Page 1 of Secrets of a Kilted Seduction

BONUS PROLOGUE

March 1586, Castle Lennox, the Scottish Highlands

The Infirmary

“Open up, Alana!”

The deep male voice, so filled with urgency, pulled Alana suddenly from her reverie. Startled, unsure if she had imagined the voice, she jumped from her chair by the blazing hearth and stood poised, staring at the door to see if it came again.

She cocked her head as the sound of shuffling feet and the low rumble of men’s voices percolated through the door. I didnae imagine it… someone’s out there.

“Alana! I said open the door, we have an emergency!” The voice came again, and this time, it was followed by a heavy hammering on the door, which made it rattle in its frame.

“Comin’!” she called back, realizing it was Odhrán, Laird Lennox, outside her door. Picking up her skirts, she ran the short distance necessary to open it. “What is it?” she called, calm but concerned. If someone was hurt, her healing skills would be needed. She flung the door wide to admit her friend, employer, and protector.

Her eyes rapidly took in the imposing figures of Odhrán and his war captain Liam MacTavish standing on the threshold. Then they flicked to the scruffy individual sagging between them as they held him up. The man was huge, his long dark hair wild, and his clothes were stained and torn.

He lifted his head, shaking away damp locks of hair from his grimy face before his dark eyes met hers.

A soundless scream left her lips as she looked into them. She stumbled back, almost doubling over with shock, instantly recognizing the injured man as Liam’s elder brother Tadhg MacTavish. His handsome features were seared on her heart… the heart he had torn out and smashed to pieces years ago, when he had disappeared.

At the sight of him, a bilious rage rose up inside her, but she pushed it down. Because in that moment, all she could think about was that he was hurt, and she had to help him.

But ye dinnae have tae talk tae him or let him ken that ye care anymore about him than any other patient.

“What have ye done tae yersel’, ye damned fool?” she snapped at him scathingly, adopting a harsh, coldly professional attitude in order to control the whirlwind of emotions raging inside her.

“Somebody shot him,” Odhrán explained as he and Liam half-carried Tadhg inside. “With an arrow.”

“’Tis in me shoulder,” Tadhg muttered, appearing unnaturally bright eyed as he looked at her, a tell-tale sign that a fever could be developing. She made a mental note to deal with that.

“Is the arrow still in there?” she asked. Tadhg nodded, his face the color of old milk. He could die if infection sets in.

“Let me see,” she commanded. Odhrán and Liam moved aside to give her access. She frowned as she moved rapidly forward to inspect Tadhg’s shoulder. She had to stand on tiptoe, for even in his sagging state, Tadhg towered over her.

She was forced to stifle a horrified gasp to see the feathery fletching of the projectile sticking out of the shoulder joint through the fabric of his shirt. “It’s gone deep,” she murmured.

“Aye, it has, but if ye feel carefully with her fingers, ye can just feel the point under the skin on the other side. I was hopin’ ye may be able tae pull it out fer me,” Tadhg said, his deep voice laced with controlled agony, his eyes not leaving hers. “It came from behind and went straight through. I cut off the barb and most of the shaft. Most of what’s left is inside.”

“Hmm,” Alana said. Pursing her lips, she held her palm on his forehead and looked at his face critically for a few moments before lifting his eyelids and staring into his eyes. Heat rushed over her skin like goosebumps as he held her gaze.

“Put him on the bed,” she told Odhrán and Liam said finally. “Then wash yer hands. I’ll need yer help in getting the arrow shaft out.”

“Of course, anythin’ we can dae,” Odhrán assured her. He and Liam went to help Tadgh on to the bed, but he shrugged them off with his good shoulder.

“I’m nae broken,” he said irritably. “I still have the use of me legs.” As if to prove it, he swung himself onto the bed and made himself comfortable against the pillow.

“Ye can wash up over there,” Alana told Liam and Odhrán, pointing to a washstand across the room. While they did that, she went and fetched the equipment she needed as well as some herbs and salves for treating Tadgh’s wound. She cleaned her instruments with whisky, then filled a beaker with it and handed it to Tadhg.

“Drink that,” she ordered, handing it to him before pulling his shirt aside, picking up her shears, and beginning to cut away the filthy makeshift bandages surrounding the wound.

“All of it?” he asked, seemingly disconcerted by her request.

She gave him a cool glance. “Aye, it would be best if ye drank all of it because when I pull that arrow out, ’tis gonnae hurt like the devil.”

“It hurts like the devil now, so what have I got tae lose?” Tadgh joked weakly, putting the beaker to his lips and drinking deeply of the whisky. While they waited for the whisky to take effect, she distracted herself from his disturbing presence by continuing to remove the dirty clothing and exposing the shaft of the arrow itself ready for its removal.

The injury looked horrible. Where the arrow had entered, the surrounding flesh was swollen and bloody. It looked raw and bordering on infection. He might die of this! However much I hate him, I cannae let that happen.