Page 11 of Highland Storm

Dropping to his knees at the edge of the water, Hawke moaned as he splashed cold water on his face. When he looked down, he saw his reflection in the ripples and the water was red from his blood. He fell back to a sitting position, holding his hand over the gash, letting out a deep breath, closing his eyes. Thankfully, the leather covering his shoulder and arm that he wore under his tunic for the bird to perch on had helped to slow down the bleeding.

“Let me have a look at that,” came a soft voice from next to him.

He opened his eyes to see the MacNab girl staring at his shoulder. Using one hand and his teeth, Hawke pulled at his leine, ripping the cloth from his body. He then handed it to her, leaving him bare-chested “Here,” he told her. “Rip this into strips and wrap it around my wound to stop the bleedin’.”

“Nay,” she said, getting up and walking over to the horse.

“Dinna give me trouble,” he warned her without turning around. “I might have to call for Apollo to come after ye again, and it could be deadly.” His bird had never killed a human, only small game and fowl, but she didn’t need to know that. Apollo was able to claw at a man and cause considerable damage.

“Ye dinna have to threaten me. I’m only gettin’ my herbs for yer wound. If ye dinna cleanse and treat it properly, ye might die.”

“I’m surprised that ye almost sound as if ye care.”

There was a moment of silence, the sound of the rushing water the only noise between them. Sun beat down upon Hawke’s head and tall grass swayed in the summer breeze. The smell of wildflowers filled his senses. This all might have seemed peaceful if it were in a different situation.

“I am a healer, MacKeefe,” came the girl’s words as she approached him. “It is no’ in my nature to walk away from one in need.”

“Hawke,” he told her.

She settled her things next to him and looked back at the bird on the horse. “Aye. It’s a red tailed hawk, if I’m no’ mistaken.”

“Nay. Me. My name is Hawke.”

“Oh.” She wet a cloth in the stream and cleansed his wound. He winced at the sting of the cold water biting at his severed flesh as she dabbed at his wound. “I am Phoebe MacNab,” she told him.

“I ken.”

Her hand stilled as if she were being cautious. “Ye do?”

“I heard yer clansmen call ye Phoebe,” he said, looking up at her from the corners of his eyes as she worked.

“I see.”

For some reason, when Phoebe heard her name on the MacKeefe’s tongue, it sent a shiver up her spine. Hawke was a dangerous man. She knew that by seeing the way he fought. If he weren’t wounded right now, she might be frightened of being so close to him. But he was vulnerable in this situation and had also lost a lot of blood. She would use this to her advantage.

Phoebe continued to tend to his wound, not liking the fact she was helping the enemy, but still, she couldn’t just let the man die. She was angrier right now with Euan and Lennox for leaving her behind. Hopefully, her father would punish them severely when he found out. But in her father’s condition, she wasn’t sure he could make a decision, lead an army, or even get out of bed right now.

“The wound looks deep and needs stitchin’,” she told him. “I canna tell how much damage has been done because there is too much bluid. However, this leather ye wear beneath yer leine stopped the blade from hittin’ a bone or damagin’ a muscle as far as I can tell. However, I’m goin’ to have to remove it.”

“Just wrap the wound and I’ll have the healer tend to it when we get to Hermitage Castle,” he instructed.

“No need to wait. Ye might bleed to death by then. I have a needle and thread in my travel bag.” She made her way back to the horse, pausing when she noticed the hawk’s eyes flash toward her. But then the hawk lifted its head and flew up into the sky to chase a bird. She could have taken that moment to hop on the horse and try to escape, but something inside wouldn’t let her go. This man needed her help. Being a healer, she couldn’t turn her back on him even if he was her enemy.

“Why did yer people attack me? Twice?” asked Hawke as Phoebe removed the leather from his body. Then she wet the end of the thread between her lips and pushed the thread through the eye of the needle.

“I dinna ken. I urged them no’ to, but Euan is reckless.”

“Reckless,” he repeated, making a face and shaking his head as if the word meant something to him. “Four of my men died for naught today. And now I have to go back to the clan and tell their families the bad news.”

“What about the four men who died from my clan?” she asked him, sticking the needle through his skin. He winced and clenched his jaw.

“They attacked me. I was only defendin’ myself,” he told her, reaching for something in his sporran.

“What are ye doin’?” she asked.

“I need somethin’ for the pain.”

“That’s what the herbs are for,” she told him. “I’ll apply them once the wound is closed.”