A Sword Upon The Rose Read Online Free PDF

was warmer within. A boy was laying out furs and a pallet. From outside, she could smell meat roasting—a cook fire had been started. Alana hugged herself. She felt uncomfortable, and not just because of her lies. Twilight was near, and they were alone. He did remain the enemy, he was a warrior, and as such, was frightening.
    Dughall stepped inside, carrying a small sack. “Do ye want me to sew it?”
    Alana was alarmed. “My lord, the wound must be cleaned first.” He could so easily die of an infection if it were left dirty and unwashed.
    His blue gaze upon her, he sank down on the pallet, shoving off the fur that had been loosely draped about his shoulders. For an instant, Alana stared at his broad shoulders, his huge biceps. The upper half of his leine was blood soaked. “Come, angel of mercy,” he said.
    Mockery remained in his tone. She looked aside and hurried to him. “Pressure must be kept on the wound.” She tried to sound brisk. “Or you will certainly bleed to death.”
    “Give her a blade,” he said to Dughall. To Alana, “Cut the leine off.”
    She nodded, taking the knife Dughall handed her. And then he seized her wrist another time. Alana froze, meeting his hard gaze once again.
    “Try anything untoward and ye will suffer my wrath,” he said.
    She nodded. Did he truly think she might stab him now?
    He released her. She quickly cut his leine down the front, to his belt, and pulled open the sides of his leine. She pretended not to notice the hard slabs of his chest, the dark hair there, or the small gold cross he wore. Then she uncovered his left shoulder completely.
    The wound was bleeding again. Dughall handed her more linens, which she gratefully took and pressed to it. Iain inhaled in pain and their gazes collided.
    “I am sorry.... I am trying not to hurt you.” She avoided his gaze now, acutely aware of him.
    “You have no calluses,” he said.
    She started, eyes wide, locking with his. What was he talking about?
    “On yer hands.” He was final—triumphant.
    She finally realized what he meant. If she were a farmer, her hands would be callused. Alana could only stare. She had been caught in her first deception.
    His smile was slow, dangerous. “Who are ye, lady? Dinna tell me yer a farmer’s wife—falsehoods dinna sit well with me.”
    “We were summoned to Nairn,” she managed to answer. “My grandmother carries healing potions.”
    “An answer that is no answer,” he said.
    She glanced at Dughall, her cheeks aflame. “Can you bring me warm water and soap?”
    “Aye, my lady.” He slipped from the tent.
    “The truth,” Iain said.
    Alana felt mesmerized by his unwavering stare. “We do not know why we were summoned,” she lied, feeling desperate. “But we believe my grandmother’s potions are needed.”
    His blue gaze moved over her face now, feature by feature.
    Did he believe her, when she was so deliberately lying? When she hated doing so, when she was a poor liar by nature? And Duncan of Frendraught was his enemy—would such a lie even protect her? “You should not speak. You should rest.”
    “Ye do not play these games well. Ye have no ready answers.” He had become thoughtful.
    She checked to see if his wound had stopped bleeding, and was relieved that it had. “Saving a life is no game.”
    He said, “Ye cannot or will not tell me who ye are. A spy would be prepared.”
    “I am no spy, my lord,” Alana said tersely. He thought her a spy? She was horrified. “I am no one of any import.”
    He smiled coldly at her. “Ye have import, lady, or ye would not hide from me. And—” he paused for emphasis “—I am intrigued.”
    She was dismayed. She did not want his interest, not at all!
    “A young woman, alone in the woods with her grandmother, not far from Nairn. A young woman who does not flee from a battle, but goes into it—and warns a stranger of treachery. How long do ye think it will take for me to learn yer name?”
    If he wished to find out who