Master of the Highlands

Page 16

Ewen tugged at the neck of his shirt. That lapse of concentration had almost been his undoing. As it was, he had a rather deep wound on his neck to show for it, which he was currently finding to be an inconvenience.
No, he definitely did not need this woman’s brand of magnetism, an attraction strong enough to drag a man down as surely as gravity itself pulls water over a cliff’s edge. And anyone can see all the good that does the water. Besides, his days of succumbing to the attractions of women were done for. Best to spend his energies minimizing the damage wrought by such like this Lily.
Lily’s eyes fluttered open as Ewen was setting her down by the side of a lake. “Wake yourself, lass. The moon is setting, and with this rough road, we ’ll go no farther till daylight. I’ll not risk Ares catching his hoof in a rut and going lame. ”
The gentleness in his voice unsettled her, the soft roll of his accent pitched to her ears alone. The unexpected intimacy of it sent a shiver over her skin, yet the heat that suffused her in its wake was as intense as any peat fire.
Mistaking her trembling for a chill , Ewen set up camp with an efficient focus that spoke of a man accustomed to living off the land. Lily merely stared wide -eyed at the vision of the Scottish warrior as he moved like a panther in the shadows, silently tidying Ares ’s tack, smoothing away rocks and branches, and gathering leaves for makeshift bedding.
Ewen grasped one end of his tartan and unfurled it. Yards and yards of red plaid wool billowed to the ground, leaving him standing only in his long linen shirt.
He was nothing short of beautiful. Despite his injury, despite the frost in the air, he stood tall in the darkness, moonlight silvering the taut muscles of his calves and thighs to make him appear like a primordial god standing still in the night, fortified by an inner tranquility and courage. Ewen pinned her with his gaze, unconsciously raking a hand through his long black hair, and Lily thought she would be undone.
“Aye, you’re looking a bit dazed, lass. I fear the fever from your wounds is setting on you. ”
Lily managed a wordless nod.
He stalked toward her with a driven glint in his eyes, and she watched the scene unfold with a dreamlike detachment. His thighs were cut with the same steely muscle that she had felt in the rest of his body. His feet moved surely across the rugged terrain, like an animal approaching his prey. As he got closer, Lily noticed that his shirt had become unlaced, revealing the smooth chest beneath. He bent down, and the smell of him filled her senses, the scent of a man who had ridden hard through the day, all musk and leather. A visceral response tore through her, the flame of pure wanting licked up and through her body, as muscles leading from belly to deep into her most private self, long-clenched from reserved isolation, released in a rush of physical need.
Ewen wrapped his arm tightly around her s houlders and, cupping her buttocks with his other hand, lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She shut her eyes and gasping a slight sigh from between parted lips opened herself to him. Lily shrieked as freezing water assaulted her senses. The pain of he r wounds radiated anew, stoked by her anger and the frigid water, and white -hot agony tore up her legs and settled in her joints as Ewen dangled her feet and hands in the lake.
“What the hell are you doing?” Screaming at him, Lily made it clear that she did not appreciate this rude awakening from the trance she had been under just a moment earlier.
“Shush, Lil’ ”. Nobody, but nobody, had ever called her that. How dare he? Where did this man get off? And was that a smile on his face?
“I’ve had many a wound, lass. Trust me, the pain now is nothing compared to what you ’ll feel if we don ’t wash these now. I ’d like to save this big foot of yours if I can. ”
Save her foot? The reality of her situation crashed down on Lily with renewed force. She was in the past . No doctors. No antibiotics. No modern medicine to prevent small wounds from festering into life-threatening injuries.
And, dammit, her feet were not big for her height.
Lily grimaced in pain as Ewen rinsed the grime from her fingers and wounded foot. Eventually the frigid water began to soothe her powder-burned hands and feeling returned to her fingertips. Although she estimated the damage to her hands wasn’t permanent, the pulsing pain below her knee was pure anguish. Cartilage had torn the sole of her foot when she so savagely broke the soldier’s nose and the resulting gash was deep, and still oozing blood.
She thought back in wonder to the scene earlier. How could she have sustained such a serious injury and not fully noticed it until now? A primal rage had swept through her. She had clawed, kicked, and fought for her life. And here she was. She was the survivor.
Such empowering thoughts dulled the anger she had been nursing since she so naively opened herself to what she thought was going to be a romantic interlude with Ewen.
She shook her head, feeling a little embarrassed at the thought. Forcing it from her mind, Lily again thought with amazement how she had fought for her life and survived. It was surely just a combination of adrenaline and the heady power of victory and escape that had made her so lustful earlier. Any armchair psychologist could point to a connection formed between comrades in a fight as the source of her own misguided seduction fantasy.
For so many years now, she had been living as a rational mind moving through the world. Her grandmother had chided her, “You’re not just a head on a pair of shoulders, Lily Hamlin—get out there, get some fresh air, and enjoy life a little. ” Instead she had chosen a self-imposed exile from her own physicality and creative spirit.
But now, somehow, this man and his wild, untamed terrain inflamed her long-forgotten instincts. She would wear her newly discovered physical and mental strength with pride. That deep well of desire she glimpsed, though, that she might just keep tucked away as her own personal treasure.
Ewen set her down beneath a large birch tree. She leaned back against the peeling gray bark, nestling into the leaves he had piled into makeshift bedding. Soft with rot and damp, they were surprisingly comfortable. She inhaled deeply, taking in the rich, woodsy smells around her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had hiked, much less went camping. For someone who had just shot a man, she felt oddly at peace.
“We ’ll be sleeping under th at. ” Ewen indicated a dense bushy area. Though she assumed that he didn ’t have any tents hidden about, Lily could not see for the life of her what the that was that he was pointing to.
“Under what?”
“Aye, ” he said in mock seriousness, “I see you’re unaccustomed to using the eyes God gave you.”
Lily challenged him with a glare. In two large strides, he made his way toward the brush and, clearing away some of the heavy undergrowth, revealed a tidy little fort hidden underneath a fallen tree.
“Under this, lass. ”
She had to admit, it looked quite the cozy hideaway. There was enough room for two adults to lie down, if a bit snugly. Boughs, some still holding on to their brown leaves, fanned over and around the stump, offering protection from any rain or wind that might try to bother them that night.
“Oh. I see. Yes, I suppose that does work nicely. ”
Lily shivered. The freezing water had dampened her skirts and cold was settling into her bones. “Now, shall we start the fire?”
“No, Lil’, we don ’t dare being spotted. ”
Her heart fell. Why, she thought, with the way things were going for her, had she thought this might approximate a pleasant outdoor experience?
“Those soldiers belonged somewhere, and soon somebody is going to notice them missing. ” He continued rustling about as nonchalantly as a regular man might, unpacking in a room in the Hilton.
“Nay, we’ll warm ourselves as best we can without a fire. ” Despite her earlier vows of Amazonian strength and reserve, Lily had to blush at that last statement and was happy the darkness concealed her features.
Methodically, Ewen began to rip off long bits of fabric from the hem of his shirt, which, Lily couldn’t help but note, was gradually making it shorter and shorter. Cheeks flushing anew, Lily thought that surely seventeenth -century Scotsmen had no notion of underwear, and at the rate he was shredding his top, all would soon be revealed.
He soon had a small handful of linen strips, and before she could utter any denials, he was kneeling in front of her, gently wrapping her wounded foot. She studied his hands in awe. They were large and strong, knuckles scored with scars. These hands had killed men, had been gashed during lethal swordplay, skin and bone deflecting potentially fatal slashes. And now these same hands were working gently, deftly, binding her foot just right. Ewen wrapped the linen snugly, but not uncomfortably tight. Looping it around, not one spot on the sole of her foot was left uncovered, the fabric wrapped smoothly over itself, not bunching around heel or ankle. It was clear that he had dressed many a battle wound in his time.
She just then noticed the dried blood on his neck and sucked in her breath. Leaning toward him, she pulled aside the collar of his shirt. The moon threw shimmering white light across his smooth chest. “I need to take care of this for you. ”
Oddly, Ewen didn’t put up a fuss. Rather, he looked vaguely amused, as if a child had just offered to dress his cuts. Lily wasn’t dissuaded, however. She simply snatched the remaining linen out of his hand and hobbled down to the lakeside to wet the fabric.
She worked in silence for some time, overdelicately swabbing the crusted blood from his neck and shoulders. If Ewen had a son, she thought, surely he was married. Lily couldn’t imagine what type of woman would be married to a Highland clan chief. Did she live in fear or secretly run the household? Her curiosity got the better of her, and feeling at ease with their close physical proximity, she ventured, “So, tell me about your wife. ”
Ewen looked as if he had been slapped. Grabbing the end of the bandage out of her hand he snapped, “Och, enough. ” He stood, hastily tying the fabric in a knot at his neck.
“Don’t fash me, lass. ”
He began to move abruptly around their makeshift campground, all the while grumbling unintelligibly to himself in half Gaelic, half English. Lily strained to hear but could only make out phrases like “you women …all the same… nattering glaikit lasses. ” She didn’t know what the last bit meant, but assumed it wasn’t good.