Page 5 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“My head and my shoulder.” He was not used to having someone looking out for him. It felt… Well, it felt—
Suddenly, she poked a finger in the laceration. “Damnation!” he swore.
“Ye’ve a filthy mouth,” she chided.
“Ye shoved yer finger into my cut,” he growled.
“I had to ken how deep it was so I could ken the chances of ye dying from yer injuries,” she snipped before wrapping what he assumed was a strip of material from her underclothing around his head. She knotted it and then gave a satisfied grunt. “Are ye injured anywhere else?”
“I’ve a cut on my right shoulder,” he said, grabbing her slender hand as he felt and heard it move in front of him. “Dunnae poke me in my wound again.”
The sound of more material ripping echoed in the cave. “How bad is it?”
“I’ll nae die from it, lass. It’s verra kind of ye to be so concerned for me,” he said, trying to start things over on friendlier terms. He didn’t care for having to force the lass to a wedding she didn’t want, but his order from the king was his order, and that was that.
She snorted. “Dunnae try to gain favor with me. I’ve nae forgotten ye are trying to force me to wed a man I dunnae wish to.”
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said, meaning it. “I’m simply doing what the king has bade me to do.”
“If the king bade ye to throw yer body off a cliff to yer death, would ye?”
“Of course nae,” he growled. She’d basically called him a mindless dog. “Shall we make our way back to where I left my man?”
“If we try to do that, we risk being killed,” she replied. “Wolf packs come out in this area at night, and if we try to swim, the sea will pull us under. The tide is verra strong. It’s relentless, really. I’ve kenned many a strong swimmer who died trying and failing to make land. Our time to travel has passed until the first light breaks the sky. Is the man ye left there sharp-witted enough to get in the vessel until ye return?”
“Aye,” Broch replied. “He’s canny enough.”
“Verra well.” She moved away from him, and he felt the loss of her heat immediately, but her scent lingered. She smelled pure, like the fresh sea air, but citrusy notes underlay the salty ones. It was enticing. He inhaled deeply, trying to place the flower, and grinned. “Sweet gale,” he exclaimed.
“What did ye say?” Her voice sounded farther away than he’d imagined in his head she’d gone.
“Sweet gale,” he repeated, striding in the direction of the noise she made as she walked.
“What of it?”
By the loudness of her voice, he knew she was facing him once more. He came to a stop in front of her, the faint sound of her inhalation and exhalation coming to him. The cave was so black he could not see her, but in the brief time he had been able to, her image must have been singed in his memory because a clear picture of her entered his mind now. Long, thick, golden hair tumbled over delicate shoulders, and dark lashes framed astute eyes the color of a storm cloud. She had rosy, full lips that she often pressed together in disdain. Her high cheekbones carried a bloom of health, and she had curves to make a man ache to touch her. He curled his hands into fists. Lusting after this lass could lead nowhere good. His task was to ensure she wed Blackswell’s heir, not bed her.
“I dunnae have time to wait for yer answer,” she growled.
Reflexively, he reached out and grasped her wrist as he heard her turn to walk away. “Ye smell verra nice, like sweet gale.”
“Oh.” Her surprise was evident in her voice.
“Where are ye trying to go?” he asked, since wooing her with honeyed words was absolutely not an option.
“To gather some wood to build a fire in the cave,” she supplied, her tone straightforward. “If wolves should approach the cave, I prefer to have a fire burning to keep them away. Ye could only kill so many with yer sword, and I’d rather nae find out just how many before they fell us.”
“Verra sensible,” he agreed. “Lead the way.”
“Keep pace,” she instructed.
He laughed, but when she strode through the cave, he had to quicken his step or risk being left behind. Soon, they exited the cave to the rocky beach. The moon was high and bright in the sky, making her visible in front of him. She picked her way across the beach to the woods that lay beyond. He swallowed as hot desire took hold.
She was wearing naught but her underclothing, and wet as her léine was, it clung to her perfectly formed backside in ways that made him think things he ought not to, nor had the right to. She moved with the grace of a doe who’d traversed the wild freely all her life. Her reflexes were sharp as she jumped logs and ducked low-hanging branches. He’d known plenty of women as friends and lovers—a handful who had been quite able-bodied and self-sufficient—but only a single lass had been as one with the woods and seemingly fearless as a warrior like Katreine appeared to be. He thought briefly of Bridgette MacLean as he followed Katreine. Bridgette had come to be brave and skillful as a warrior because her brother allowed her to grow into such a unique, admirable lass. Katreine’s family must have given her the same remarkable freedom.
When Katreine paused near a tree, she bent down and gathered all the things he himself would have used to create a fire. He smiled and moved to stand beside her. She glanced at him, her teeth glistening white in the moonlight as she grinned, and something in his chest caught.
God’s teeth! Why must she be so bonny?
