There was shuffling behind him. And a curse. Then a gasp. “You found my name in my coat!”
“Aye. Just so.”
“So where is it? And my skis!”
He shook his head carefully. “Ye’ll die in that storm, and ye ken it. I hid them…to protect ye from yerself.”
“Bullshit.”
He tried to frown, to deny the truth, but the movement was too painful. “Aye. I took them oot o’ spite.”
“Where?!”
He was finished lying and arguing when his head was splitting in twain. No doubt his new clothes were as ruined as his nose.
The lass made a frightening noise of frustration, then began stomping about the place. The door opened suddenly and remained open. If she’d taken his best blanket and fled, it served him right. He was in no condition to crawl to the door to close it again. And already, the storm had filled the house and likely blew out the fire.
He cursed the witches first. How dare they send a lass into such danger? And how dare they poke their noses into his perfectly harmless life?
Next, Cian cursed the traveler, as he had every day for nigh eight years. If the man had never interfered with the battle, Cian would have fought with all his might and died honorably, unaware of what witchcraft was afoot among the prince’s regiments.
He wouldn’t curse poor Matty Gaines. He’d amused himself all morning at her expense. He could have corrected her when she mistook him for a brother. He should have explainedstraight away that he’d been the hairy beast from the day before…
Mistook me for a brother.
The traveler knew there would be no brother here, in this century.
Was the lass ignorant of who Cian was and where he’d come from? Had she been duped as he had?
Or was she truly an innocent in all this? A skier pushed off her route by the storm? Harassed by a horse’s arse for mistaking his ancient home for a bothy? Frightened and tied to a chair, then harassed again, frightened into defending herself with the only weapon at hand?
Bloody hell! What had he done?
“Matty!” His call never left the house. The wind was smothered by the closing of the door.
Feet shuffling.
“Matty?”
“Yeah.”
“I was mistaken. Forgive me, I beg ye.” He tried to find her by the sound of her voice, to see her expression, but his eyes were quickly swelling shut.
Something wet and cold hit the back of his neck. “It’s a cloth filled with snow. I want you to reach back and hold it here, understand? It will help stop the bleeding.”
He reached over his shoulder. She guided his hand where she wanted it, then left him to hold the cloth in place before she moved away again. A few heartbeats later, and her footsteps returned. Another wet cloth touched his face, though tenderly this time. She cleaned him, left him, then came back to finish the job. When she was satisfied, she came back again with something cold to hold against his eyes.
“What am I holdin’?”
“My glove. You don’t have a lot of washcloths around here.”
“In the trunk,” he said.
“Too late. Besides, it’s locked. This will have to do. And don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to leave you until the storm ends.”
He felt her hands at his belt buckle and jumped.
“Relax. I don’t want your pants. But I do need your belt. When I’m done, I’ll give it back.”
