Highland Master Read Free Page A

forehead with leaves, dirt, and hair stuck in it. You will have a fine scar to brag about.”
    “I don’t brag.”
    “All men brag,” she said, the note of humor strong again. “Most women do, too, come to that. But men brag like bairns, often and with great exaggeration.”
    “I don’t.” It seemed important that she should know that.
    “Very well, you don’t. You are unique amongst men. Now, hold still. Recall that Boreas will object to any sudden movement.”
    He braced himself. He was not afraid of the dog, but he hated pain. And he had already borne more than his share of it.

    Catriona saw him stiffen and easily deduced the reason. All men, in her experience, disliked pain. Certainly, her father and two brothers did, although they were all fine, brave warriors. The excellent specimen of manhood before her looked as if he could hold his own against any one of them.
    When he’d turned over, it had taken all of her willpower not to exclaim at his blood-streaked face. She reminded herself that head wounds always bled freely, and noted thankfully that all the blood seemed to come from the gash in his forehead.
    In cleaning his face before she put the cloth over his eyes, she had decided that, besides being well formed, he was handsome in a rugged way. His deep-set eyes were especially fine, their light gray irises surprising in a darkly tanned face. His thick, black lashes were less surprising. For a reason known only to God, men always seemed to grow darker, thicker lashes than women did.
    “Have you enemies hereabouts?” she asked as she gently plucked hair and forest detritus from his wound.
    Instead of answering directly, he said, “I have not passed this way before. Are your people unfriendly to strangers?”
    Having ripped two pieces from her red flannel underskirt to soak in the burn, she’d used one to cover his eyes, hoping it would soothe him and keep him from staring at her as she cleansed his wound. The latter hope was notfor his sake but for hers. Aware that she would be hurting him, she knew she would do a better job if she need not keep seeing the pain in his eyes each time she touched his wound.
    Now, however, she plucked the cloth from his eyes, waited until he opened them and focused on her, and then raised her eyebrows and said, “
My
people?”
    To her surprise, he smiled, just slightly. But it was enough to tell her that he had a nice smile and that her tone had tickled his sense of humor.
    “Do you dare to laugh at me?” she demanded.
    “Nay, lass, I would not laugh at such a kind benefactress. I am still wondering if your people are human or otherwise. Sithee, although you disclaim being a wood sprite, I
have
heard tales of wee folk in this area.”
    “I am human,” she said. “Lie still now. Your wound is trying to clot, but I must rinse these cloths, and if you move too much, you’ll start leaking again.”
    “Tell me first who your people are,” he said as she stood. His voice was stronger, and his words came as a command from a man accustomed to obedience.
    Catriona eyed him speculatively. “Do you not know
where
you are?”
    “I am in Clan Chattan territory, in Strathspey, I think. But Clan Chattan boasts vast lands and numerous clans within it—six, I think, at last count.”
    “All controlled by one man,” she said.
    “The Mackintosh is chief of the whole confederation, aye,” he said, almost nodding. She saw him remember her warning about that and catch himself.
    Satisfied, she said, “That’s right, although we call him our captain, to show that he is more powerful thanother clan chiefs in our confederation.” Moving swiftly back to the burn, she knelt and rinsed the bloody cloth in the churning, icy water. Then she dipped the other one, wrung them both out, and returned to him.
    As she approached, she saw Boreas go into some bushes a short way beyond the man’s head, sniffing the air. The dog pushed its snout into low, dense shrubbery, plucked an arrow from