Page 51 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

Taran grabbed an edge of the linen sheet they sat on and tore a long strip free. Huntly appeared at his side and placed a basin of water on the nightstand beside the bed. Taran gave a curt nod of thanks and dipped the fabric in the water.

“Light the candle,” he said. “And that lamp.” He nodded towards the lamp sitting on the secretary.

The young man picked up the candle sitting on the nightstand and hurried to the hearth.

“Your leg, my lord,” Caroline said.

“My leg will heal,” he said through tight lips. “It is but a flesh wound.”

“Flesh wound? But I saw you fall.”

He swung his gaze onto her. “Did you now?”

“I thought—”

“You thought what?”

“I thought you were dead.”

The words spoken in a bare whisper tore a harsh laugh from him. He wrung out the wet strip of linen and gently wiped blood from around the wound. “Then we are even. I have yet to get the picture from my head of you leaping from my balcony.”

“Never fear, my lord, I shall live long enough to provide an heir.”

He glanced up at her face. Her chin was high, her eyes glittering with indignation. He snorted. “If you keep testing me, I will—”

“You will what?”

“Paddle your lovely backside, then keep you under lock and key.”

Her chin rose higher. “Shackled and chained?”

He held her gaze. “At least until I have my required heir.” And you understand I will not live without you. “Huntly,” he said, but the younger man was already at his side, holding the candle and decanter of brandy Taran had intended on asking him to bring from the sideboard.

Huntly sat the candle on the table and Taran took the brandy, his gaze catching on his sister standing near the corner of the bed, eyes wide.

“Taran—”

“Not now, Fiona.” He took the top off the decanter. “She is yours, Huntly. I will see to it that her dowry is forwarded to your solicitor. Do with her what you will.”

The young man paused near the secretary. “Now see here, Blackhall, she is not fully to blame. You did threaten to kill me. You cannot expect a wife to lose her husband the very day she marries him.”

“And this but my second day of wedded bliss,” Taran replied.

Huntly stiffened. “I will meet you on the dueling field at your convenience.”

Taran set the decanter on the nightstand and wrung out the rag. “That is what started

this.”

“A circumstance which is no one’s fault but your own,” Caroline said.

He shifted his attention back to her. “I do not think—”

“No, you did not think.”

“I will remind you, madam, you nearly got yourself killed.”

She gave a short laugh. “Fine talk from a man engaged in a duel.”