Page 3 of A Highlander’s Heart

The bucket of cold creek water arrived along with a few linens, and she turned back to the unpleasant warrior, carrying them to his bed.

“I asked the men to look for snow or ice, but with the warming weather, they were unable to find any. Still we do have some nice cold water.”

*

Morgan would have shrugged his indifference, but didn’t want to cause that sharp pain again when he moved. Instead, he continued to stare at the wall next to his bed while the healer gently cleaned the gash on his leg, sewed it up, and, once he turned onto his back, laid very cold linens on his chest.

Emma.

He’d heard the warrior who had announced that the battle was over speak her name. Why did it have to be Emma? He’d tried for years to forget the lass named Emma who had stomped on his heart like his horse did to his chest. But just when he thought he could forget her and move on, her memory popped up. Not that he still cared for her, but the anger for her betrayal always managed to rise again for one reason or another.

This time the memory was resurrected because of the comely lass with the same name who was supposed to heal him. Same first name. Her last name also belonged to an enemy clan.

Emma Mackenzie looked nothing like Emma Gunn. While Emma Gunn had been tall and slender, Emma Mackenzie was short, with an extremely appealing, curvy body. A great deal of curves. Her light-brown hair with golden streaks, pulled up into a knot at the top of her head but with strands falling around her face added to her appeal.

He smiled to himself, thinking of her standing up to him. Warriors three or four times her size paled when he groused at them. As Second-in-Command to the Gunn, as well as the laird’s nephew and heir, he held a great deal of power over the warriors.

So, what was the Second-in-Command to the Gunn doing lying in the Mackenzie castle’s healing hut while the rest of his men had begun their retreat?

He knew from the start that the Gunn, along with the Sinclair, were not making a serious attempt to attack the Mackenzies. What they’d planned had to be a distraction for some reason. But he had not been told why. It wasn’t his place to question orders. He’d just done his job.

And ended up stranded at Castle Leod for how long he, or even the mouthy bonny lass, didn’t know.

Once she’d finished cleaning up his gash and sewing it together, fatigue from the battle and the injury took over and before he even thought about it, he was fast asleep.

When he awoke, it was dark and the hut quiet. His bossy healer wasn’t there, but there was a plate of food on a table alongside his bed. He lifted the cloth and, despite the meal being cold, his stomach growled at the sight and scent of mutton stew, bread, cheese, and a mug of ale, along with a second mug filled with something that smelled suspiciously herbal.

He reached over and grabbed the bread, along with a chunk of cheese.

“’Tis glad I am to see ye eating.”

The comely healer from hell sat across the room from him in the darkness. She leaned forward, closer to a candle at her side and smiled. Despite his dislike for the lass, something inside him shifted.

Something he didn’t like. He had to remember that she was the enemy.

“Are ye in much pain?” She had moved closer to him and the glow from the candle she carried lit up her face in such a manner that he had to look away to keep the something shifting in him away.

“Aye, I have pain. As ye pointed out, I have a bruised chest and a wounded leg. I think a healer would ken that.” He was both disappointed and glad when her smile vanished and she stood up straight.

“Verra well, then. I will leave ye for the night. The tisane right next to yer food can help ye sleep. It will ease the pain somewhat.”

“I told ye before I dinna want any of yer pain drinks that are for weak men and lasses.” He swung at the mug with the back of his hand and knocked it to the floor; the liquid splashed all over, mostly landing on her.

Emma took in a deep breath and stepped back. “That was unnecessary, warrior.” She brushed her skirts and glared at him. “I wish ye good night.”

He watched her move quickly out the door, closing it with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary.

Ye are an arse, Morgan Gunn.

Aside from his disaster with the other Emma, he had quite a bit of luck with the lasses. He never had trouble finding one to warm his bed. The maids flirted and offered their favors to him all the time.

He always made sure they knew he had no intention of marrying any of them. What they did was all for fun. He was kind, caring, and made sure they received their pleasure as well as he. But he never made any offer of marriage or commitment.

Until now. Despite Emma Mackenzie’s bonnie looks and body that his fingers itched to explore, he had to stay away from any flirtation with her. She was the clan enemy, and she had Emma’s name.

He finished his meal and tried to sleep in spite of his throbbing leg and aching ribs, cursing himself for swatting at the mug of liquid that would have helped ease his pain.

Aye, ye are an arse, Morgan Gunn.