Highlander's Touch (9 page)

Shona peeked over at him, a coy look on her face and her shoulder shrugged, teasing. “In the woods.”

The wench was toying with him. “I gathered that from the look of things outside.”

“Did ye go out the door?” Her gaze darted toward the exit. She sounded surprised, concerned, filled with fear. He watched her hurry to make sure the bar on the door was secure and then she checked the windows, too.

What was this lass about?

“Nay. I made use of your windows.”

She let out a great sigh of relief.

“What is out there?
Who
is out there?” he asked, curiosity filling him. “How did ye get me here, if ye saved me as ye say?”

Shona shook her head. “There is no one, yet. Your horse helped me.”

“Bhaltair?”

“Aye. He’s in the barn.” She flicked her gaze toward the door, biting her lip, then turned back to her task.

“Is he well?”

A short laugh escaped her. “Aye, he is well. And well trained by ye, too. I’d not have been able to save ye without him, ye know.”

“He is a good horse. Have ye an extra carrot or two to spoil him with?”

She smiled. “He’s been spoiled plenty.”

“Thank ye.”

“Ye’ve no need to thank me.”

“Aye, but I do. ’Tis not everyday a lass saves me in the wood.”

“’Haps not.”

“Ye said no one is outside
yet
. Who is coming?” Beautiful women did not live alone.

The lass had an obvious habit of licking her lip when she was nervous—and she was doing it now.

Shona walked forward with a bowl full of broth, setting it down to prop up his pillows. “No one we want. Do ye think ye can manage or shall I feed it to ye?”

He rather liked the sound of her feeding him, but he suspected she’d think him a completely weak fool. Already he lay wounded, dizzy, and out of sorts within her home.

Ewan took the offered bowl and brought it to his lips. As the warm broth slid down his throat, he closed his eyes in enjoyment. ’Twas the best tasting thing to ever cross his tongue. Though he suspected starving and drunk on whisky, desire and the fever that heated his blood, he might think a pile of dirt tasted heavenly.

“Sip it slowly,” she said.

Ewan studied her over the bowl as he drank. Her fiery-colored hair was plaited, but stray locks had escaped in unruly waves around her face. Her skin was smooth, free of wrinkles. Eyes the color of almonds. She watched him watching her, her lips in a flat straight line.

“What are ye thinking?” he asked.

Shona looked taken aback. “I’m thinking of naught.”

“Ye lie.” He said it quietly as he scrutinized her through the whisky haze.

She took a step back as though she’d been slapped. “How dare ye accuse me of lying after I’ve taken care of your wounds and kept ye safe. I fed ye from my own pot.”

Ewan shook his head and smiled, imploring her with a hand to come closer. “Ye mistake my meaning, lass. I’m not calling ye a liar, but merely that ye didna tell me the truth.”

She stayed rooted in her spot. “Are they not one and the same?”

“Nay, they are not.”

“I disagree.” Shona crossed her arms over her chest.

Their banter only made Ewan smile wider. “I disagree with your disagreement.”

Shona huffed and turned away from him. “Finish your broth. I’m going to get the salve ready to change your bandages.”

“Och, ye dinna need to do that. I’ll be perfectly well without it.”

She whipped around, a brow raised and a hard glare in his direction. “Ye will not be well at all.” She marched back toward him and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Ye burn with fever.”

Ewan leaned up further on his elbows than the pillows allowed, feeling like he burned with much more than a fever from his injuries. “But lying down did take away the light-headedness.”

Shona groaned, took his empty bowl of broth and pushed him back on the bed. “Lie down.”

“Aye, my lady.” He gripped onto her wrist, feeling the pulse beat fast just below the surface.

Shona’s gaze connected with his, and his own pulse leapt. “Humph. Ye know as well as I do that I’m no lady.”

Ewan shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” He wanted to kiss her. To pull her on top of him, just like he’d dreamed of doing. The most heavenly dream it had been… He gave another little tug, but she slipped out of his reach.

“We’ll not be doing that again,” she said.

Ewan grinned. “So we’ve done it before?”

She glanced away from him. “I dinna know to what ye’re referring.”

“I think ye do, and I think ye liked it.”

“Ye burn with fever. Ye’d think me a fairy floating on wings if ye wanted to.”

Ewan grinned. “Perhaps I do.”

“Hush now, ye need to rest.” She was glowering at him, but the frown didn’t wash away the spark of awareness hidden behind it.

“I thought ye were going to change my bandages?” He raised a brow in challenge.

Shona stomped toward a pile of folded linens and grabbed them along with two jars. When she returned to him, her creamy face was colored red.

Lord, she was gorgeous.

HE was wicked.

And she was weak.

Shona wanted nothing more than to crawl over top of Ewan and let him kiss her. To feel the length of his arousal grow thick and press between her thighs. To feel his breath on her lips, his hands on her breasts, his tongue stroking fast then slow over her trembling flesh.

She licked her lips, watched his eyes flick toward her mouth.

He was flushed with fever—or desire—she couldn’t be sure which. Probably a bit of both. But it didn’t really matter. He was her patient and she needed to take care of him, not think of seducing him, or even repeating their little kiss. Nettles, but it wasn’t a little kiss…

Shona drew in a deep breath and pushed her desire aside. “Please, put your arms over your head.”

God help her, the wicked man winked. “Are ye going to tie them to the bedpost? Is that what ye like, lass?”

The last of his words were slurred, the whisky and fever combined having taken away his faculties. But even still, the image he evoked in her mind was enough to make her shudder.

She’d not tied a man to a bedpost before, let alone been tied to one herself, but the idea did something funny to her insides. ’Twas potent and overpowering.

Intense curiosity filled her. What would it be like to be restrained? To be full of desire, heat and primal need—and unable to get it.

A shiver stole over her. Her nipples hardened, and between her thighs dampened. Her teeth clamped down on her lip as she kept herself from asking if he minded trying it out.

“Arms, over your head,” she ordered, her voice a little shaky.

“An overbearing chit. I do like them that way.”

“I care not,” she said. Though the heavy ache in her breasts and increasing pressure in her core suggested otherwise. “Sip this.”

She handed him a small vial filled with an herbal tincture that would induce sleep and take away some of his pain. Once he’d drained the vial, she set it aside and removed his bandages and the bog moss, taking note that all bleeding had stopped. The salve she’d used before had dissolved inside his wounds. The edges of his wounds were an angry red, but not inflamed. There was every indication that he was, in fact, healing.

“Ye look to be healing well,” she murmured.

Ewan glanced down his torso, riddled with old and new wounds.

“Does it bother ye?” he asked.

He regarded her warily, worry and self-consciousness showing on his face. Shona didn’t want him to feel that way around her. She wanted him to be comfortable.

“I’ve seen many men wounded.” She kept all emotion from her voice. She’d not tell him that his wounds and scars in particular had bothered her, only because she’d worried so much for his safety and wondered what kind of life he could have led where he was always being injured.

Always in pain.

“Any as torn up as me?” he asked.

Shona smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Many just like ye. Ye warriors are a sad and sorry lot, always asking enemies to slice and dice at ye. But ye’re not ashamed of your scars are ye? Are they not wounds ye can boast about amid your warrior friends?”

A sad smile crossed his lips. “Sometimes. Others I rather wish had never happened.”

“’Haps one day ye can tell me about them?” She rubbed a freshly boiled linen onto his wounds, pulling away any lingering infection and then smoothed on a fresh layer of salve, covered it with bog moss and new, clean linens.

“’Haps, though I’d rather leave such cruel memories where they belong.” His lips curled into a frown.

Shona cocked her head with interest. “And where is that?”

He made a
poofing
sound, pinching his fingers and then widening them for effect. “Nowhere.”

She finished wrapping up the last of his wounds. “But do we not learn from our memories, good or bad?”

“Hmm. Aye. I’ve learned a lot, lass.”

“’Haps more than a man should?” She put the lids back on her jars and returned them to her shelf.

Ewan sighed deeply, his eyelids drooping. Good. The tincture was working.

“I gladly accept any trial the lord seems fit to give me.”

Shona pulled the blanket up over his chest, touched her hand to his cheek.

“Ye’ll be rewarded for your bravery.”

“I think I already have been,” he said with a genuine, infectious smile.

Shona found herself grinning back—her hand still cupping his face.

His eyes closed and a soft snore blew past his lips. While he slept, Shona took the time to wash his hair, her fingers sliding through the golden mass, massaging his scalp—careful to avoid his injury. When she was done, she brushed it until it was nearly dry and imagined what it would be like if Ewan lived here, with her, always.

THE cottage was filled with the scents of stew and Ewan’s nightmare-filled cries.

He thrashed about on the bed while Shona tried to tidy up. When she couldn’t stop herself from checking him for fever, and watching him as though he’d wake and beg for another kiss, she decided it was time to take care of the animals. If only she could take his mount out for a ride. They’d both most likely enjoy the exercise, but leaving the vicinity of the cottage wasn’t a choice she had.

If something were to happen to Ewan while she was gone, she’d never be able to forgive herself. When she’d dragged him onto that horse and taken him home, she’d claimed responsibility for him—at least until he was well. And it had nothing to do with his sinful lips or heated touch. Nothing at all. Whatsoever.

Shona frowned.  Aye, she had to get out of this cottage, if only for a few minutes to give herself some air. Might help the headache she’d developed from drinking too much whisky the night before.

’Twould also be good to air out the cottage. If fresh air could help her headache, it would likely help Ewan as well. She opened the shutters on the two windows, shafts of dull light and a subtle breeze flowing in.