Darach opened his eyes. Did he want Catherine tending to him now? If his passion raged it would likely hurt like hell. He pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled out of the unwounded side of his mouth at the lass standing at the entrance. “I would appreciate such kindness, Miss MacDonald.” Especially after what he did to her brother.
She closed the door behind her and hurried to the basin of water on the small dresser beside his bed. He watched her retrieve a washing rag from a hook on the wall and dip it into the basin. She was a bonny lass, with long, dark braids, wide amber eyes, and round, delectable hips. Hips he could hold on to while she gave him a good, hard ride.
He felt himself grow harder and fought to control his desires. “Though I think yer brother might shoot me in the back if he discovers ye in m’ room?”
She shook her head and came to him on the bed. “I locked the door.”
Darach didn’t think pointing out to her that her beast of a brother could kick down the locked door would make any difference. He didn’t want to think about Shamus anymore anyway when she began wiping the blood from his mouth with tender strokes. When she promised to be gentle stitching up his lip, he recalled the last time he’d been in such poor condition. Last spring, after being attacked on the road by a band of bastard Buchanans in Perth, they had held him prisoner in the clan chief’s barn. The lass who had tended to his wounds at the time was quite different than Catherine. Janet Buchanan had stitched up his brow with a dull needle and a song on her lips.
Witch.
He rarely allowed himself to think of her and he sure as hell didn’t want to think about her frustratingly fiery mouth now. He’d let himself grow fond of her and then let her control his every thought for months after he left her. She returned to his dreams now and again to taunt him with her staunch will to hate him, and the cool, casual sway of her hips each time she’d left him bound in her barn. But for the most part, he’d triumphed over her memory and welcomed others to take her place.
Alas, none of them did.
“The tear is not so bad,” Catherine whispered close to his mouth. She wiped his mouth, then ran the tip of her finger along the vertical slit. “’Twill make a small scar that will go nicely with the rest.” She looked up and traced the jagged scar along his brow, then to the one across his chin. “Fergive me, I dinna’ usually do this with my brother’s patrons.”
He didn’t care if she’d done it before or not. He wasn’t here to judge wicked lasses. He spread his palm over her rump and pulled her down across his hips.
She planted an eager kiss on his sore mouth and warmed his blood. He preferred more of a challenge, but he wasn’t about to turn her away after taking a beating for her.
A sharp knock sounded at the door. Catherine covered her mouth and Darach swore he’d kill the bastard for interrupting him.
“Darach!”
Wait, that wasn’t Shamus. “Malcolm?”
What the hell was his cousin doing here? Had something happened at home? He gave Catherine a gentle push and swung his legs off the bed. He clutched his side and cursed the pain in his rib, knowing it was broken.
“Darach!” The rapping sounded again.
“Aye, a moment, damn ye.”
“Who is it?” Catherine asked him, terrified.
“M’ cousin, Malcolm Grant.”
“Ye willna’ let him kill Shamus, will ye?”
He shook his head and stood up. He ignored the third series of knocks and reached the door in his own wounded time.
“What the hell happened to ye?” Malcolm asked, sounding decidedly less interested than his query would suggest.
Darach turned his back on him and returned to his bed. He didn’t bid Catherine farewell when she fled. In fact, he barely noticed. “What are ye doin’ here, Cal?”
“I need a favor,” his cousin said, his gaze following Catherine out the door. His dimpled smile gave her pause at the exit. “I need ye to ride to Ravenglade.”
Ravenglade? Hell, no way. Janet was at Ravenglade. “What do we have to go to Ravenglade fer?” he asked with his eyes closed.
“No’ we,” Malcolm corrected, stepping into the room and having a casual look around. “Ye. I need ye to go in my stead. Ye need to leave tonight.”
Darach laughed, then groaned when pain from his lip fired through him. Damn it, he needed stitching and his cousin had chased Catherine away. “Ye’re mad, Cal. I’m no’ goin’ anywhere near Perth and I’m sure as hell no’ goin’ tonight.”
“The Menzies have been tryin’ to infiltrate the castle fer the last few months, longer by now,” Malcolm forged onward, ignoring Darach’s refusal. “William Buchanan penned me to come quickly.”
The damn Menzies, natural-born enemies to Darach’s kin for as long as he could remember, even before they betrayed the MacGregors during the first proscription. Normally, Darach would leap at the chance to fight some of them, but not at Ravenglade.
“How soon can ye leave, Darach?” Malcolm picked up the bloody rag Catherine had used to wipe Darach’s lip and shook his head, dropping it back onto the bed. “Was she worth the arse beatin’ ye took?”
