The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(56)

MacKay, who’d exchanged a few words with Ewen before he left, came over to where she was huddled at the back of the small, rocky cave. There would barely be room for all five of them to lie down, but without a fire, she suspected she would be glad of the warmth provided by their nearness.

“You should get some rest, lass. We have another long night of riding ahead of us, and the terrain won’t be as friendly as it was today.”

“Where did Ewen go?”

“To the loch. His leg was caked with blood, and I told him to wash it or Helen would have both our hides.”

She bristled at the mention of the younger-than-you-are, beautiful healer. “Helen?”

The strapping Highlander smiled. “Aye, my wife. She’s a healer. She told Lamont that if he opened that wound one more time, she wasn’t going to fix it again.” He laughed. “But she will. She can’t help it. It’s what she does.”

His wife? Janet was struck twofold. Not only because she’d been jealous over this man’s wife, but also because he was clearly proud of her. “Your wife is a healer?”

“Aye, a very good one.”

There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. Good God, a husband who was proud of a wife who worked? Miracles did happen. Too bad his friend didn’t feel the same way. But could he? Not likely. Still, the possibility intrigued her more than she wanted to admit. “Perhaps I should see if Ewen needs help. I’ve done some nursing.”

MacKay looked at her appraisingly, rubbing his hand over a week’s worth of stubble on his jaw. She thought he might refuse, but eventually he nodded. “Let me get you something first.”

Janet made her way down the rocky shoreline with the cloth and ointment Magnus had provided. Dawn was still a half-hour away, but the sun was already making its presence known, casting a soft glow over the misty sky. The promise of snow hung in the frosty air. Without wind, the weather was bearable—just.

Washing in the icy water of the river, however, was another matter. Her hands were still blue from her earlier efforts. So just about the last thing she expected was to see Ewen emerge half-naked from the river like some kind of ancient Norse sea god.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth going dry. She should turn away. Really, she should. But she couldn’t. All right, in all honesty, she didn’t want to.

She’d seen men without shirts. She’d even seen muscular men without shirts. But never had she seen one who made her want to stand back and stare in admiration.

She was sure there was plenty of good uses for broad shoulders, arms that bulged with strength, and a stomach roped with band after band of muscle, but right now all she could think about was that he was beautiful. That it was a shame to cover such magnificence even with leather and studs of steel. That she would give just about anything to put her hands on him.

Other details shuffled through her frozen brain. The dark triangle of hair at his neck that narrowed to a thin trail beneath his linen braies—the damp linen braies that rode low on his waist and clung to thick, muscular thighs.

She shifted her gaze quickly from another big bulge that they clung to. She was bold, but not that bold.

She had only a minute before he noticed her, but she made every second count.

He shot her a glare and reached for a drying cloth, furiously scrubbing away all the lucky drops of water that clung to his chest.

For heaven’s sake, she was acting like a lovesick thirteen-year-old!

Belatedly, she averted her eyes.

“What do you want?” he growled a few moments later.

To her disappointment when she glanced back, he’d donned a linen shirt and pulled on some breeches.

Ironically, now that he was dressed, she blushed. “I didn’t realize …” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry to intrude, but Magnus gave me some ointment to tend to your leg.”

“I don’t need—”

“I know you don’t need it, but he said to remind you that Helen will blame him if you catch a fever and die, so you’d ‘bloody well better see that you don’t.’ Helen,” she stressed the woman’s name, “Magnus’s wife.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I know who Helen is.”

She should be grateful that he had no idea how jealous he’d made her, but for some reason his utter lack of understanding annoyed her.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll take care of it.” Janet pursed her lips. “I know you think I’m incapable of rational thought, but I do know what I’m doing.”

He frowned. “I don’t think that.”

She made a sharp sound. “That’s why every other word out of your mouth is about how stupid and foolish I am—”

He reached out and took her by the arm. “I never said you were stupid or foolish. I said you didn’t understand the danger.”

“But I do. Just in the same way you do, and yet still choose to do what you do.”

His frown deepened. “It’s not the same.”

Suddenly, Janet felt tired. Too tired to try to make him understand. Too tired of banging her head against a stone wall—no matter how impressively built.

She stared down at him. He still had his hand on her arm, but he let it drop. “Are you going to let me help or not?”

He hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”