Page 8 of Darach

Without any embarrassment Charlotte glanced down, turning this way and that as she lifted the hem of the shift to press one hand against her sides.

“He kept kicking me after I fell in the alley. I thought my ribs were broken, but I think I’m okay. I’ve simply got some bad bruises.” She met his gaze. “I don’t think I have to go to the hospital tonight.”

Now he realized mottled dark splotches, not shadows, covered both sides of her torso, attesting to the savagery of the attack she had endured. Outrage roiled inside him as he imagined the sort of spineless fack who would do such to a helpless woman already on the ground. At the same time he wanted to touch her so much he had to put more space between them before he made an arse of himself.

“I’d find the bastart responsible if I could,” he told her. “Aye, and make him wish he’d never been born.”

“You don’t want to go anywhere near that maniac, Chieftain.” She met his gaze, her own filled with fear again. “He killed the policemen who were guarding me, and my best friend, and six other women in Moss Park. It’s possible he murdered over a hundred more people in other provinces.” Her chin wobbled for a moment. “I don’t think anyone can stop him.”

“He shallnae touch you again, lass.” Without thinking he took a step toward her as she moved to him, and then she was in his arms, as naturally as if they’d been embracing for years. The fiery desire became a fierce protectiveness; anyone who wished to harm her would have to first go through him. “You’ve my word on that.”

Charlotte nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest before she stepped back, clearly befuddled. “I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”

“You’ve survived a wretched ordeal.” He couldn’t help admiring her tall, willowy body for another moment before he realized he was staring at her again. Quickly he placed the tunic and tartan into her hands before he turned his back on her. “I shall leave you to dress.”

“Please, don’t go.” She touched his arm. “I think you should change out of your wet clothes, too. I won’t watch you.”

Her directness swamped him with embarrassment. “I meant no disrespect, looking upon you before thus. You’re so unusual and lovely I couldnae help… ’Twillnae happen again, my lady.”

“If that’s disrespectful, then we’re even,” she said as she rubbed her arms and legs with the linen. “I did it first at the spring. You’re a very attractive man.”

Darach wondered if the attack she had suffered had affected her mind as well as her body. She behaved as no woman who had ever looked upon him had, openly gazing at his face and touching him, as if she couldn’t see his ugliness. When her senses fully returned no doubt she would see him clearly; for now he would enjoy being treated like any other man.

He went to change his clothes, keeping his back to her. Once he had dressed he went to his wash basin, filling it with clean water and retrieving some clean linen before he returned to her. She had released her hair from the braid, and rubbed the long damp length of it with the linen. In the firelight he could see it was very thick but fine, and hung down to her elbows like long tassels of white-gold silk. Seeing such pretty hair framing her blood-streaked face made his gut knot. Any of the MacRoss would fight for the honor of protecting such a rare beauty.

Only a madman could have wished to beat her to death.

“If you’ll sit, I shall bathe your face, and clean the wounds,” Darach said.

Charlotte went over to the bed rather than the chair by the hearth, and pulled her hair back from her face as she perched on the edge.

Gently washing her brow, eyelid and cheek made endless sledges of rage hammer through him. The bruise darkening around the cut on her cheek made it plain that she had been struck there by the man’s fist, and his ring had sliced through her fragile skin. The coward who had attacked her must have counted on her being too afraid to fight back. He almost wished Charlotte had impaled the worthless fack with the Fire sword before coming to his time, but at least she had survived.

Once he had cleaned the cuts, however, he could see they were not as grievous as he’d first assumed. Within a few days he reckoned she would heal.

“Will I need stitches?” she asked.

“No, but we’ll keep close watch over your wounds. I’ve some salve I use to keep mine from festering. ’Twill burn a wee bit, but quicken the healing, and prevent scars from forming.” When she nodded he fetched the pot and dabbed it on her cuts, wincing with her as he did. “For the night I should bandage your brow, for that may bleed again as you turn in your sleep.”

As he was winding a strip of linen around her head Charlotte never looked away from his face. “You’re afraid to tell me where I am, and how I got here, aren’t you?”

“’Tisnae so much fear as my wish to spare you more anguish,” Darach admitted.

“I’m better now, and I’d rather know the truth.” She blew out a breath. “You said I’m in Scotland. You weren’t joking about that, were you? I’m really not in Canada anymore?”

“Aye, lass. You’ve come to the highlands in the north of Scotland.” He heard a knock on the door, and Charlotte went rigid. “’Tis only Luthias. He’s my eldest brother, and the laird of our clan. You heard me ask the men to summon him.”

As he stood she grabbed his hand so tightly her nails scored his skin.

“How do you know that’s him?” she said, looking aghast. “It could be the killer. He could have followed me here. He’s been stalking me for weeks.”

“Only you came to us, lass. I swear that bastart couldnae pursue you here without the sword.” He clasped her hand between his palms. “Trust what I say, Charlotte. I cannae lie to you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then released him. “All right.”

Darach went to open the door, and quickly murmured to the laird, “She dropped into my bathing spring with the Fire sword in hand. She’s been attacked and beaten by some savage fack in her time just before it brought her to us, and she’s yet terrified. I’ve told her only that she’s in Scotland. Ask her leave before you approach her.”

Luthias nodded, and stayed where he was as he looked past Darach at Charlotte. “My lady, I’m Luthias, laird of the MacRoss Clan. Might I come in and speak with you about what’s happened?”