Free Beloved Imposter by PATRICIA POTTER

one.”
    Felicia had always taken pride in being forthright and honest. Now lies were tumbling from her mouth quicker than fleas jumped onto a dog.
    She had not expected the stricken look on the lord’s face, nor Moira’s deep concern. She had expected that everyone would leave her in peace just as they did when she was ill at Dunstaffnage. She was naught to the Macleans. The lord only wanted rid of her.
    A few hot stones wrapped in cloth and placed next to her cheeks, pepper to make her sneeze, and no sleep to make her eyes red-rimmed made her look ill. Enough, she’d thought, to delay the journey.
    She thought she might have four days to make her escape. Not much more. Janet would have returned to the Camerons, and there would be no outcry there. The steward at Dunstaffnage was not a timid man, but he did fear her uncle. He would not report her escape to his lord until he felt certain he could not find her. He would comb the entire area for her before admitting failure.
    But rather than being left to herself to recover, she was being smothered by care, by worry, by concern. It was new to her; no one other than Jamie had ever shown such bother over her before. Even the cold, angry lord had seemed uncertain. She’d felt warmed by the concern in his eyes. For the first time, they had reflected something other than the fact that he felt her to be a monumental nuisance.
    He had looked intensely masculine and appealing. He entered a room like a storm, directing all attention to himself just by his presence.
    He is a Maclean, her family’s greatest enemy . And hers was his.
    And now he was thinking about sending someone to notify Janet’s family. Her family.
    Dear mother of God . She had become enmeshed in a web of her own creation. This was why she so rarely lied.
    “Milady, do you feel ye could eat something?”
    She nodded. “Mayhap a little.”
    “I will return in a wee moment.”
    Moira left, and Felicia rose from the bed, and looked under the bed where she had hidden the rocks. She had only a few moments, if that many, before someone else came to inquire about her health.
    Using the fireplace tools, she placed the rocks in the fire, waited until they heated, then very carefully wrapped them back in pieces of cloth and scampered back to the bed. She placed the wrapped stones against her cheeks, forcing herself to bear the heat. When she felt sufficiently fevered, she again placed them under the bed, then snuggled down under the covers.
    Moira arrived several minutes later, a tray in her arms. Unfortunately there seemed to be naught but a tankard and a bowl of porridge.
    Moira’s face darkened as she saw the newly produced flush in Felicia’s cheeks. “Here, milady,” she said, presenting the tankard filled with a foul-smelling brew. Felicia sniffed, then sneezed.
    ” ‘Tis good for ye, milady,” Moira said.
    Since she had an interest in seeming to try to make herself well, Felicia forced herself to drink the mixture, which truly was quite terrible. The porridge was not much better.
    “The fever seems worse,” Moira said, her brow crinkling with worry.
    “I think I just need rest,” Felicia said.
    “I will stay with ye.”
    “Nay,” Felicia said. “I know you have duties, and I have taken you away from them. ‘Tis nothing but weariness, and I canna sleep with someone worrying over me.” She said the last with a smile to indicate it was her own foible and not Moira’s presence that was the problem.
    “The lord—”
    “The lord would like to see me better,” she said.
    The woman clucked, but gave her one more worried look and backed out of the room. She hesitated before closing the door, obviously loath to leave her charge. “Ye let us know if ye need anything?”
    “Aye,” she said.
    “I will have someone outside the door.”
    “There is no need,” Felicia protested.
    “The lord will have my head if aught happened to ye.” She hesitated. “He is a good mon. He should have no blame on