Highlander’s Captive (Highlander Trilogy 3)

“Then let me clean and have a look at the wound,” Torr said.

She looked at him oddly and scrunched her brow.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, though did not wait for an answer. “Lie back and let me cleanse the wound.” He did not wait for her to comply. He took hold of her bare shoulders and eased her back on the bed.

She had only known this man for a few hours, and she trusted him so easily? Why? It had taken Owen numerous visits for her to even think of trusting him. What made Torr so different? It was at times like this when she had wished that Cree had allowed her to stay with him. Being cloistered in the abbey had limited her knowledge of men and in some ways life itself. She had come to the abbey an inquisitive child and had driven the nuns crazy with all her questions, which most often had gone unanswered. But she had managed to gain a modicum of knowledge from the various visitors to the abbey, though that knowledge had been limited to certain areas, love and intimacy not having been included.

“Deep in thought or in pain?” Torr asked as he began to gently wash away the encrusted blood from her wound.

“Thought,” she answered, finding it much too easy to be honest with this man and finding his concerned touch much too appealing.

“I suppose reflection is commonplace for you, having lived so many years at the abbey.”

“It can help at times.” Like now, she thought when she really needed to divert her thoughts from Torr. He occupied her mind much too often when she should be thinking on her problem at hand.

She winced when he rubbed a particular area.

“Sorry. I hit the bump and the small abrasion in the middle. It has crusted well and should heal in no time, though I would recommend not pushing me down an embankment, especially one close to water.”

“It was foolish of me,” Wintra admitted. “But you must also admit that your sudden appearance and whisking me away as you did, gave me little choice.”

“So now your wound and you and I getting drenched are my fault?”

“You are partially to blame.”

“I am not even remotely to blame, Princess.”

“Do not call me that and you are too, to blame. If you had taken the time to find out that I was with the man I—I—I—”

“Love. The man you love, which isn’t difficult to say aloud when you truly love someone.”

“And you will know without a doubt and be able to say it without a doubt when you find love?” she asked, curious that it should be that easy to accept something that important.

He dabbed away the last of the blood off her wound and dropped the cloth into the bucket, then took hold of her chin. “When I feel that stab in the heart that love delivers, I’ll know it, not doubt it for a minute, and I will move heaven and hell to make certain she is mine.”

She stared at the determined glint in his piercing blue eyes. He would protect the woman he loved with his life and think nothing of it. Was he like most men or was he unique? She wished she knew more about men and how they thought and how they loved. She felt woefully inadequate when it came to men and love.

At that moment, her stomach embarrassed her by gurgling.

“You are hungry.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked, knowing he had not eaten since early morning, and she had not eaten since last night. And even then she had not eaten much. She had been too excited or had it been uncertainty that had had her barely tolerating food?

“The snow has lessened, but food will be difficult to find.” He reached down by the side of the bed and seemed to rustle around in something. He came up with a small hunk of bread. “This will have to suffice for now.” He broke it in two and handed her a piece.

She took it, keeping one hand against the blanket to once again conceal her breasts as she attempted to sit up.

He reached out, his arm slipping beneath her back and easily lifted her to a sitting position.

The warmth of his hand, the strength of his arm, the ease of his motion, the feel of muscle, all served to tickle her senses. It was ridiculous and disturbing that a simple touch from him could stir her body and all but turn her mindless. She had to focus on something else. She could not let herself linger on him, and she especially, at all cost, had to ignore the spreading tingles his touch had sparked.

“Will we be able to leave here today?” she asked, hoping they would.

“It might not be the wisest choice. Your clothes have yet to dry and by the time we get on the road we wouldn’t have much daylight left. An early start tomorrow would be best. Besides, don’t you want time for Owen to catch up with you? He must be going out of his mind wondering what happened to you and where you are. If the woman I loved disappeared, I would not stop tracking her until I found her.”