Page 8 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
Katreine gasped. “Give me the dagger,” she hissed.
He dropped the stack of wood he’d been holding and unsheathed his sword. At the same time, he released the dagger and handed it to her. As she brought it in front of her, she moved around him and pressed her back to his. It was exactly what he would have done. The way she positioned herself gave them eyes in front of and behind them.
It took but a breath before the pack appeared, one by one, lining up in front of him. There were four in all. Their eyes glowed yellow in the night, and their deep snarls swallowed up the silence. “When I say so,” he whispered, “run for the cave, aye?”
“Nay,” she replied. “I’ll nae leave ye to be killed.”
“Aye,” he said, clenching his teeth and sword hilt in frustration. One of the wolves slowly started to advance.
Katreine’s back slid along his. Then her right shoulder brushed his side as she moved to stand beside him and face the wolves.
“Sorry, Scot. That is nae the sort of lass I am.”
“Who’s the reckless one?” he asked, but she did not get the chance to answer. The wolf that had been advancing sprung forward, and as Broch raised his sword to strike the beast, it yelped and fell from midair, the hilt of Katreine’s dagger protruding from its chest.”
Broch blinked in amazement as another beast advanced. He swung his sword and reached for the three other daggers he kept sheathed at his waist. “Take these,” he managed, thrusting one at her, then plunging his sword into the advancing wolf. The beast howled in rage, and Broch kicked, yanked out his sword, and thrust again, while Katreine threw the dagger he’d just given her to strike yet another wolf. He wasted no time tossing another dagger to her. She caught it, and he lunged to the left to try to fell a beast that was attempting to circle them. He missed the first time, and the wolf leaped past him. Just as the growling wolf snapped at Katreine, Broch hit the animal from behind, felling it.
He lowered his sword, his body trembling at the intensity of the blood rushing through him. Katreine stood facing him, looking down at the dead wolf at her feet. “Are ye shaken, lass?”
She looked up. Her face was as pale as the moon above her. She licked her lips. “Why would I nae be?”
He was awed and intrigued by her. “Have ye battled an animal before?”
She looked down at the wolf once again. In the dark, Broch could not see the blood that was surely soaking the wolf where the dagger had entered it, but the scent of blood, like iron, filled his nose. “I—” she began, her voice raspy and suddenly shaky. “I’ve killed a wolf before.”
He took a step toward her because her words were coming out very quiet, as if she were fading away. “Lass, what is it?”
Without saying a word, she slowly moved her hand toward her right leg and then brought her hand in front of her face. “My hand is wet,” she whispered. He understood then. The wolf had gotten her. “I think I’ve been bitten,” she mumbled, and then she promptly crumpled to the ground.
Four
Katreine awoke to the sound of crackling and the sensation of heat. The scent of burning wood filled her nose as she slowly opened her eyes. Broch was squatting in front of her, his broad, muscled back to her. He had one elbow on his powerful left thigh, and with his other hand, he was heating what appeared to be a dagger in the fire.
She moved to sit up, but her leg screamed in protest, and she immediately recalled her wound with a hiss. Broch turned toward her, worry clear on his face in the dancing light of the flames.
“Ye’re awake,” he said, not sounding happy about it.
That made her frown. “Did ye hope I’d nae wake up?”
“Aye,” he said, startling her as he stood, took a step toward her, and kneeled down once more, holding his dagger in his hand. His gaze fell to her leg, and she looked there, as well, her vision going spotty. She inhaled a long breath, and the wave of blackness cleared. Gritting her teeth, she glanced at her leg again and gasped. There was a jagged, bloody bite covering the front of her thigh.
“Lass,” Broch said, his tone so surprisingly gentle and soothing that she found herself looking to him.
“Ye have lovely eyes,” she blurted as their gazes locked.
Goodness! What had made her say that? She fanned herself, feeling suddenly feverish. “I need to cleanse the wound,” she murmured, looking at her leg once more. The silvery spots came back to her vision and she started to tilt to the side, but Broch caught her by the arm and kept her upright. Slowly, the spots receded, and she focused on him once more.
“I’ve got to seal the wound,” he said.
“I dunnae like the sound of that.” She started to look at her leg again, but Broch released his hold on her arm and caught her under the chin, which he then cupped.
“I think it best ye look at me.”
“Ye may be right.” Trickles of sweat now rolled down her back. “I dunnae feel well.” She attempted to swallow, but her throat felt too dry for the simple task.
“I dunnae imagine ye do,” he said. “But ye were amazing.” She could have sworn his voice had dropped low, like a distant rumble of thunder. One of his fingers was trailing back and forth along her jawline. It was utterly improper, and she should most definitely stop him, but it was so comforting, and her thoughts felt odd.
“My mind feels as if it’s full of wool,” she announced.
