywhere in residence. Ian’s heart raced every time he thought of home. But there was nowhere else he could go to hide from the wrath of the Shadows.

They would not dare attack him on the grounds of the Scottish earl. And if they did, they would be met with the harshest resistance and would have to face the consequences.

Ian donned a different disguise every night as they stopped at inns. He’d been a priest, a doctor, and for one leg of the trip, he was even a carriage driver.

He’d had to leave Helen in the room and pretend to sleep in the carriage, then scale the building and enter Helen’s room through the window.