Page 12 of His Secret Highland Bride

For a moment, he froze with memories of another lass, injured and broken with blood still wet in her shiny black hair. But Lindsay’s eyes were closed, not staring up at him blankly. Her body was warm, not still and cold in death.

With a curse, he lifted her from the ground and carried her inside, setting her on his bed. Another whimper escaped when he shifted her, but her eyes didn’t open. As much as her sounds of pain worried him, they were better than no sound at all.

“Lindsay? Can ye hear me, lass?”

She didn’t answer. She needed a healer. He knew where to find one. But doing so would expose him. He would have to swear her to silence. Lindsay’s care was more important than his secrets.

He looked down at the woman in his bed and didn’t need even a full breath to decide there was no other choice. His aunt would help, and he’d deal with whatever happened after Lindsay was safe.

…

After making sure Lindsay was settled, he left his home and slinked through the woods to the other side of the village. He came around to the back of Bess’s cottage, which sat up on the hill closest to the castle. Looking in her window, he saw her in her bed, where any person should be this time of night.

He knocked and then knocked louder when she didn’t stir. She grumbled as she headed toward the door. He left his place at the window to be at the door when she opened it. She was no stranger to being pulled from her bed, as many people took a turn for the worse over the night hours.

“What’s wrong? Who’s ill? How long—” She stopped her usual litany of questions to stare at him. Putting two fingers together, she poked him in the shoulder as if to confirm he wasn’t a specter.

“Shane,” she whispered a moment before she clenched him in a fierce hug.

“Ye still have more strength than an old woman should,” he said.

“And ye’re still ill-mannered to speak of a woman’s age. Ye wee brat.”

“I may be a brat, but I’m your favorite brat, aren’t I, Auntie Bess?” He forced his best smile.

She smacked at him and gestured for him to come in. But now that she was awake and knew he was real, he needed to get her moving toward his cottage and Lindsay so his aunt could help the woman he’d left in his bed.

He knew well that the smallest injuries on the outside could sometimes be the result of mortal wounds inside one’s body. He’d thought she suffered a few broken ribs, which could lead to death.

“I canna come in. I need ye to come with me. Someone needs your help.”

With a nod, she donned a cloak and pulled on her shoes. He had picked up her basket of medicines she always kept by the door, ready to tend to someone at a moment’s notice. They fell into silence until they got to the lane that split, one path leading to the castle. As he turned for the one that went to Ronan’s cottage, she stopped and peered up at him with green eyes much like his own.

“We’re not going up to the castle?”

“Nay.” He shook his head once and then looked away. “I’m not staying there. We should hurry.”

In the cottage, he found Tre up on the bed, huddled next to Lindsay as if using her tiny body to warm the woman. He patted the little dog on the head as she jumped down. He lit a lamp and brought it to the stand next to the bed so Aunt Bess could see her patient more clearly.

“Who is this?”

“Lindsay. She’s staying with her Uncle Randall to tend to her cousins after her aunt died.” Shane didn’t want to give her last name of Cameron. He didn’t think his aunt would care, but the Camerons and the MacPhersons spent much time raiding each other’s lands. It was not an easy name to have in these parts, though at least she wasn’t a MacColl. No manner of beauty would wash that name clean.

“Bless her soul for spending any time with that worthless heap and his demon lads.” Bess frowned. “What’s happened to her?”

“I can’t say. I found her outside like this. She hasn’t woken or said anything. She did cry a bit when I picked her up.”

“Very well. Let me see to her. Ye can wait outside.”

For whatever reason, the idea of leaving Lindsay alone even in the care of his aunt brought a twist to his gut. He’d left Maria, and she’d died alone. He wouldn’t leave Lindsay to the same fate.

“Nay. I’ll stay here.” He stood straighter, prepared for a fight he’d see to winning, but his aunt only smiled.

“Ah. It’s like that, is it?”

He let out a breath and shook his head. “Can ye heal her instead of jumping to conclusions?” He’d forgotten how much the woman could hear things that weren’t spoken. “I think folk might be right when they call ye a witch,” he said with a smirk.

“She’s lovely,” his aunt said, ignoring him, and then frowned. “But she’s taken quite a beating.”