Page 6 of The Highlander’s Untamed Lady

“Hera.”

“Zeus. Diana. Hera.” He bent his head to inspect the wound. Deep in her paw was a shard of narrow wood, too small to draw out with one’s fingers. “Ye’re named after mythology, but ye dinna believe in legends?”

He glanced up and found Diana anxiously watching him. She crossed her arms firmly over her chest and fidgeted where she stood several feet away. “Can I have your knife to do it myself?” The look she gave him was one of desperation. “Please.” She said it with the weighted importance of a word not said often. As if she expected miracles for finally stating it.

“Trust me.” He raised his brows at her. “I’ve done similar feats before on men in the battleground. I have dressing in my sporran. I’ll be gentle with her.” He pulled the small flask of whisky from his pack. “Ye can tell me about the legend while I work.”

“I don’t want to tell you about it.” She bit the words out.

“It’s preferable to the painful sounds of healing. And yer voice will be comforting for Hera.” He pulled the stopper from the flask. Diana eyed it greedily.

Her da had mentioned he’d not fed her or given her water in a day. Perhaps his plan might work after all.

But first, Evander would see if he could convince her to join him. He didn’t care for the scheme, but then he’d never been one for deception.

He poured a splash of clear liquid onto his dirk and over Hera’s wound. She yelped in pain. Zeus leapt to standing and cast an anxious glance at Diana, whose face crumpled with sympathetic agony, as if it were she who felt the sting of the alcohol on the wound.

“It’s the cave,” she said abruptly. “The legend is with the cave.”

“Tell me about it.” Evander lowered his head closer to the wound. Everything in him flinched from the task at hand, but it had to be done or the wolf might die from infection. He needed the distraction of the story as much as Diana.

Evander could clearly see the shard of wood now. “Forgive me, Hera.” He spoke softly in Gaelic and ran a soothing hand over her thick fur once more.

“A king’s daughter was foretold to be so beautiful, wars would be fought over her,” Diana said. “Her father demanded she be taken somewhere no one would find her and tasked a young page to bring her here.”

Evander said a silent prayer and set to work removing the splinter.

Diana sucked in a hard breath and continued on. “When the princess was of age, her father came for her, but the page, now a man himself, had fallen in love with the princess. He refused to let her go.”

She spoke rapidly, her words frenzied with her worry.

“Speak slowly, and in a soft voice.” Evander glanced at Hera. The wolf stayed quiet through his ministrations, her liquid gaze fixed on her mistress. “She’s listening.”

Diana’s face melted with affection for her pet. “The page refused to allow the king to take the princess, so the king stole her. She didn’t want to be married to another, for she loved the page. She ran and returned to the cave where her lover remained. When the king discovered this, he followed her and killed the page. Rather than be taken to a marriage she did not want, away from the one she loved, she thrust a blade into her heart and fell upon him in death.”

Evander caught the shard between the point of his blade and his thumb and carefully began to draw it out. Hera gave a sharp whine and Diana collapsed on her knees at her wolf’s side, running her hands over the white and gray muzzle.

“The wall is forever stained with their blood,” she said in a tight voice.

Evander freed the stubborn chunk of wood and gave the wound another splash of alcohol. He did the same to his own hands and dirk to clean them.

“Take a deep breath,” he said softly to Diana. “And try to be calm when ye speak, aye? The worst of it is done.”

Diana nodded and drew in a long, steadying breath. When she continued, her voice was softer, more even. “It is said if two people touch the bloodstain together, they will love each other for all time. The kind of love shared by the princess and the page. But they must do so of their own free will.”

Evander finished wrapping the wounded paw. “Ye did fine, Hera.” He spoke in Gaelic to her once more and stroked her fur. She pulled her head from Diana’s caress and nuzzled Evander’s knee.

Diana watched the exchange, incredulous. “My wolves don’t like anyone.”

Evander’s attention lingered on the woman he’d vowed to marry, finally seeing her closely for the first time. Her eyes were a unique color, pale as the sky in the center and rimmed in a darker, deeper blue. Beautiful.

He grinned. “They like me.” A low growl came from the front of the cave where Zeus sat. “Well, one of yer wolves does.”

She stared up at him silently, as if she didn’t know what to make of him. Perhaps now was the best time as any to encourage her to come with him.

“Touch the wall with me, Diana,” he said in the same gentle voice he’d used with Hera. “And come to Scotland to marry me.”

Chapter Three