“Keep up, Mr. Kendrick.”
The tart, feminine voice floated back, prodding him to move. Shaking his head, he followed in her limping, determined footsteps.
Chapter Nine
As darkness chased them up the mountain, Donella worried they’d missed their chance to reach the crofter’s cottage, thanks to her. The blister on her foot had transformed into a burning brand, scorching its way down to the bone and slowing her limping gait to a crawl. If they didn’t reach that blasted cottage soon, she had every intention of lying down in the middle of the path and quietly expiring.
At this point, she might have preferred to be kidnapped by the Murrays. At least her potential abductors would have probably fed her and let her sit down, instead of dragging her up a stupid mountain in the middle of the night.
When she walked into something big and rocklike, she bounced back hard enough to lose her balance. Fortunately, the boulderlike object snaked a hand around her waist before she tumbled to the dirt in an inelegant heap.
“Watch it, lass. Don’t want you taking a fall,” Kendrick said.
He had a talent for stating the obvious.
Donella shoved her cap out of her eyes and glared up at him. “Why did you stop without warning? It’s a miracle you didn’t knock me down the side of the mountain.”
“Not to be overly precise, but I just stopped you from tumbling down the mountain. Besides, it’s not much of a mountain. More like a big hill.”
“That is hardly the point.”
“No, the point is that I told you that we were stopping, but you didn’t hear me.”
“You did?”
“Twice.”
She winced. “Sorry. I suppose I was, um, thinking.”
He smiled, his teeth a brief flash of white in the gloom. “Don’t fash yourself. It’s been a long day and a hard climb.”
“Are we stopping to rest again?”
“No, we’re stopping because we’re finally here.” He jerked his head. “There’s the cottage.”
It was now so dark she might have walked right past the small structure, tucked away as it was under a gloomy stand of pine trees.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“Not to worry. I know where the key is.” He steered her toward the front door. “Once I get a fire lit, we can get your boots off and assess the damage.”
“It’s just a blister,” she automatically replied.
“Yes, and as I told you—”
“Can we please have this silly argument later. I’m freezing and just want to get inside.”
His fingers briefly flexed on her arm, a clear sign he was struggling to hold on to his patience. She couldn’t blame him. What had originally been a promise to a friend and only a moderate inconvenience had turned into a monumental disaster.
“You’re right, of course. I apologize.”
She sighed. “No, I should apologize. You’ve done nothing but protect me since this ridiculous business began. And I’ve been repaying your kindness by acting like a shrew.”
“Lass, you apologize too much. What you’ve been through these last few days would try the patience of a saint.”
He guided her to a rustic wooden bench by the front door. Donella almost groaned with relief as she sank down on the hard seat.
“Sister Bernard would assure you that I am far from being a saint,” she said.
“Ah, the dreaded Mistress of Novices. I’ll have to have a chat with the good sister, if I ever encounter her. She obviously doesn’t know your true mettle.” He rummaged behind a large, empty tub off to the side.
“She’d only lecture you to the point of boredom.”
Kendrick straightened up. “Got it.” He inserted a large key into the old-fashioned lock and opened the door.
Donella steeled herself to get up. She was beginning to think she would topple onto her face if she had to take another step.
Perhaps life in the convent had weakened her, not toughened her up as she’d thought. She’d joined to become a stronger, better version of herself, but she’d failed both herself and the sisters. She’d failed her family too, after they’d done so much to help her achieve what she’d thought was her dream. That sense of failure was overwhelming.
“Are you all right, Miss Haddon?” Kendrick quietly asked.
“Oh, yes. Just tired.”
She began to stand but abruptly sat back down when her head started to swim. Staring down at her lap, she sternly told herself not to faint.
Kendrick hunkered down before her. “You’re not going to keel over, are you?”
“Not if I can help it,” she gritted out.
A blast of cold air whipped around the side of the cottage. She welcomed the bracing sensation against her clammy skin.
Kendrick tipped up her chin. “You’re white as milk.”
“Nonsense. It’s too dark to tell.” Now that her head had stopped swimming, she felt embarrassed by her momentary weakness.
“That’s exactly how I can tell. You look like a ghost in the dark.”
He stripped off a glove and pressed a hand first to her forehead and then to her cheek. His palm was rough and warm, and she had a ridiculous impulse to snuggle closer to him.
“You’re sweating,” he said.
“How kind of you to point that out,” she replied, embarrassed.
“You best not be falling ill, lass,” he gently chided. “Your uncle will murder me if anything happens to you.”
“I am not falling ill. And if you’re worried about my uncle, I can write a last will and testament relieving you of any responsibility.”
“Here’s a better idea. Let’s try to avoid that outcome.”
Before she could reply, he hauled Donella up and swept her into his arms. He did it so quickly and easily that she barely had time to gape at him before he nudged open the door and carried her inside.
“Mr. . . . Mr. Kendrick,” she sputtered. “Put me down this instant.”
“If I did, you’d fall flat on your face and probably knock yourself out. And then your uncle would have my head, if your brother and your cousin didn’t have it first. I can handle two of them, but not all three at once.”
She found herself irritated that he seemed more worried about her family’s possible wrath than he was about her condition. Her annoyance was irrational, since it mattered not one whit what Kendrick thought of her.
He certainly was keeping a good hold on her, though. Donella was clasped so firmly to his chest that it was nerve-wracking, embarrassing, and . . . surprisingly nice. It had been a very long time since anyone had held her so closely, especially not a strong, handsome man.
That she was enjoying it so much was wildly inappropriate.
“Stop being ridiculous and put me down,” she ordered.
“Only when I can see well enough to do so without making things worse. I’d hate to drop you into the woodbox or end up poking your backside with something pointy.”
“Mr. Kendrick,” she began in freezing tones.
“Ah, there’s a bed in the corner.”
“Not the bed,” she yelped.
She felt rather than saw him wince. “Christ, lass, you don’t need to shriek in my ear.”
Now it was her turn to wince. “I’m sorry. But please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“I’ll try to remember that for next time.”
He carefully lowered her into a chair a moment later. She didn’t know why she was being so squeamish, but she couldn’t bear the notion of Kendrick easing her down onto the bed. It just seemed too . . . intimate.
Her eyes began to adjust as a small degree of light filtered through the open door. He’d placed her in a rush chair next to a sturdy but rough-hewn table. Kendrick was now at the back of the room, stacking squares of peat onto the grate of a large hearth. He rummaged in a basket off to the side, retrieved a tinderbox, and soon had a tidy fire burning.
“That’s better.” A sardonic smile l
ifted one corner of his mouth. “Are you still in a pucker, or is it safe to approach?”
“I am not in a pucker,” she said firmly, trying to reassert her dignity.
He came to fetch the lamp from the table. “Lass, you screeched so loudly you practically made me deaf.”
“Don’t be—”
When he lifted an eyebrow, she sighed. “I suppose I did, didn’t I? Sorry.”
“You apologize too much,” he said as he took the lamp over to the hearth.
“You make it sound like some sort of nasty habit.”
She wearily pulled off her cap. It itched and was quite odiferous, and she sincerely hoped she’d not have to wear it again. The previous owner was well rid of it.
Kendrick lit the lamp and brought it back. “That’s better, eh?”
His smile was warm and kind, and it wrapped around her like a soft blanket. Logan Kendrick might be too big and too blunt, but he was also surprisingly gentle when he wanted to be. Donella generally didn’t like people taking care of her, but she might make an exception with him.
“Let me just shut the door,” he said. “Then we’ll get that boot off and take a look at your poor foot.”
Donella was quite sure her foot looked gruesome. Still, the notion of exposing any part of her body made her shy—unaccountably so, given all they’d been through together these last few days.
She’d lived a life of modest seclusion for so long, her only companions other women. In the convent, the sisters had never seen each other in a state of undress. Although living was communal, privacy was strictly maintained, and overly personal relationships discouraged. The strictures that had guided her life for the past three years were now being tossed out the window with disorienting speed.
It was such a little thing, stripping off one’s boots and socks. But not for her.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s not. You can barely walk.”
When Kendrick found some candles and lit them off the lamp, it brought the shadowed room into focus. The crofter’s cottage was typical, with an open space divided by furniture into various uses. A bed with a simple wooden frame and straw mattress was tucked under the eaves, and a washstand stood close at hand, along with a sturdy rocking chair. In the center of the room, where she sat, was an oak table flanked by matching benches. The opposite wall held an open cupboard with mismatched dishes and crockery. Next to the cupboard, a narrow opening led into what appeared to be a small pantry.
Given the lack of linens on the bed and the dust on the furniture, the cottage had probably been empty for weeks, if not months.
“How do you know about this place? It’s not close to Kendrick lands.”
Castle Kinglas, his family seat, was on the other side of Loch Long. A full day’s ride, if not more.
Kendrick disappeared into the pantry. From the sounds of it, he was searching for supplies.
“When we were younger, my brother and I used to hike these parts on our school holidays,” he said.
“Lord Arnprior?”
“Yes. It was before he inherited the title, of course.” He poked his head out. “We used to climb the trails from Loch Achray to above Loch Katrine, so we got to know Tom Morris, the crofter who lived here. Tom said we were always welcome to stay, whether he was here or not.”
She glanced around. “It would appear Mr. Morris no longer resides here.”
He disappeared back into the pantry. “Tom lives down in Callander with his daughter. She insisted he move there when he turned eighty-nine.” Donella heard him snort. “He wasn’t much happy about it, I can tell you.”
“It’s quite lovely that you kept up with him. You were away in Canada for at least seven years, were you not?”
When he didn’t reply, she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Not a surprise, since he was making a great deal of clattering noise in the pantry.
A moment later, he emerged with a pitcher and a handful of flannel cloths. “I’m going outside to pump some water, and then we’re going to wash and bind up that blister.”
“Can we not do it in the morning? I’d much rather have a bit to eat and then go to sleep.”
That was the absolute truth, since this day couldn’t end soon enough. And tomorrow would hopefully bring her cousin, Alasdair, to the rescue and get her safely home.
Kendrick’s eyes narrowed to ice blue slits. “Miss Haddon—”
“I wish you would stop referring to me as Miss Haddon in that dreary tone. You really do sound like Sister Bernard.”
“Would you prefer I call you Donella?” he sarcastically replied.
“Not in that tone of voice.”
“Whatever tone of voice I use, that boot is coming off.”
“Mr. Kendrick—”
“Now who sounds like Sister Bernard?”
He put the supplies on the table and sat on the bench, then carefully took her hand. She resisted the impulse to pull away—not that she had much of an impulse to do so.
“I know you’re embarrassed,” he said, “but you’re not an empty-headed, spoiled miss. You know what could happen if we don’t take care of this foot.”
She sighed. “I’m afraid I’m acting rather foolish. It’s just that . . .”
“It’s just that you barely know me, and there’s nothing comfortable about this situation.”
Donella felt even more of a fool. “I’m sorry.”
“Did we not agree that you apologize too much?”
She thought about it. “No, I don’t think we did.”
He shook his head. “I’m going out to fetch the water. Boot and sock off, please, before I get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
He tapped her nose with a gentle finger. “Cheeky lass.”
Cheeky lass. No one had ever called her that before. She rather liked it.
By the time he returned, she’d wrestled off her boots. It had been painful, but not as bad as it could have been, since the boots were so large.
“Why are your socks still on?” he asked.
“Well . . . the one seems to be stuck.”
He muttered under his breath, then poured some water into a tin basin and set it on the hearth to heat.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s have a look.”
Any embarrassment she felt disappeared under a wave of pain as he began removing the sock. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back either tears or a string of very nasty oaths.
She felt him gingerly peel away the rough fabric, which seemed to have fused itself to her skin. When he had to tug a bit, she hissed out a choked exclamation.
“Sorry, lass. I know it must hurt like the devil, but I’ve almost got it off.”
She cracked open an eyelid. Crouched before her, Kendrick’s head was bowed, his focus on her foot. She saw the grim set to his shoulders and the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
As he coaxed away the last bit of fabric, she had to swallow against a sudden rush of nausea. Something popped, and warm liquid gushed down the side of her foot.
“You had a blood blister, too.” He glanced up with a sympathetic grimace. “Your foot’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. I’ll have to wash it and then wrap it with some clean flannel. With a bit of luck, you won’t get an infection.”
Donella swallowed, forcing her stomach back into place. Now that the blasted sock was finally off, the pain was starting to recede. She leaned to the side, trying to get a look at her foot, cradled in his palm.
Oh, dear.
She hastily straightened up. One side of her foot was all chafed and bloody.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured her. “Once we get it cleaned up, it’ll feel much better.”
She mustered a weak smile. Without the boots and socks, she was exposed up to her calf. When one of his long, tanned fingers brushed over her ankle, she felt herself go light-headed again—but not from the pain.
Donella cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
&
nbsp; He adopted a stern expression. “I wish you had told me it was this bad. Any longer, and you might have ended up with a raging infection.”
“We were on a mountain, with very few supplies. I’m sure your doctoring skills are quite impressive, but there really wasn’t much to be done up there.”
He wadded up the sock and propped her foot on it, then rose to fetch the water. “I could have done something.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we were escaping some very nasty men trying to kidnap me. My foot could wait.”
“I have not forgotten them for a moment.”
He returned with the basin and set it on the table next to the other supplies.
“I just hope my uncle got your message. But what do we do if Foster and Davey failed to get through?”
He shrugged, as if it didn’t much matter. “Then we’ll make our way down to Loch Katrine and secure a boat. That’ll get us over to Riddick lands in good order.”
It was entirely possible that their pursuers might be waiting for them in villages where one could hire a boat for the crossing. There were relatively few ways to reach Blairgal. Whether by road or boat, they risked exposure.
Kendrick stood and shucked off his greatcoat. He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a fine silver flask.
“In need of fortification, are you?” she asked.
“No, but I think you are.”
When he extended the flask, she shook her head. “I never drink spirits.”
“You might want to take it up, since I’m going to start cleaning your foot by pouring some of this over the blisters.”
She stared up at him, so tall and tough looking, but with an easy smile softening the lines of his chiseled jaw. The smile didn’t fool her one bit.
He jiggled the flask, clearly determined that she drink.
Grimly, Donella took it and brought it to her lips.
“Careful, now,” he warned. “Just a sip to start.”
She ignored him, taking a generous swallow. It rocketed down her gullet like liquid fire.
The Highlander's Christmas Bride Page 9
