Read The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) for Free Online

in answer. “But I’m hungry.”
    “I have bread.” The wrapped loaf on his hearth was two days old, but it would do. He would bake some fresh later tonight, and they could take it with them when they left in the morning. He crossed the cabin and got the loaf. Before putting it in her delicate hands, he broke its grainy bulk in half, easier for her to manage.
    She tore into the first half with her blunt little teeth. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she chewed. A deep moan came from her throat.
    With burning cheeks, he turned from her and busied himself tearing strips of linen to dress his wound with. He set the strips and his medicinal salve on the workbench, relieved when the moist, rhythmic sound of her chewing and swallowing stopped.
    He’d gotten himself under control enough to face her again. “Where are you hurt?”
    She blinked. “I told you. I’m no’ injured.”
    “You said the Larnians didn’t hurt you much . That means they hurt you some.” She had old wounds that affected her legs as well. “And you never told me how you got hurt before.”
    She shifted and put a dainty foot on the floor, smoothing her skirt as she moved to keep her legs hidden. The other foot followed more slowly. She pushed off the pallet frame and stood, wincing. Her mouth made a hard line, masking her reaction to the pain. She liked showing weakness about as much as he did.
    “Broke my legs months ago in a bad fall. As for the Larnians, they didn’t do anything to me that can’t be mended with a wee bit of this.” She reached a hand into the gathered linen at the neck of her dress and pulled out a leather flask.
    His mouth went dry at the thought of what delights that object had been nestled near all this time. Would the liquid inside be as warm as her skin?
    She uncorked the top and lifted the flask, as if toasting him. “To Fergus.” She took a gulp that made her hiss. “Christ, that’s good. Now it’s your turn.” Her eyes went to where the boar’s tusk had gotten him. “ Strip off those trews and get on the bed. Let me tend you.” She came at him with her limping gait and shoved the flask into his hand. “Where do you keep your vinegar?”
    “Name’s not Fergus,” he said. “It’s Riggs. Some call me the trapper.”
    “Well, Riggs the trapper, I’ll reserve judgment on whether ’tis my pleasure to make your acquaintance until I ken what ye plan to do with me. Fergus was my da. He’s dead. I never got a chance to toast him.” She nodded at the flask. “Drink.”
    His name rolling off her tongue stole his breath. He’d never heard any woman other than his mother speak his name before. Then he realized what she’d said. Her da , her sire, was dead, gone to Danu’s breast, like his. Wherever she had come from, she currently had no source of protection. Except him. And she didn’t know whether she could trust him.
    “I’ll never hurt you,” he vowed.
    “We’ll see. Drink.” She left him to the flask and hobbled to the cabinet. Positioning the lantern nearby, she began searching through his medicinal supplies.
    He wrapped his mouth around the opening of the flask, more so his tongue could search out her taste than because he needed distraction from his pain. The sharp bite of whiskey overwhelmed his nose, but beneath it he found a hint of salt from her skin and the hearty sweetness of his barley bread. He took a healthy swallow. Fire burned a path to his stomach.
    The drink was good, just as she’d said. The surprising flavor of wood smoke thickened on his palate as the heat from the spirits melded with the heat of Anya’s body and slid down his throat. Such an intoxicating cocktail!
    He was tempted to drain the flask and take as much of her warmth into him as he could, but he capped it instead. He needed his wits about him. Already with one gulp of whiskey making his lips tingle, he entertained thoughts of wooing and keeping Anya. Not here, of course. At least not until the danger of trackers