A Highlander in Her Past Read Online Free PDF Page B

needlework in her lap and glanced toward the bed. “She moans a bit but hasn’t opened her eyes. I’m afraid the wound to her head might be more severe than we first thought.”
    Maxwell didn’t doubt Ciara’s fears. He’d seen such injuries during the course of battles. The outcome wasn’t usually good. He drew closer to the edge of the bed, clasping his hands behind his back. “And the boy?”
    Ciara smiled and picked up the cloth, pulling the looped thread taut with the needle. “The boy is fine. He’s with Keagan. Apparently, the bodies of the very young are much more resilient when traveling through time.”
    Maxwell stared down at the pale, motionless woman cocooned among the pillows in the overstuffed bed. So delicate—just as she had appeared in the mirror. Her translucent skin reminded him of the fresh cream shimmering in the larder pans. He leaned forward and brushed a short ringlet of copper-colored hair back from the bandage wrapped around her head. Such a vivid shade. The lass’s hair rivaled the fiery locks of the goddess Brid herself. But so short. Had the lass been punished? Had her hair been shorn close to her head as the result of some sort of crime?
    “She’s quite lovely. Isn’t she, Maxwell?”
    Maxwell returned his hands to the tightly clasped position behind his back and swiveled his attention to the grinning woman sitting in the high-backed chair. Damn Ciara. He recognized that tone. She was up to her usual mischief. He cleared his throat. “I hadna truly noticed. I was just wondering who had cut off all her hair.”
    Ciara’s smile widened. “If she’s from the year I think she’s from, she chose to cut it that short.”
    Maxwell turned back to the unconscious woman. Shining red hair snipped so short ye could barely brush it? Sheer madness. His gaze traveled down the ivory path of her throat and came up short at the enticing bit of décolleté smattered with a dusting of pale freckles. Maxwell rubbed his thumbs across his knuckles as he pressed his fists tighter against the small of his back. Lore, her skin looks as soft as velvet. He’d bet his favorite dagger the woman’s entire body shimmered with those tempting little marks. The gods had sprinkled her skin with their favorite spices. Maxwell smiled. He had a particular fondness for just such spice. His groin tightened as he shifted his stance.
    Ciara’s muffled giggle interrupted his thoughts. Damn that woman. Maxwell cleared his throat. “What year do ye think she’s from? Or did the boy finally open up to Keagan?”
    Ciara set aside her sewing into the seat of the chair as she moved to wring out a rag in the bowl of steaming water on the table beside the bed. “All we’ve been able to get from the boy is his name.” Her voice softened as she gently pressed the damp folded cloth against the silent woman’s cheeks and smoothed it across her shoulders. “He refuses to answer any other questions until he’s talked with her.”
    “Aye.” Maxwell nodded toward the bed, wrinkling his nose against the scent of lavender rising from the heated rag Ciara pressed against the woman’s temple. He hated lavender; it brought to mind too many memories of ailing and loss. “He’s a good lad. His mother probably instructed him to be careful.”
    The door burst open as Ramsay exploded into the room. “What are ye doing?” He ran across the room and clambered over the end of the bed, dodging Ciara and Maxwell until he sat wedged between Trish and the wall. “Is she awake yet? Can ye tell if she’s all right?”
    “Be still, boy!” Maxwell leaned across the bed, grabbed Ramsay by the shoulders and lifted him to the floor. “Your mother’s ill and doesna need the likes of you bouncing her all over her sickbed.”
    “She is NOT my mother.” Ramsay squirmed free of Maxwell’s grasp and backed against the side of the bed. With a sullen scowl, he folded his scrawny arms across his chest with an irritated yank. “And I’d