That knotted his dark brows over his narrowed eyes. “Just yerself then? All alone?”
“Yes.” She pointed up the hillside toward the rock shelf protruding out from behind the falls. “In my effort to save an ungrateful cat, I ended up there.” Then she jabbed a thumb toward the pool beside them. “I heard an odd splash and spotted you floating face down and bleeding everywhere.” With an apologetic shrug, she shook her head. “I tried to phone for help, but there’s no signal here.” Leaning closer, she peered into his eyes. “Are you able to focus?” She fluttered three fingers in front of his face. “No double vision? Everything clear?”
“In the water,” he repeated, eyeing her as though he thought her a liar. “Who pulled me out?”
“I did.” If not for the man’s injury causing him confusion, she’d be insulted. “Pulled you out, cleaned that head of yours, and closed you up with some temporary sutures. I’m sure they’ll remove them to give you a proper cleaning once we get you to the hospital.”
“I dinna understand half ye’re saying.”
“Well, you have had a rough time of it.” She pulled out her penlight and clicked it on.
The man’s eyes shot wide open, and he floundered away her. “Witch!”
“No, although I have been called something that rhymes with that. Quite a few times, in fact. Be still now.” She leaned closer. “I know the light might hurt, but I need to look in your eyes again now that you’re conscious.”
“Nay!” He batted her away, his panic and sudden pallor concerning her. “Take it away.”
“Fine. Fine. Calm down.” She clicked it off and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. “I promise I mean you no harm.” She gave him her best consoling smile. “Why else would I have saved you?”
“Because I am Chieftain Quinn MacTaggart, ye ken? A valuable prisoner.”
Delusions sometimes accompanied head wounds. The man obviously thought himself someone quite important. Better to play along to keep him calm. She gave a polite nod. “It is an honor to meet you, Chieftain MacTaggart. I’m Evie Wortham. A surgeon at Finchcrest Hospital in London.” Modesty forbade her from telling him she was Finchcrest’sbestsurgeon. She offered him another smile.
Poor, befuddled chap stared at her like she spoke in a language he didn’t understand. Disbelief and confusion curled a corner of his mouth higher, revealing a dimple dead center of his cheek. She loved dimples. When he remained silent, she did her best to reassure him. “Mind you, I don’t feel you’ll need surgery, but that’s for further testing to decide. Swelling is our greatest concern at this time.”
“Swelling?” He held his head and closed his eyes. “Be a helpful lass and fetch me some whisky, aye?”
She clamped her mouth shut, trapping a curt retort behind her teeth. No. With his cognizance a bit dodgy because of the injury, the man deserved some indulgence. The situation warranted niceness. For a while. “I do not recommend whisky for head injuries.” She rose and fetched her water bottle. “Here. Just a few sips, mind you. Especially if you’re still feeling queasy.”
He glared at her. A fierce glare as if trying to intimidate her. She almost laughed out loud. This man had no idea how many go-to-hell looks she had not only faced in her lifetime but also given right back. “Go on then. Take a sip. It’s just water with some electrolytes added. It’ll make you feel better.”
After a sip, he curled his nose and shoved it back at her. “That doesna taste like water.”
“I tried the guava flavor packet. You don’t fancy it?”
“It tastes like piss.”
“I wouldn’t know. Mind you, I don’t drink piss.” She replaced the cap on the bottle, but not before spotting the hint of a smile from him. Well met. He’d started relaxing around her, and his awareness was improving. Seated cross-legged beside him, she looked around for the umpteenth time, still unable to believe not a single soul had appeared.
After blowing out a heavy sigh, she decided to keep him talking. He mustn’t sleep. At least, not for a while. “So, do you remember what happened? How were you hurt?”
He scowled and made to rise, then sagged back on the makeshift pillow, clutching his head. “Do ye see my horse?”
“Sorry, no.” She wondered if the horse was real or imagined. Concerned that shock might set in, she pulled a thermal blanket from her pack and covered him. “I promise to look as soon as help comes.”
His jaw hardened, and hatred flashed in his eyes. “English?”
“Does it matter?”
“Aye, it does.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but right now, I’d settle for any nationality with a stronger cell phone signal than mine.”
“Ye are a verra strange woman.”
“You have no idea,” she said as she powered down her phone again and shoved it back in her pocket. “But I’m all you have for the time being.”
Chapter Two
