Highland Healer Read Free

Her face was fair, with smooth skin and full lips. Toran wondered why she alone attended him, why there were no guards in the tent, and why he was restrained so lightly by leather cords instead of chains. In time, he could weaken and break bonds such as these. Did they think him so enfeebled by battle wounds that a mere lass could hold him? He didn’t ken whether to be insulted or embarrassed. But the question remained. What had happened to him and why didn’t he remember? Why was he here and not dead on the battlefield?
    He needed to get a look outside. If he could move quietly enough so as not to wake the lass, he could peer out the tent flap. His boots were lashed together with enough slack between them to hobble him, but not to prevent him from walking in some limited fashion. He considered trying to remove them, but the bindings around his ankles were too tight, and even if he got the boots off, he didn’t want to lose them. He wouldn’t get far on bare feet, so he’d have to find a way to cut the cord between them. First things first. He started to stand, teeth clenched against the throbbing pain that movement caused. But the table creaked as he gained his feet. The lass stirred, then blinked, and with dismay plain on her face, noted his position, half on, half off the table.
    “Oh! You shouldn’t be awake,” she said, smoothing her dress as she stood and moving quickly to the tent’s entry flap and peering out. Did she mean to leave or call the guards? He didn’t want her to do either.
    “Wait,” he said, wincing. “I won’t hurt ye. I want to look outside.” He hoped his warning would allay any fears she might have. He kept his gaze on the entry as he stood the rest of the way up and hobbled carefully forward. He didn’t want to seem threatening by staring at her, though she was worth gazing upon. As he approached, she stepped back. He pulled the flap a finger’s width aside and peered out. Aye, he was held in the invader’s camp, and things had not gone well for the MacAnalens. Judging by the few wearing MacAnalen colors that he could see, they, too, were bound in leathers, and talking to others beyond Toran’s line of sight. And those were the guards, he supposed, facing this tent, sitting by a small fire. He could see plenty of men around similar fires within view. Too many. And a few more practicing at arms. Even a brief glance was enough to show him that he’d not walk out of here easily on his own. He hoped that a lot of MacAnalens survived. The more there were, the better the distraction whenever his own men arrived to free him, and the better all their odds of getting away.
    He sighed and turned back to the lass, who stood quietly by as he peered out of the tent. As he faced her, she backed up a step, but only one. It puzzled him that being left alone with a strange man seemed to cause her so little concern for her own safety. She was no match for him, even with him injured, bound, and weaponless, but she neither called for help, nor tried to escape the confines of the tent. Instead, he saw with pleasure, she stood tall and proud.
    If she was meant as a serving wench for an important prisoner, he might yet enjoy this captivity.
    “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, you should not be on your feet,” she said as she pulled him away from the entry toward the table. He nearly stumbled in the fetters, but her grip held firm, and he stayed upright. At the table, she urged him gently to sit, and then more forcefully said, “Lie down . ” He moved to obey before he could consider objecting. Her voice held a tone of command that he found he could not ignore. He lay back, puzzled. As he did, the pounding in his temples reached a new crescendo, preventing rational thought. He tried to stifle the groan, but it escaped. “Damn,” he growled, lifting his bound wrists to his throbbing forhead.
    “Ah, your head,” she said, moving to the top of the table and leaning over him to push his arms