She rolled what appeared to be a stiff shoulder, tried to get up, but winced in defeat when she couldnae use her hands.
“Here now, lass. Ye should sit a wee bit longer and get yer bearings while I tend tae those cuts and scratches.” He started to rise. “I’ve some water back at the kirk. I’ll just be a moment.”
“No! Please. ’Tis not necessary.” She tried once more to rise but fell back with a groan. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit…shaken.” She winced and rolled her shoulder again, gazing at her hands as if they were new and she dinna ken what to do with them.
“Let me help ye up, lass.”
“Kenna.” She murmured distractedly before looking up with pain-clouded eyes. “Thank ye. Just a bit of help tae rise then, and I’ll be fine. Ye dinnae need tae stay.”
“Kenna.” Sean tried the name, liking the feel of it on his tongue. It suited her. A bit untamed. He reached for one of her hands. “May I see?” Carefully, he uncurled her fingers and took a closer look at her wounds. More bits of stone and debris. ’Twould take some care to get it all out. “Just Kenna?”
“Kincaid,” she muttered, following his movements with suspicious eyes. “McKenna Kincaid. ButjustKenna will suffice.” When she finally looked up, she held his gaze for a second then raised her chin in a bit of a challenge.
Smiling at her bravado, he tipped his head. “A pleasure, Kenna. And what is so important it leaves ye no time tae tend tae yer wounds?”
Wariness clouded her pretty face. “Nothing. I just…dinnae relish the inconvenience of an injury.”
“Of course, no’.” He released her hand and gently touched a finger below her chin to evaluate the small scrape there. “Does it pain ye much?”
He saw the lie in her eyes before she voiced it.
“Nae.”
“Nevertheless, if ye’ll allow me?” He motioned toward the kirk. “I can at least rinse some of the blood and debris away so we might truly evaluate your injuries. I vow I’ll do ye no harm, Kenna Kincaid.”
Despite the lift of her chin and the challenge in her eyes, Sean thought she resembled a frightened rabbit peeking warily from the cover of her wild tresses. Her full lips pinched a little as she studied him. “Just a quick rinse, then.”
“As ye wish.” He bit his cheek to suppress his smile. A stubborn one, this!
Rising, he moved closer and slid an arm around her back. “Ready?”
“Aye.” She stiffened and held out her elbows.
Quickly, he slid his other arm beneath her knees and picked her up, ignoring her gasp. She felt like a wee wisp of a thing in his arms. All corkscrew curls and bold attitude he kenned, making his way up the hill with her. “I dinnae see a vehicle or other means of transportation when I arrived. Do ye live near here?”
“Nae. I walked here.” She kept her body tense and her face turned as if embarrassed to be carried. “As did you, I suspect, since I dinnaehearany vehicles approach.”
“Aye,” he nodded, heading to where he’d left his pack. “I walked, as well. I’ll see ye home. Unless ye’ve somewhere else ye wish tae be taken?”
She looked at him then, her brows scrunched. “I dinnae wish tae betakenanywhere. I’ll get back tae the village on my own.”
“ ’Twill be difficult with yer injuries. ’Tis no trouble tae carry ye.”
“Carry me? Even on the back road, ’tis almost two miles from here. Ye cannae possibly carry me that far. EvenifI allowed it. Which I willnae.”
“Lass, I’ve carried broadswords heavier than ye, and much farther.”
Tipping her head, she gave him a curious look. “Whatever for? What need have ye tae carry a broadsword about?”
Blast! He must learn to be more selective with his information. Thinking and speaking in terms of this century would take some getting used to. “I was…uh…instructing some lads on some of the old ways a Highlander fought his enemy.”
“Theoldways? Is that why ye’re wearin’ a belted plaid instead of a small-kilt like most everyone in the village? ’Tis a shame they dinnae wear the old style much anymore. I prefer it.”
“As do I.” He sat her on the ground beside his pack, wondering if she kenned her own clothing style dated back centuries before his. He pulled his water-flask from the pack and held it out to her. “The water is cool if ye’ve a thirst before we flush yer wounds.”
Instead of reaching for the flask, she gestured toward his sketch pad with the wee feathery strokes and the long, bold line. “Still in progress, I ken?”
He grimaced. “ ’Twas yer screeching, in fact, that caused that wreckage.”
