Her Enemy Highlander by Nicole Locke

Author:Nicole Locke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

‘Oh, wake up, wake up, wake up!’ Mairead cried again. How long had they remained here? A few minutes? Hours? A lifetime?

For ever. It was nighttime and the slightest noise or movement around her made her jump. Her heart would not stop a frantic beating and it beat even harder now.

Ever since the horse had slowed and Caird—

Caird crumpled. Slid off the horse and slumped into a puddle. Mud smeared with sweat gleamed off his body and there was blood from the wounds, from the scratches, from the slices of his skin. Blood beaded and ran in rivulets off his arms, legs, from his face. Blood that mocked her feeble attempts to care for him.

And the worst. The worst had her kneeling, praying and pressing against him. On his left side, above his hip, a small cut—a deep cut.

Holding a torn fragment from his tunic against it, she watched as the blood continually seeped around the fabric and her fingers.

If only he’d wake up to demand she do something. To mock her as he gave her instruction.

She expected the Englishman to arrive at any moment. To take the dagger and gem, and slit their throats.

Caird’s sword, swathed in blood and mud, lay by his side but it was useless to her. Even if she had some skill, she couldn’t lift it. They were vulnerable, exposed and defenceless.

Did Caird seem paler? His lips had parted; his breathing becoming more jagged than before. He couldn’t just go. Not here. Not like this.

She pressed harder on the wound.

He groaned.

‘Ach!’ She released her hands and watched every flutter of his eyes. They didn’t open. He was quiet again, his breathing just as shallow.

She had to rouse him, not only because a mortal enemy was searching for them, but also because she didn’t know what to do about the wound.

‘You’ll hate me more for this.’ Watching his face, wincing even before she did it, she pressed hard into his side.

He groaned again, but this time it sounded angry.

Inhaling, preparing to scream, she leaned over his face. ‘Wake up, you lazy, arrogant Colquhoun!’

He opened his eyes.

Hope flipped and fluttered inside her.

‘Paining me,’ he whispered.

Her heart sunk as she heard the admission and the agony in his voice.

This wasn’t the Caird she knew. The mountain of a man, who used his size to intimidate, and his sword to back up his pride.

Seven men. He had taken on seven men, with her as helpless as a butterfly.

He had kept her safe.

‘You fell off the horse, you nae-good Scotsman. What kind of man falls off a horse?’

His brow furrowed. ‘Safe?’

At his voice, her heart began to beat normally. She doubted it would stay that way. ‘Nae, we’re not.’

He turned his head, his body tensing, as if he meant to rise.

She pressed on his chest. ‘Not like that. There’s nae one but us. The wound in your side won’t stop bleeding.’

‘Stitches,’ he growled.

Maybe. ‘Do you have any thread?’

He shook his head, his eyes closing again.

Futility swept over her.

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