Page 48 of In Bed with her Highland Foe

“Aaden?” Kyven called, pulling her mare with her. Aaden turned to see her, his eyes widening, and hurried to meet her in the center of the cobbles with Helen at his side.

“Oh, it’s awful,” Helen was murmuring, her hands over her cheeks.

“What is it? What has happened?” Kyven asked, looking between the two of them.

“We couldnae find ye this morning tae tell ye,” Aaden began with a sigh.

“Tell me what.” Kyven stood on her toes and craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Gilchrist in the crowd. He didn’t seem to be there.

“It’s the captain,” Aaden said. Kyven sharply dropped back to her heels, staring up at him.

“What’s happened?” Her voice had darkened.

“He was attacked in the night,” Aaden began slowly, his expression grave. “He’ll survive, he’s quite well, wounded and stitched up by Harper.”

“Why was I nae told!?” Kyven suddenly raged. She rarely ever shouted. Aaden and Helen were so shocked that both of their jaws fell slack. “Why?”

“Ye were nae here tae be told,” Aaden answered in a level tone. “I was about tae check on him in his chamber, but if ye want –”

“I shall go.” She thrust the reins of the mare into his grasp. “Who did this?”

“We dinnae ken. We’ve searched the grounds all night for the signs of an intruder, but there are none.”

“A guard should have been sent after me tae tell me,” she called back. “If this ever happens again…”

“Aye, aye, I’ll make sure ye ken,” Aaden called after her.

She didn’t listen or nod in acknowledgement though. She was too angry. It was as if a blinding white-hot light had taken over her body. She marched toward the barracks, fury in every step, intent on checking on Gilchrist and finding out exactly what was wrong.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kyven knocked relentlessly on Gilchrist’s door, yet there was no answer. She persisted, now knocking with the flat of her hand, demanding to be let in.

“Come back another time,” Gilchrist barked at the door. “Any business for the soldiers, go tae Aaden.”

He doesnae ken it is me.

Kyven was still too lost to her rage to think straight. How could it be that Gilchrist was injured and no one had told her? Why had she left the grounds so early for a ride with Shay when Gilchrist was being sewn back together by Harper?

She glanced over her shoulder, but the landing and the stairs were empty. There was no one to see she was there.

She reached for the door and opened it without hesitation, barging into Gilchrist’s chamber.

“Well, this is new,” Gilchrist said with a sign of humor in his tone.

“Why on earth was I nae told that ye – oh!” Kyven had kicked the door shut and turned to face him when she suddenly noticed exactly what state Gilchrist was in.

The cat was sat on the edge of his bed, licking herself, as Gilchrist stood tall in the chamber beside a copper bath filled with steaming hot water. He was completely bare, with not a stich upon his person.

Kyven felt a curl of pleasure just beneath her naval as she looked at him. She came over all heated, staring at Gilchrist in wonder. His dark hair was tousled around his ears, but her gaze didn’t rest there. It drifted down to the bare chest, the muscles carved perfectly, as if they had been chiseled out of marble by a sculptor. A thin line of dark hair ran down his chest and toward a v at the top of his legs. The muscles in his legs were strong, reminding her just how small she was compared to him, just how petite. She wouldn’t have even been able to encase the width of that thigh in her hand. There were dark curls around his center too, his length completely on show.

“In the name of the wee man!” she suddenly declared and turned on the spot, her hands in her hair. She kept trying to draw her gaze away from him, but her eyes involuntarily slid back to him, apparently unable to look anywhere else. He was like a warm fire, drawing that gaze increasingly back to him. “Put something on!” she cried.

“I was about tae have a bath.” He gestured to the bath, raising his injured arm.

She moved her hands to cover her mouth when she saw the extent of the injury. There were large, ugly stitches in his bicep, marring the muscle there. He would have a nasty scar from the injury, to match the scar that ran from his cheek down to his collarbone. And the recent injury on his other arm There were other scars too across his muscled body she could now see, so many marks from the years of battling that she didn’t know what feeling trembled in her stomach anymore. Was it attraction? Longing? A desire to run her hands over each one of those scars, to lay her lips to them as if she could kiss them better?

“Well, ye seem tae be rather interested,” Gilchrist observed with a look of humor on his lips.