Page 28 of Deception of a Highlander

“The bastard probably tripped over his own damned feet, and Mariel took advantage of the situation as the smart lass she is.” The voice was smooth and rich, rife with underlying authority. Kieran. Her heart skipped with bittersweet elation.

He had saved her from certain death. The MacLeod had had her pinned down, her legs rendered useless beneath the weight of his body. The memory of his hands groping her sent a shudder of revulsion through her.

Kieran had arrived in a flash of chaos that blurred with soggy earth and spattered blood. And then he’d drawn her into his arms, and her world had slowed. Everything had pulsed with the warm glow of sensuality as they fell into a realm where time did not matter.

Jane.

Oh God, Jane had been killed by the MacLeods, run through with an arrow like a wild pig on a hunt. Mariel’s stomach lurched.

Colin’s voice outside drew her back to the present. “Before ye arrived, had they—”

“Nay, they dinna touch her. No’ that it’s any of yer business,” Kieran answered tightly.

“We still dinna know what Hampton meant by luring us to London,” Alec broke into the conversation.

“Ye dinna need to remind me of that,” Kieran said with a bitter tone to his voice. “I have thought of little else. We need to focus on how we are going to get home.”

Their voices dropped low, and their words became too difficult to decipher.

An underlying urgency laced their tones. They were restless to return home. How long would their patience hold as they waited for her? She did not care to find out.

Hampton. The name struck a familiar chord, but she could not remember why. Pain gripped her skull in its wicked grasp and kept memories from surfacing.

Mariel forced herself past the discomfort and blinked her eyes open once more. Whitewashed walls reflected the sun’s brilliant glare, and bundles of herbs hung from the low, wood-beamed ceiling above her head.

She was atop a hard, unyielding surface covered with a cloth—rough wool from the way it scratched against her body.

She froze. Where was her clothing? She clutched a thin blanket to her naked breasts and tried to turn to inspect her surroundings. A fierce burn ripped across her hip and sent stars dancing before her eyes.

A soothing voice broke through the pain. “Dinna sit up yet. I need to finish binding ye.”

A wrinkled face and soft brown eyes appeared above Mariel. The aging woman was anything but threatening.

Mariel obeyed the gentle command and lay back on the makeshift bed. The woman’s hands were warm and dry as she moved the blanket away from Mariel’s side. A neat row of about twenty or so small stitches followed the curve of Mariel’s hip. The injury was far more significant than she’d realized.

The old woman had saved her life.

The healer cradled an open jar in her withered hand and rubbed its greasy contents against Mariel’s freshly stitched wound. An acrid odor stung Mariel’s eyes and nostrils.

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being attacked again. No man would touch her with this foul odor on her flesh. The putrid balm warmed with a soothing heat along the tight ache of her stitches.

Perhaps the scent could be endured after all.

As if reading her thoughts, the woman gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, lass. The stuff stinks to high heaven, but it will help stave off fever.” She pulled a strip of linen from a small basket at her side. “Now we’ll get ye bound and dressed, and ye can be on yer way.”

With kind hands, she stretched the linen across Mariel’s waist and brought it around her back. Mariel jerked forward, fearful of what the woman might find and sick from the thought of someone seeing the price she’d paid for Jack’s protection.

The old healer paused, her fingers held aloft. “Ye need no’ worry about me. I ask no questions, and I tell no more than needs be told.”

Mariel gave a terse nod and tried to ignore the brush of linen against her back. She tried to keep from remembering the pain.

The kind voice broke through her concentrated silence. “I’m finished, lass. Ye only need to bind it while blood still seeps. After that, the wrapping isna necessary.”

The burning tension in Mariel’s muscles waned. The worst was over.

The healer helped her rise to a sitting position and motioned to a shapeless bundle on the table near a small bed. “It’s no’ much, but I have a dress ye can wear. I dinna want ye putting on that wicked corset again and dinna think ye can get yer dress on without it. No with that wound so freshly stitched, aye?”

“You are too kind—” Mariel began, but the woman held up a hand.