The Highlander's Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

certainly did nothing to dissuade the impression. She wanted to correct his misunderstanding, yet feared if he knew the truth it would only make things worse for her. She focused back on her meal. It would do her no harm to eat and rest before setting out toward England on the morrow.
    Worry of what happened between her guard and Tynsdale’s men after she left also frequented her thoughts. Had they fought? What would Captain Corbett do when she did not appear in Bewcastle tonight? She shoved aside those thoughts too. She must regain her strength, for she had a long walk ahead of her.
    In the flickering light of the campfire, the Highlander ate his meal in silence, though often she found his eyes on her, causing her temperature to rise. At first she was afraid he would take out his frustration on her, but he was clearly not that sort of man. Then she feared he may take liberties with her person, considering his low opinion of her. But it appeared he was not that sort of man either.
    He produced a flask from a small pouch he wore around his waist and took a healthy swig. In the orange glow of the fire he looked rather handsome, for a barbarian, that is. It must have been a trick of the firelight, but his features seemed not quite as harsh as they did in the sunlight.
    The man had piercing green eyes with remarkable lashes. His nose was straight, his jaw was square, and when he frowned, which was often, deep worry lines appeared on his forehead. She was surprised that this barbarian was clean shaven and had short, neatly trimmed, brown hair. Who was this man?
    The Scot finished his meal and turned his attention to his hip. He pulled up his garment, uncovering a dark line trailing down his outer thigh.
    “You are injured!” Isabelle was up and walking around the fire toward him before she could consider the wisdom of the action.
    “’Tis naught but a scratch.”
    Isabelle knelt beside him and examined the cut. “I cannot quite see the extent of it with all this dried blood. Why did you not tell me you were hurt?” Isabelle grabbed the flask from his hand and poured it onto his thigh, washing away the blood and revealing a three-inch gash on his outer thigh.
    “Arrghh!”
    “Did I hurt you?”
    “That was good whiskey, and the only flask I have left o’ what Douglas gave me, thanks to ye.”
    “I am sorry about your horse. I seem to have bad luck with beasts today.” Isabelle ripped away part of her chemise, which was not difficult since it was already quite torn, and fashioned a bandage to wrap around the wound.
    “In the future, I will take pains to keep ye from my cattle.” The Highlander spoke gruffly but made no effort to push her away.
    Isabelle bent at her work, covering the wound and beginning to wrap it around his thigh. Halfway around, she realized she would need to move her hands around to his inner thigh to wrap the cloth and paused, unsure of how to proceed. “I’ve found wounds heal faster and are less likely to fester if they are cleaned and wrapped,” she explained.
    His green eyes flickered, reflecting the dancing firelight. “A healer, are ye?” His voice was soft.
    Isabelle swallowed hard. Heat licked the back of her neck. “Y-yes, at least I was trained to treat common complaints. If the wound was still bleeding, there is a plant to help it to stop. There are herbs for almost any complaint, some to help you sleep, some to ease pain, some if you are bilious…”
    The Highlander raised one eyebrow at this, a slow smile creeping on his lips. Isabelle blushed, remembering too late her tendency to ramble when flustered, yet still was unable to curb her tongue. “I’ve been called to stitch and bind many a wound. The menfolk are always getting themselves hurt one way or another.”
    He leaned closer, a small movement. “Wi’ ye around I dinna doubt it.”
    Isabelle’s mouth went dry. She focused back on her work, slowly wrapping the strip of cloth around his thigh, her hands trembling and