Seduction of a Highland Lass (McCabe Trilogy #2)(9)

It wasn’t the most modest of accommodations. If anyone saw her, they’d be scandalized and she’d be labeled a whore all over again. But no one was here to judge her, and she’d be damned if she allowed it under her own roof. She’d given up her warm bedding for the warrior. The least he could do was share his body heat.

Some of this trembling eased as she melded closer to his body. He even gave a sigh of contentment and turned blindly, his arm sliding over her waist. He smoothed his hand up her back until his palm was splayed wide between her shoulder blades. Then he simply tucked her into the shelter of his body and pulled her head into the hollow of his neck.

It was like being surrounded by a blazing fire. Heat seeped into her flesh until her muscles were bathed in it. She was careful not to touch his side, though she longed to throw her own arm possessively over his side as he was holding her. She contented herself instead with tucking her hand between their chests, feeling his heart thud against her palm.

“You are a beautiful man, warrior,” she whispered. “I know not where you hail from or whether you are friend or foe, but you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever encountered.”

As she drifted into a blissful sleep, warmth surrounding her like a blanket, the warrior smiled in the darkness.

Chapter 5

An uneasy prickle skittered over Keeley’s skin a bare moment before she opened her eyes. She gasped and would have screamed, but a huge hand clamped over her mouth.

Terror swept through her when she took in the warriors gathered around where she and the injured warrior lay. They didn’t look at all pleased.

They wore fierce scowls, and it dimly registered that two of them bore a striking resemblance to her warrior.

She didn’t have time to give it much more thought before she was hauled to her feet by a man wielding a sword easily capable of cleaving her in two.

She was about to demand what they were about when the warrior fixed her with a glare so fierce, she promptly swallowed and clamped her lips shut.

It appeared the warrior had questions of his own.

“Who are you and what have you done to him?” he demanded as he pointed to where her warrior lay on the floor.

She gaped, unable to call back her gasp of indignation. “Do? I’ve done nothing, good sir. Well, except save his life, but I suppose that’s paltry.”

His gaze narrowed and he pressed in closer to her, gripping her arm until she gave a small cry of pain.

“Leave off, Caelen,” the apparent leader barked.

Caelen scowled but eased his grip and shoved her a foot away so that she bumped into the chest of one of the other men. She turned, intending to scramble away, but he took over where Caelen had left off and grasped her arm, albeit much more gently.

The leader knelt by the sleeping warrior and concern darkened his features. He ran his palm over the warrior’s fevered brow and then over his chest and shoulders as if seeking the source of his illness.

“Alaric,” he called out, his voice enough to wake the dead.

Alaric? ’Twas a fine name for a warrior. But Alaric didn’t so much as flinch. The man kneeling over him turned his worried gaze toward Keeley and then his green eyes, so much like Alaric’s, turned cold and stormy.

“What has happened here? Why won’t he awaken?”

She turned and glanced pointedly at the warrior holding her arm and then down to where his hand clamped around her flesh until he got the message and released her. Then she hurried over to where Alaric lay, determined that whoever this man was, he wouldn’t bully Alaric while he lay so riddled with fever.

“ ’Tis a fever he’s taken,” she said huskily, trying to ward off the fear that surrounded her just as these men surrounded her.

“That much I can surmise on my own,” the warrior growled. “What happened?”

Keeley reached to push aside the remnants of Alaric’s tunic where she’d stitched his side. There were several quick intakes of breath and Caelen, who’d squeezed her arm so hard it had nearly broken, advanced to stand over Alaric as he looked down at the stitched wound.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said honestly. “His horse bore him here, and he fell onto the ground outside my door. It took all my wits to get him inside so that I could tend his wounds. ’Twas a nasty cut to his side. I stitched it the best I could and have tended him well and kept him warm ever since.”

“She did a fine job of stitching him,” Caelen said grudgingly.

Keeley bristled but held her tongue. What she’d like to do is give him a swift kick in his arse. Her arm still hurt where he’d gripped her.

“Aye, she did,” the leader said softly. “I only wish I knew what transpired for him to arrive so grievously injured.” He turned his seeking gaze on Keeley, probing, as if he considered whether she was being truthful with him.

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” she grumbled. “ ’Tis shameful. He must have been ambushed or fought unfairly. He seems fit enough to handle himself in a fight.”

The leader’s eyes glimmered for a moment and she swore he almost smiled.

“I am Laird McCabe and Alaric is my brother.”

Keeley cast her eyes downward and bobbed an awkward curtsy. He wasn’t her laird, but still, a man of his position commanded respect, and it wasn’t as if her laird was a man deserving of any.