It grated onhis soul that the English had captured him—and one of their female spies at that. Perhaps even one of their witches. He couldn’t believe they had resorted to sorcery to seize his lands. Even though the sunlight burned through his skull, he endured the pain and kept her in his sights. This strange woman claimed she had saved him. He wouldn’t put it past her to run him through when those she served reappeared.
She paced around the pond’s edge, shielding her eyes as she scanned the surrounding wood. Probably searching for soldiers to come and cart him away. She had promised to look for his horse, but he felt sure she lied. All English lied.
Around she went again, circling the water widdershins instead of following the proper direction of the sun. This time faster. Must be casting some sort of dark spell over him. He sent up a prayer for protection as he watched her.
She stopped, tapped on the black band on her wrist, then squinted up at the sky again. Her lovely face tightened into a frustrated scowl that somehow added to her beauty. Aye, for a beauty she was even if she was English. And a witch.
A small bend broke the flawless line of her nose. Up high, almost between her eyes. She must have broken it a long time ago. A faint smile came to him. He liked it. The crooked nose suited her. As did her long hair. Swept up from her face and held high by some strange sort of tie, it was a deep rich brown streaked with gold. A tall lass with hardly any curves at all, but those she possessed filled out those strange blue trews of hers nicely. As the shadows lengthened, she pulled on a coat and covered that scandalously short chemise she wore. It was so small and fitted, when she lifted her arms, a swath of bare flesh as wide as his hand showed above the waistband of her trews. Such nakedness. She must be a whore as well as a sorceress.
“What is it?” he finally asked, unable to bear the wondering about her spell casting any longer.
Her scowl faded into a smile but looked forced. He read her as easily as fresh ink on new parchment. She lifted both hands, then let them drop. “Your horse must have gone home for tea.”
“What is tea?”
Both her feathery brows arched to her hairline. A dappling of sunlight across her face shifted what he had thought were green eyes to the tawny coloring of fine whisky. Aye, this one was a witch, all right. Eyes that changed colors? He hardened himself against her. At least, he tried. He’d be lying if he said she didn’t captivate him. “Well? Will ye nay do me the courtesy of answering? What istea? Something the English give to their horses for strength?”
“Not the horses.” She gave him a teasing wink and tapped her chest. “We drink it for ourselves.” Her merriment faded as she blew out a dismal huff. “Sunset soon.” With a shake of her head, she flipped a hand at the general area. “I cannot believe all the tourists left so early.”
He massaged his brow, trying to recall if she had told him what the wordtouristmeant. God’s beard, his head pounded like a fiend. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember a feckin’ thing that happened before he opened his eyes to this strange Englishwoman.
Her cool touch on his arm made him jump.
“I’m sorry.” With both hands lifted, she eased back a step, genuine concern flashing in those catlike eyes of hers. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you warm enough? May I please check you again for fever?”
“Aye.” He swayed back when she reached for his face.
“Easy now. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“I am nay a horse,” he snapped, wishing his head would clear and stop pounding so this infernal situation might make some sense. “Dinna speak to me in such a manner, ye ken?”
“Whatever you say, chieftain.” She touched his forehead, his cheeks, and throat. Somehow, her cool fingers against his heated flesh eased him, loosening the furious anxiousness in his chest. A slight frown puckered her brow. “You’re entirely too warm for my liking.” She scooped up the strange metal bottle that held the noxious liquid and offered it. “Drink this while I fetch some acetaminophen. It will help without increasing the risk of bleeding.”
“I willna drink that piss again.” He pointed at the falls. “Water. Not any of yer potions, aye?”
She eyed him with a perturbed glare but didn’t comment. Just tipped her head to the side and tightened her mouth as though biting back words as she walked away. It might not be wise to anger a witch, but he’d risk it before drinking that swill of hers again. Besides, he found pleasure in making the color rise to her cheeks. She would soon learn; she had overfilled her platter by taking on Quinn MacTaggart.
“Here.” She held out a cup and two white pebbles. “Water and acetaminophen.”
“What do ye expect me to do with those wee rocks?” He took the cup and downed the water before she answered.
“Well, you were supposed to wash them down with the water. Now, I must get more.” With an irritated huff, she snatched the cup away and stomped off. In less than a heartbeat, she returned and held out the pebbles. “Here.”
“Since when do men consume rocks?”
“Since they get their heads bashed in by someone. Now, put these in your mouth before I shove them up your nose.” She squatted down, held the pebbles closer, and glared at him. “Pills in your mouth. Drink. Swallow. You can do that—right?”
He crossed himself. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”
Before he realized what she was doing, she pinched his nose shut. When he opened his mouth for air, she shoved the pebbles inside, followed them with water, then pushed his chin upward with the heel of her hand. It forced him to swallow before knocking her backward. Coughing and spewing, head pounding, he pushed himself to his feet, then grew so dizzy, he fell back to the ground. “Damn ye, witch!”
“Oh, shut up.” She picked herself up, rubbing her arse and wincing from where she’d landed on the rocks. “Trust me. I do not like this any better than you do, but I will not abandon an injured man. Not even when I’d like to!” After another wincing rub of her backside, she turned to leave, then paused and looked back at him. “I’m going to get some wood for a fire. If you want to leave, then by all means, scamper off. If not, then stop being an ass. I promise I’ll help you any way possible. Your concussion granted you some leeway at first. But your assholery ends now.” She marched onward, then stopped again, jerked back around, and stabbed a finger at him. “And do not go to sleep while I’m gone.”
With a slight dip of his chin, he dismissed her, making her even angrier.Assholery.He liked that word and stored it away for future use. The sway of her buttocks as she stormed away captured his full attention and admiration. When he realized she’d entranced him with her seductiveness, he jerked his head aside to break her hold and immediately regretted it. Another way of shielding himself from her bewitchments needed to be found. Although, the gut-wrenching pain inside his feckin’ skull proved quite effective for now.
Intent on sitting upright, he closed his eyes and pushed himself upward. Gut churning, he propped his elbows on his knees and held his throbbing head. This wasn’t the only head wound he’d ever experienced, but it was worse than when a mace had caught him with a glancing blow. He gingerly worked his fingers around to the square lump beneath the strange wrappings. The thing was as large as the palm of his hand. Had his skull been split clean open?
The English witch returned, hugging a huge armload of sticks and branches. She dumped them on the ground and began snapping the longer ones in two, breaking them against her knee.
