Read Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) for Free Online Page A

deerskin sporran fastened beside his belt to the wool of his kilt—and carried it out to the stream. The water was crisp and clear as she dipped the age-softened leather below the ripples. It really should be hot water, she thought to herself, but what were the odds that the MacGillivray man had brought a tinder box with flint and steel with him into battle? And besides, what would she boil the water in?
    Bringing the full sporran back inside the hut, she sat down next to the man. Using his sgian-dubh to tear a strip of linen from his shirt, she dipped the strip into the water. Then, with a touch no lighter than a mayfly, she gingerly dabbed at the dried blood and dirt that had accumulated, clearing it from the wound. Even still, her feather-light touch was unbearable to him, and she winced sympathetically as she dabbed. She then re-wet the linen and dabbed at his face in an attempt to take some of the heat from his head.
    Beyond this, there was not much she could do for the man—at least not unequipped as she was now. She felt powerless, and overcome by her sympathy for him, she placed her hand alongside his face. His features, she was sadly sure, would soon rest peacefully in death.
    “Sir? Listen to me, sir,” she urged. “I must return now. I will be missed. Besides, if you have any chance of overcoming your fever and surviving this, I shall need a great deal of provisions.”
    Though the Scot made no acknowledgement that he’d heard her, she continued. “I cannot come back until everyone has gone to bed. But I pray you can hold on to life for that long, sir, because I promise you that I will be back, and I will do all I can to help you.”
    The urge to touch his face once more was powerful, and Jane yielded to it. Then she stood, convinced that she would not see the young man alive again.
    “Now all I have to do is remember the path we took through the forest to get here,” she mumbled to herself.
    “Turn to yer right and follow the brae,” answered the man in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
    She snapped her head around to the prostrate form laid on the rotting rushes. His eyes remained closed, but his head was turned towards her.
    “The brae will take ye back to the castle.”
    “Thank you, sir. I shall,” she answered. And before she departed the dilapidated hut she added for good measure, “Try to stay alive.”
    She followed the young Scot’s advice and turned right outside the hut, walking along the bank of the brook that bubbled and gurgled its way through the dense forest. The going this way was much easier than the route they’d taken from the valley—the river’s edge made a natural path upon which obstructive foliage did not encroach. In a fraction of the time it took to reach the hut, she found herself at the edge of the wood on the other side. Peering into the distance she could see that, indeed, Dunloch was a speck on the horizon, and to the west of it she could see the cluster of dwellings which made up the village.
    She would have liked to visit the village, but now was not the time. She would need a proper escort if she were to do so—now that she knew the truth in Lord Reginald’s warning that MacGillivrays were out there lurking, many of whom were likely much more dangerous and vengeful than the poor, wounded wraith upon which she’d accidentally stumbled.
    The sun, in her time away, had moved across the sky in its morning, noon and afternoon positions, and was now contemplating setting for the evening. Realizing that the hour was much later than she’d first thought, Jane quickened her pace, worried that her long absence would cause panic at the castle. But as she passed through the main gate into the bailey, no one seemed particularly concerned one way or the other that she had returned.
    She was on the verge of breathing a sigh of relief as she made her way through the passageways and halls to her chamber, when a voice stopped her.
    “My Lady?”
    Jane turned warily.