Page 40 of The Highlander's Christmas Bride

He tapped her nose with a gentle finger. “Cheeky lass.”

Cheeky lass.No one had ever called her that before. She rather liked it.

By the time he returned, she’d wrestled off her boots. It had been painful, but not as bad as it could have been, since the boots were so large.

“Why are your socks still on?” he asked.

“Well . . . the one seems to be stuck.”

He muttered under his breath, then poured some water into a tin basin and set it on the hearth to heat.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s have a look.”

Any embarrassment she felt disappeared under a wave of pain as he began removing the sock. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back either tears or a string of very nasty oaths.

She felt him gingerly peel away the rough fabric, which seemed to have fused itself to her skin. When he had to tug a bit, she hissed out a choked exclamation.

“Sorry, lass. I know it must hurt like the devil, but I’ve almost got it off.”

She cracked open an eyelid. Crouched before her, Kendrick’s head was bowed, his focus on her foot. She saw the grim set to his shoulders and the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

As he coaxed away the last bit of fabric, she had to swallow against a sudden rush of nausea. Something popped, and warm liquid gushed down the side of her foot.

“You had a blood blister, too.” He glanced up with a sympathetic grimace. “Your foot’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. I’ll have to wash it and then wrap it with some clean flannel. With a bit of luck, you won’t get an infection.”

Donella swallowed, forcing her stomach back into place. Now that the blasted sock was finally off, the pain was starting to recede. She leaned to the side, trying to get a look at her foot, cradled in his palm.

Oh, dear.

She hastily straightened up. One side of her foot was all chafed and bloody.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured her. “Once we get it cleaned up, it’ll feel much better.”

She mustered a weak smile. Without the boots and socks, she was exposed up to her calf. When one of his long, tanned fingers brushed over her ankle, she felt herself go light-headed again—but not from the pain.

Donella cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

He adopted a stern expression. “I wish you had told me it was this bad. Any longer, and you might have ended up with a raging infection.”

“We were on a mountain, with very few supplies. I’m sure your doctoring skills are quite impressive, but there really wasn’t much to be done up there.”

He wadded up the sock and propped her foot on it, then rose to fetch the water. “I could have done something.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, we were escaping some very nasty men trying to kidnap me. My foot could wait.”

“I have not forgotten them for a moment.”

He returned with the basin and set it on the table next to the other supplies.

“I just hope my uncle got your message. But what do we do if Foster and Davey failed to get through?”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t much matter. “Then we’ll make our way down to Loch Katrine and secure a boat. That’ll get us over to Riddick lands in good order.”

It was entirely possible that their pursuers might be waiting for them in villages where one could hire a boat for the crossing. There were relatively few ways to reach Blairgal. Whether by road or boat, they risked exposure.

Kendrick stood and shucked off his greatcoat. He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a fine silver flask.

“In need of fortification, are you?” she asked.

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