Highland Escape Read Free Page A

tent and some supplies. Do ye require aught else?”
    Dismounting, Anna pulled her bag from Orion’s back. “Boiling water and whisky if you can spare it.”
    “Fetch water from the burn and set it to boiling,” Duncan ordered one of the men tending the fire. He stared hard at her as if trying to assess the truthfulness of her answer. Anna stood fixed as his gaze penetrated her. After a few unnerving moments of forceful scrutiny, he strode toward the tent.
    Opening the flap, Duncan motioned for her to enter. As soon as she did, the stench of impending death struck her. Supplies sat on the ground between two pallets with injured men already on them; they appeared to be the worst of the injured. One man suffered a deep belly wound, the source of the acrid smell. The other bore a long slash down one leg.
    Anna spoke quietly to Duncan. “Sir, this man is not likely to survive. I will make a poultice to staunch his wound and give him poppy tea for the pain.”
    Duncan nodded as a man brought in a pot of steaming water and whispered to him while Anna went about her work.
    Finishing with the stomach injury, she turned to the leg wound. Using waxed silk thread and a rounded needle, she closed the extensive gash. She then applied a medicated salve to ward off infection and bound it. One after another, men were brought to her, each staring at her in surprise when they arrived for treatment.
    While she worked, she repeatedly caught sight of Duncan MacGregor from the corner of her eye. He watched her, his countenance brooding, angry. Though not an overly tall man, he possessed an imposing presence. He carried himself as a seasoned warrior, the scars visible on his arms also giving testament to his experience. He was a man used to having orders obeyed. When his men made eye contact, a nod gained their compliance. The MacGregors appeared highly trained and well disciplined. The slight number of their injured, compared to the number of their enemies now lying dead on the field, proved this fact.
    “May I ask why I am being detained, sir?” Anna asked without turning away from the injured man she tended.
    When Duncan did not respond, she glanced in his direction. He hadn’t moved. Still standing, legs apart, arms folded across his chest, he wore a grim, inscrutable mask. The heat of anger rose within and her hands clenched around her tools. Held for no perceivable reason, she now endured being ignored as if of no consequence. I should let them treat their own damned wounded. With an effort, she resisted the temptation to pack her bags and cease her hard work.
    The healer in her wouldn’t allow her to let these men suffer. Since MacGregor permitted her to see to his men, she knew they had no healer among them. The wounded played no part in their laird’s decision to hold his daughter’s rescuer against her will. As much as she wanted to retaliate for his treatment, her honor wouldn’t allow it. Her father always said a true man or woman of honor behaved such, whether it was expected or not, whether observed or not. Honor did not, however, prevent her from goading her captor.
    She waited to speak again until finished with the last man brought to her. “Is that all the wounded, sir?” She bit back the snarl she wanted to use to punctuate her question.
    Duncan nodded once.
    “Thank you for allowing me to treat your men. I applaud your efforts in stopping barbarians such as those from taking young women against their will.” The sarcasm in her voice apparently fell on deaf ears. Again, she inspired no visible response. The urge to challenge him with physical confrontation swelled, then faded. Even if she could get past him, a large group of men outside the tent would not hesitate to stop her.
    Surrounded by seasoned warriors, she saw no chance to escape. She would have to bide her time. After watching her dispatch their enemies, Anna knew they would not see her as a helpless female and would thus be on guard.
    Now finished treating