Page 7 of Claimed by a Highlander
“Perhaps,” the Highlander said, but he continued to ride at a relentless pace.
She had not caught a glimpse of the royal guards since the Highlander turned the horse off the road and onto an overgrown footpath an hour ago. In fact, she had seen no one at all but a lad herding sheep.
She craned her neck to look ahead. Surely they must come to a village or a town soon. Once the Highlander finally stopped for food and rest, she would crawl out a window, bribe a stable lad for a horse, or whatever she had to do to make her escape. Riding off with this Highlander was the most exciting thing she had ever done, but it was time to part ways with him.
She was grateful to the Highlander for what he’d done, but not grateful enough to marry him. After thwarting her brother’s attempts to marry her off for the last five years, she was not about to succumb to that wretched fate now.
She had begun to think he would never stop when he drew the horse to a halt behind a thicket of low shrubs and trees that grew beside a burn. Without a word, he lifted Sybil down, his big hands nearly meeting around her waist. She assumed he needed to relieve himself, and was glad for the chance to stretch her legs.
“The ground will be damp. Sit on this,” he said, handing her a rolled-up blanket he untied from the horse. “We’ll make camp here.”
“Make camp?” she said. “Ye mean to spend the nighthere?”
“Aye, ’tis a good spot.” He patted his horse. “And Curan needs to rest. I rode him hard today.”
A good spot, here in the brush? There was no window to crawl out of and no stable lad to bribe. How was she to escape unnoticed from here?
How was she to escape at all?
“It will be dark soon,” he said before he turned and led the horse a few yards away.
Unless she wanted to die wandering the hills alone at night, it appeared that her plan to part ways with the Highlander would have to wait until tomorrow.
Sybil had never slept outdoors in her life. She glanced around at the tall grass surrounding her and nearly laughed. When she imagined spending the night with a man, sleeping on the rough ground amidst the weeds with a stranger was not how she envisioned it.
She found a fairly flat area and spread the blanket, then sat down to observe her rescuer. This was her first opportunity to examine him closely since their chaotic flight from her uncle’s castle. Even without the numerous lethal weapons strapped to his body, this Highlander would be intimidating. He was tall, powerfully built, and had a dangerous air about him.
Up until now, her fear of the queen’s men had led her to disregard the threat the Highlander himself might present. She swallowed, keenly aware now that she was alone with a stranger with no ready means of escape. His men would likely be joining them soon, but that was hardly a comfort. What if he expected to do more tonight than sleep? The Highlander believed she was his to claim, and he’d gone to considerable lengths to do so.
The tension in her shoulders eased a bit as she listened to him murmur to his horse in soft, reassuring tones while he removed the saddle and bridle. He paused to rub the horse’s nose and give it an affectionate pat before leaving it to graze. Nay, she had not misjudged him. Though this Highlander might attempt to seduce her—he was a man, after all—she did not believe he was the sort to force himself upon a woman.
At least, that’s what she was going to tell herself. Giving into fear never did a lass any good. Worse, it was dangerous. She needed her wits about her.
She noticed he was limping as he walked toward her. He had been so stoic about his wound that she had forgotten he had been struck with an arrow.
“We should go to a village and find a healer for you,” she said, thinking this would solve both their problems.
“No need.” The Highlander winced as he lowered himself onto the blanket beside her.
When she saw that his leg was covered with crusted blood, she felt a surge of guilt for being the cause of his injury.
“I’d best get this arrow out now.” He pulled out his dirk, then paused to look at her. “Ye may not want to watch this, lass.”
Sybil had her pride too. If he could cut his own flesh, then she could watch without fainting. The Highlander wielded the blade with a rock-steady hand as he cut off the blood-soaked bandage.
She bit her lip, uncertain what to do, as he struggled to remove his trews. Though he obviously could use her assistance, undressing him might prove a risky and revealing endeavor. She did not want to do anything he might view as an invitation. When she looked up, the glint of amusement in his eyes told her he had read her thoughts.
“I don’t have a great deal of experience dressing wounds”—in truth, she had none—“but I’ll help if ye tell me what to do.”
“If you’ll grab the bottom of the leg of my trews and pull, I can manage the rest.”
She gave it a tug, and her pulse jumped as she caught a glimpse of muscular bare thigh up to his hip. Once they managed to ease his trews down far enough to reveal the bloody wound, however, she could see nothing else.
Good God, how had he ridden so far with such an injury?
“’Tis not as bad as it looks,” he said, and winked at her.
Sweat broke out on the Highlander’s brow as he patiently worked the jagged tip of the arrow out of his torn flesh. While he showed no other sign of the pain his efforts must be causing him, Sybil’s hands grew stiff from clenching them through the long and arduous process. When he finally removed the broken-off arrow and cast it aside, she took a deep, cleansing breath.
