“I should tend to your back as well,” she said carefully.
“I’ll be fine. We need to keep moving.”
As if his words concluded the discussion, he went to Burke’s side and helped him into his saddle, then turned to his own horse. Unsure of what to do, Jossalyn simply stood there. She certainly didn’t want to be left in the middle of the woods, hours of riding away from anything, but she also couldn’t just go north with these men—these Highland killers—willingly.
Apparently reading the war on her face, Garrick reined his horse around so he loomed over her in the darkness. But instead of threatening her or simply throwing her over his saddle and tearing off into the night, he spoke in a low voice, quiet enough for only her to hear.
“Burke needs you, lass.”
His words shook her to the core. He was asking her to help them, to use her healing skills. He believed in her ability to help Burke, and in her sense of duty to aid someone who needed her.
Yet, she still didn’t truly know these men. They had lied to her and deceived her. They were clearly dangerous, and they presumably meant to wage war against the English, based on what she had seen back at Dunbraes. And now they were fugitives, fleeing from her brother and the English army in the dead of night. Would they harm her? Would they use her against her brother and the English? Or could she trust this kilted Highland warrior, who had kissed her with so much tenderness and heat that she blushed at the mere memory?
He extended his hand toward her. Reluctantly, she placed her hand inside his, and he swung her up onto the saddle in front of him. He spurred his horse, and they were charging north once again.
Chapter Fifteen
The hours of darkness and tense maneuvering through the woods blurred together. Jossalyn felt her hold on alertness slipping as the exhaustion from a night in a bumpy cart, another day on horseback riding back to Dunbraes, the battle there, and now a long and frantic night of riding caught up to her.
By the time the sky started to lighten with the first signs of dawn, she felt like she was holding herself together by mere threads. Neither of her companions made a sound or an indication that they, too, were exhausted, and injured as well, but then again, they were hardened Highland warriors.
She had only made her exhaustion worse by chewing on that fact for hours as they rode. Why had they lied to her and deceived everyone back at Dunbraes village? How did they know her brother? And perhaps most bewildering of all, why had they taken her with them?
The sound of a soft whistle from Garrick snapped her out of her tangled thoughts. He and Burke both pulled their horses to a halt, and Garrick dismounted behind her. Burke stayed in his saddle, though, and even in the bluish light of predawn, Jossalyn could make out a grimace on his normally smooth and congenial face.
Garrick went to his side, and as Burke began to let himself slide from the saddle, Garrick caught him and supported his weight. Burke got his good leg under him, and was able to stand upright as long as he put all of his weight on his left leg. Even still, the wound must have been throbbing and aching terribly; it needed to be properly tended to, and he was risking infection every minute that the wound was open.
Without realizing it, Jossalyn had slid from Garrick’s towering horse and was now in front of the two men, her eyes tugging toward Burke’s leg. It was plain to see that blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandages she had wrapped around the wound. She pressed her lips together.
“This cannot wait. I need to see to Burke’s leg,” she said softly, turning to Garrick.
He only nodded. He didn’t even argue or insist that they had to keep going, which worried her. It meant he could see as clearly as she could that Burke was in trouble.
“We can rest here for a few hours,” he said simply.
Jossalyn glanced around the dimly lit forest. It looked the same to her eyes as the rest of the endless woods through which they had been traveling for the last several hours, but Garrick seemed to have chosen this place to stop. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “There is a shelter just over there, and a large creek runs a little way past it.”
He propped his shoulder underneath Burke’s arm and turned toward a large rock outcropping tucked in among the trees and underbrush. Jossalyn took the two horses’ reins and followed.
For some reason, she was expecting to find a house or at least a shed, but she all she saw was more untouched forest even as they halted in front of the rocky protrusion. She shot Garrick a questioning look, but then she noticed he had stopped right next to the towering exposure of rock. Several dead trees had fallen against the rock, and ferns and other small plants had sprung up on top of the logs, creating a small covered crawl space between the rock and the leaning tree trunks.
She felt her eyes grow wide as Garrick helped Burke to the ground and got him scooted into the covered nook. She had never had to work in such conditions before. But then again, she thought, trying to shake away her shock, she had never been whisked away by Highland warriors before either. She would just have to make do.
She approached the little shelter and knelt down next to Garrick at the opening. There appeared to be just enough room for her to scoot inside and work on Burke’s leg under the cover of the dead logs and regrowth over them, which was good, because even though the sky was clear to the east where the sun was near rising, dark clouds were moving in from the west.
Setting these thoughts aside, Jossalyn let herself become totally engrossed in the task at hand: Burke’s leg. She unwrapped the cloth that covered the wound and forced herself to suppress a gasp. The gash was deeper and longer than she had thought when she assessed it in the dark earlier. Garrick didn’t bother covering up a low curse.
“That bad, eh?” Burke said, trying to lighten the mood, though he spoke through slightly clenched teeth.
“I’ve given myself worse with my fletching dagger,” Garrick said wryly for Burke’s benefit.
Ignoring them both, Jossalyn pulled her satchel from across her body and began digging in it.
“Fetch me some fresh water,” she said to Garrick, still rooting in her bag for her sewing kit and the yarrow she would need when she rewrapped the wound.
By the time Garrick returned with a full waterskin, Jossalyn had already laid out what she needed. She poured water over the wound, washing it of blood so she could see it clearly. At least it had been made by a sharp sword, she thought grimly. The cut was clean, so the skin had a better chance of healing. She threaded her needle and took a deep breath, steadying herself.
“Hold him still, please,” she said to Garrick.
He leaned into their shelter as much as he could and placed one large hand on Burke’s chest and his other arm across his legs.
Blessedly, the sun had just cracked over the horizon, and a beam of light somehow managed to filter through the trees into the opening of the shelter, illuminating the interior. Without hesitating and risking losing the light, Jossalyn bent forward and began stitching the wound closed.
At the first tug of the needle, Burke jerked and groaned, but Garrick kept him almost completely immobile, saving Jossalyn from misplacing a stitch. She worked quickly to save Burke from more pain but kept the stitches tight and in line. She had done this enough times to trust in the steadiness of her hand.
When the last stitch was in, she tied off the thread and turned to the cloth bandages and yarrow she had laid out. Normally, she would have boiled the yarrow and soaked the bandages in it to help stop the bleeding and heal the wound, but there was neither the time nor a fire to do that, so she settled with crushing the yarrow and spreading some of its paste and juices on the inside of the bandages. Garrick helped her lift Burke’s leg so she could wrap the bandage around his thigh several times.
She had felt his eyes on her the entire time she worked, but it wasn’t until the bandage was securely tied that she allowed herself to register his stare. She worried she would find him glaring at her, or looking at her suspiciously, as i
f she might hurt Burke, but when she met his gray eyes, they penetrated into her with a dark intensity. She wasn’t sure how to read them—they certainly weren’t shooting anger or suspicion at her. But why was he looking at her like…like he had right before he kissed her?
She broke their gaze and turned to look down at Burke. “How do you feel?” she asked, trying to shake the feeling of Garrick’s eyes still on her intently.
“A bit poked and prodded but better,” Burke said.
“You’ll need to rest and stay off the leg if you want it to heal properly,” she said firmly, but Burke and Garrick exchanged a look that made it clear that they wouldn’t be following her instructions.
“We’ll rest and let the horses catch their breath for a few hours at most,” Garrick said flatly.
He pinned her with those intense eyes again, and she found that even though annoyance bubbled up at his refusal to listen to her, she couldn’t seem to find her tongue.
Garrick withdrew from the shelter and turned to see to the horses. When his back was to her, she suddenly remembered his wound, which also needed to be tended.
“Your back!” she called to him as she scooted out of the lean-to and stood. “I can stitch it as well.”
He half-turned back to her. “Nay, lass, I’m fine. It was only a scratch.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in exasperation. Why did men so often insist that they were invincible? “At least let me look at it.”
He quirked an eyebrow, likely at her tart tone, but she wasn’t going to back down. Finally, he took a step toward her.
Suddenly she felt like he was a hunter and she was in his sights. He moved slowly, deliberately, but with deadly grace. She had to will herself to keep her feet rooted in place rather than take a step back from his powerful frame as he drew closer. When he was standing directly in front of her, he slowly turned on his heels so that his back was facing her.
Now that he wasn’t bearing down on her like some perfectly honed warrior-god from a nightmare—or a dream, she thought fleetingly—she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She prodded around the slit in his leather vest and shirt, but there was too much dried blood to be able to see the extent of the cut.
“I can’t see it very well. Perhaps I could wash some of the blood away.”
He looked at her over his shoulder for a moment. “I was going to take a dip in the creek anyway. You can look at my back there if you’d like.”
Though his words were innocent, something in his tone held a dark invitation—and a promise. She felt her cheeks grow hot and her stomach flutter. He would be naked, bathing in a woodland creek, and he wanted her to come along so it would be just the two of them?
“N-no, I’ll stay here and watch over Burke,” she said in a rush, her voice shaky.
He raised a dark eyebrow but shrugged, not commenting on her uneven voice or the blush she was sure currently reddened her face.
“As you wish, lass. But you know where to find me.” With that, he strode away in the direction she assumed the creek was in, leaving her to stare after him, red-cheeked and longing for something, but she didn’t know what.
Chapter Sixteen
Garrick needed a cold dunk, and fast. And it wasn’t just because the smell of horseflesh and battle clung to him, or because he wanted to wash away the blood that had dried on his back.
It had started with having Jossalyn seated in front of him in the saddle as they rode through the night. Hell, if he was honest with himself, it had started the moment he had laid eyes on her outside of Dunbraes, but it had gotten much worse over the last several hours.
Just like on their ride from the safe house back to Dunbraes, he had felt her slim shoulders and back pressing into his chest, her soft bottom wedged against his groin, their hips moving in unison. It had felt good—too good, considering he needed to be on high alert, making sure they weren’t being followed and guiding them northeast through the tangled forest. The importance of the task at hand, plus his worry over Burke, had forced him to keep his mind on task and away from the feel of her pressed against him.
Then as he had watched her work on Burke’s leg, he had been caught off-guard again. Her golden head had been bent over, her brow furrowed in concentration, but her hands had been steady and swift. He had never seen a lass operate so calmly under pressure—or operate at all, for that matter. In all the time he had spent in Robert the Bruce’s war camp, they had never had a real healer, someone trained and tested under pressure. Mostly, the men just saw to themselves and each other. Witnessing Jossalyn work made him realize just how valuable real healing skills were. He had stared at her in fascination, amazed at her calm cool-headedness.
But his real undoing had been when she had offered to help him, and he had thought about taking off his shirt in front of her again and having her slim hands skimming over his skin exploratorily, as she had done back at the smithy. Despite his exhaustion, that thought had made his cock jerk under his kilt.
Then she had crossed her arms in annoyance at him, which caused her breasts to be pushed together and up, and he thought he might have to adjust his kilt to hide his overeager manhood. When he had approached her, he watched as she let her eyes run all over his body. He doubted she knew what she was doing, but he caught the light of hunger that flickered in her eyes, and noticed that her lips had parted slightly, her breathing just a touch more shallow than normal.
He knew he shouldn’t have, but he had let his words about bathing be an invitation. It was neither the time nor the place, and even if it were, she was an English lass—and Raef Warren’s sister. He couldn’t just dally with her for a few hours and enjoy some shared pleasure, then move on like he normally did with the lasses. He had a mission to complete and a rebellion to return to.
And what the hell had he been thinking when he had rescued her? Even thinking the word “rescue” brought on an internal grimace.
He was no hero, and it was ridiculous to indulge in the idea that he was. Aye, he had gone mad with rage at the sight of Warren about to hit her, and he never tolerated any man raising a hand against a woman, but what did he hope to accomplish by taking her with them? He had been right when he told the lass that Burke needed her. The wound was bad, and left untreated, Burke could die from it. He still wasn’t even out of the woods yet. They had several days of hard travel ahead of them, and infection could set in at any time.
So he had hacked his way through a dozen English soldiers and thrown her onto Fletch’s back because Burke needed her healing skills?
That wasn’t the real reason, he admitted to himself as he reached the bank of the wide, slow-moving creek. He felt protective of her. And possessive of her. He couldn’t stomach the idea of her brother beating her into submission like a dog. It had been gut-wrenching to decide to return her to Dunbraes despite her begging to go north with them, and it was only made harder in light of his knowledge that her brother controlled and abused her. But now that he knew that her brother was Raef Warren, he would never put her in his grasp again.
As if his own experience fighting against Warren in the battle of Roslin four years earlier wasn’t enough, Garrick had heard from his brother how Warren had attempted to first abduct and then murder Robert’s new wife Alwin. Warren was a base and cowardly bastard.
Not that Garrick was in a position to dole out judgment. He had done despicable things in his life, but he would never involve women or children in his violent duty to the Scottish rebellion. Aye, he had killed, and done it in cold blood too, not just in the heat of battle. That was what it took, and he would do the jobs that no one else could or would do. He would hunt and watch commanders of the invading English army until he had the perfect shot. He would track and kill Scottish power players who had secretly aligned with the English and who were spying and selling their knowledge to the enemy. He had done it before, and once he could figure out what to do with Jossalyn and get back to the Bruce’s side again, he would do it again. But
he hoped that he would never be as lowly and dishonorable as Warren.
Garrick shed his leather vest and shirt, then unbelted his kilt and let the material slide from him. He tugged off his boots, and then took a moment to let the early-morning air cool his flesh and his mind. He would have some serious sorting to do regarding this mess he had put himself in, not only in terms of dragging Jossalyn with them, but also with the way the sight of her, the feel of her, the smell of her fired his blood, making him want to forget everything and sink into her.
Pushing the thought away, he stepped into the creek, which was almost more of a river considering how wide, deep, and slow-moving it was. Despite the fact that it was the heart of summer, the water was surprisingly cold and refreshing around his legs.
He waded further in, then crouched and dunked himself so that he was completely submerged. He let the water block out all the noise in his head about Jossalyn, Warren, Burke, the Bruce, and his mission.
He vaguely registered that the water stung the cut on his back slightly, but he wasn’t worried. He could tell it had already closed itself and wasn’t serious. Not like Burke’s injury. No matter how long he stayed underwater, he realized, he couldn’t escape or fully block out everything that was going on. Reluctantly, he reemerged. He blinked his eyes open, but cursed at the sight before him.
Jossalyn stood frozen on the bank, her eyes locked on him and her lips parted in surprise.
She hadn’t meant to see him bathing. That’s what she kept telling herself as her eyes devoured the sight of his water-slick, muscular torso. It was just that a moment after he had walked toward the creek, she had realized that she would need to gather more yarrow, since Burke would likely need several more bandages with fresh yarrow crushed into them in the coming days. And yarrow grew near water.
So she had carefully made her way toward the creek, but kept her head down, both so she could keep an eye out for the distinctive feathery leaves and white flowers, and also, she had admitted, so she wouldn’t see Garrick changing or getting into the water. She spotted the plant and plucked it, tucking it into her bag, then saw another a little farther ahead, then more of them clumped together, and she knew she must be close to the creek.
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