Page 15 of The Scot is Hers
He was as mad as she was, and that was a dangerous combination.
Giselle shuddered as he ducked through the doorway of the ruins, and suddenly the rain that had been pounding against her head ceased. The roar of the storm dulled somewhat. The two sudden changes in her environment were jarring, and she drew in a long breath to settle herself. He carried her a few more feet and then set her down, so she could lean her back against the cool stone. But that bit of cold rock made her jerk forward, already freezing as she was.
The lighting inside the ruins was even worse than outside, and so when she looked up at him, what she mostly saw was a man as tall as a mountain, with absolutely no features.
“Thank ye,” she murmured.
Then she glanced through the doorway, just in time to see her mount come bolting inside. At least the poor animal wasn’t as stupid as she was.
“Ye’re welcome,” the stranger said, something about his voice familiar. “Allow me to feel your ankle.”
It wasn’t a question, and Giselle immediately bristled. “Excuse me? I do no’ think so.” She tucked her legs closer, wincing at the pain the movement caused.
“I need to assess if it is broken or merely sprained.” There was an edge of exasperation in his tone she chose to ignore.
“I will no’ allow ye to touch my ankle. ’Tis entirely improper.”
“And riding out in a storm alone is?” This, he said with quite a lot of sarcasm.
“Hmm. Ye do have a point. But my mother would have a fit if she knew I let ye touch me. So how about I feel my ankle, and ye tell me what I should look for?”
“Your mother is likely already having a fit since ye rode out in the rain, lass. Why do ye no’ let me assess your bloody ankle and be done with it?” His irritation was palpable.
“Tsk, tsk, ye broody beast. Ye know ye catch more flies with honey than vinegar, aye?” Giselle frowned at him, though he probably couldn’t see it.
“Ye are a pest.”
Giselle gasped. “Rude. Ye hardly know me.”
He made a snorting sound of disgust. “I know enough.”
“Fine.” She thrust her leg out. “Feel my ankle, but ye touch one inch higher, and I will retaliate.” With what she would retaliate, Giselle had no idea. She supposed her fists would do but judging from the size of him compared to her, he wouldn’t care too much.
“Whatever ye say, princess.”
Now it was Giselle’s turn to scoff, but she didn’t have a chance to respond as his probing fingers reminded her of the pain of her injury.
“Ow! That hurts,” she accused.
“Aye. I’m no’ doing it on purpose.”
“Well, stop.”
Again a little snort of annoyance. “Almost done.”
Giselle bit her lip until his pinching and prodding ceased, and he gently set her foot down on top of a stone.
“Keep it elevated like this, lass. ’Tis no’ broken, but the swelling indicates a rather nasty sprain.”
Giselle wiped at the water dripping into her eyes and glanced at him again. His face was still mostly obscured in shadow. A neatly trimmed beard covered his jawline and chin. It was hard to tell the color in the shadow, but it was not too dark. Despite his gloomy temperament, there was something kind about the man. Well, at least for now. In the next five minutes, he might still try to kill her, and then she change her mind.
“Thank ye. Tell me, sir, how many maidens have ye rescued lately?”Or ravaged?
He seemed taken aback by her question as he stood and crossed his arms, staring down at her. “Pardon?”
Giselle leaned her head back against the wall so she could gaze up at him. “Well, ye seem quite adept. I assume I’m no’ the first. Perhaps ye’ve an operation ye run around here.”
“Ye are, in fact, the first. But let’s explore that option. I’d have to take control of the weather and your horse. So ye’d name me a warlock of some sort?” Lord, but the sarcasm was strong within this one. “Accusations like that can get a man killed, lass.”
