Highlander Unchained (Highlander Trilogy 1)

He grabbed her chin roughly and his dark eyes bore into hers. “Do you understand what I say?”

Dawn nodded as best she could, his grip strong and then he quickly released her. She tore off a chunk of bread from the loaf to give him, hoping it would keep him from talking while she saw to his wounds.

He took it and remained standing where he was, a wise choice since it was the only spot that had a modicum of light. She got busy, praying that once she was finished tending him the guards would let her leave.

Dawn scooped up a full dipper of water and held it out to him. He drank it and handed it back to her. She then poured water over a clean cloth she retrieved from the basket and proceeded to gently clean his chest of the dried blood. She continued to wet the cloth from the dipper and wring it out on the ground so that the water in the bucket would remain clean to drink and use for cleansing.

With each swipe of the cloth she saw that his wounds were nothing more than scratches. While it was unlikely that his chest could deflect arrows, axes or swords, the taut, hard muscles certainly felt to have the strength of an impenetrable shield.

She moved around to his back and was met with more muscles. What truly amazed her was that his body bore no scars. There were few, if any, warriors who did not bear a battle scar and many thought the more scars the more courageous the warrior. But was the true mark of courage for a warrior to walk away from battle without blight on him?

After wiping his chest and back with the wet cloth one last time, Dawn took a fresh cloth and rubbed him dry. Her bare hand followed the cloth making certain she had cleaned away all dried blood.

“You have a gentle touch.”

Dawn yanked her hand away and froze.

Cree spun around and grabbed hold of her hand. “Swallow that foolish fear of yours or you will suffer for it.”

Dawn could do nothing but stare into his eyes and their darkness only served to frighten her more. How could she be brave against a man of his size? Even now his hand could easily crush hers. She would be a fool not to fear him.

“You forgot one wound,” he said and took her hand and shoved it down into the top of his leggings.

Shocked by his actions, she fought to control her panic. She pressed her fingers along his flat, hard flesh just below his waist, but found no wound. She glanced back up at him.

“Lower.”

She looked again but even the dim light she saw nothing and reluctantly loosened the ties so that she could ease his garment down lower on his hips.

“Keep going,” he said.

She gently worked the leather down, her fingers brushing along more muscled flesh. And then she noticed the large bulge between his legs and though she near froze again, she fought against it. Was there truly a wound or was this a ploy to have her touch him intimately?

“Go on,” he urged.

His flesh was not only hard but warm and there was a scent about him that she favored, though she could not say what it was and it was unseemly for her to even think such a wicked thing.

Please. Please let me find a wound, she thought.

Just as her fingertips grazed the hair that nestled his shaft she saw it. Low on his right side, a bruise much too dark that she feared it could prove a problem. Without thinking she dropped to her knees to take a closer look. She had seen some wounds like this cut and forced to bleed, but the person always died.

Her fingers probed it gently and he did not flinch, though it had to have pained him. There was nothing she could do except apply salve as she would to his scratches. She reached for the small crock in the basket just behind him and lost her balance. She tried to right herself, fearful her face would land against his groin.

His hands were quick, yanking her up clear off the floor. “When I am ready to have you between my legs I will let you know. Now tend my wounds.”

He dropped her to her feet and this time she made certain to keep her balance. He had actually thought she intended to—her stomach rolled over not only at his wrong assumption, but the vision it evoked. Could he possibly expect such wickedness from her?

Not wanting to give it another thought, she hastily applied the salve, giving the bruise a quick dab, not daring to linger. With deft hands she tended his minor scratches.

His words persisted in disturbing, running wildly in her head. His intentions were all too clear. He would have her when he was ready. If not today or tomorrow, one day he would have his way with her. And there was naught she could do about it. She was as trapped as he was.