Beloved Stranger Read Online Free PDF

keep moving, to ignore the agony streaking down his leg, the sharp pain in his chest that made every breath an effort.
    Then he was inside a dwelling. Where?
    And who was he? It was like a long wail in his head. She lowered him onto something soft. And the need to move, to stay awake, was gone. His eyes closed, and he drifted again into a dark void.

Chapter 3
    K IMBRA looked down at the Scot lying in the feather bed she and Will had shared.
    The second he sank into it, his eyes had closed, and she knew he had used every bit of his fading strength to get inside. She was relieved that he had lapsed into unconsciousness again.
    Fire. She needed fire. There were no embers left, and starting one was always difficult, even after all these years. She finally got a fire going, and hung a pot of water over the flames. Then she went into the other room to check on the Scot. Will’s breeches were soaked with fresh blood from the wound, and like her own clothes yesterday, she couldn’t afford to destroy them. The stranger—if he lived—would need the garments. She would have to clean them, then make adjustments to the size. She hoped that, if anyone came, they would not recognize them as belonging to Will. The borderers—both English and Scots—wore much the same clothing and spoke with similar accents.
    His speech, though, was not that of the border. She would have to warn him to be cautious in what he said and how he acted.
    She realized she was expecting him to live now. She was thinking about his future.
    Kimbra undid the laces on the breeches, pulled them off him and examined the leg. It had been a day without treatment, more than long enough for poison to spread. She covered him with a blanket, then went back to the other room, where she took out the herbs she’d gathered earlier and stirred them into the steaming water. In minutes she’d made a poultice. She would try that before burning the wound.
    She pulled back the blanket, averting her eyes from parts of his body other than the wound. She applied the poultice of comfrey and aloe. That was one of the few benefits of centuries-ago Roman occupation. They’d left their herbs when they moved on.
    The Scot’s body flinched, then relaxed as she secured the poultice to the wound.
    She carefully removed Will’s jack from his body. His harsh breathing told her there had been damage to his ribs. When he woke again, she would bind his chest and pray the ribs were only bruised.
    In addition to those to his leg and ribs, there were other wounds. Slices in his left shoulder and right arm. A huge lump on the back of his head.
    His body was dark with dried blood and dirt. She found a towel and poured more hot water in a bowl, then returned to his side and started to clean the filth of battle from his skin. She had to repeatedly throw out the dirty, bloody water and refill the bowl. She stitched the worst of the wounds and tried not to think about what she had done in trying to save this man. He was the enemy.
    It was dawn when she finished spreading a thick salve on the last of the wounds. She could do nothing about the lump on the back of his head.
    She straightened and fought off weariness. She had to shed her man’s clothes and change into a gown. Audra was expecting her.
    She hurriedly washed the blood from the clothes the Scot had worn and spread them out in front of the fireplace. She added several logs to the fire, praying they would be sufficient to keep it going until she returned.
    She would have to bring her daughter back, and she had to warn the Scot to be cautious in anything he said.
    She leaned over him. His breathing was still raspy.
    Kimbra studied him as he slept. His body was lean. There was a scar on his shoulder, so he’d obviously battled before. Yet his face was more saint than warrior. His eyes drew her to him. They had been so blue. So tortured. Her heart had reacted, and she—and more importantly Audra—could not afford that.
    She tried to wake him