Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“How much further?” Catriona asked wearily as they trudged side by side along a deserted trackway across some open moorland. Despite having to practically jog to keep up with Malcolm’s long strides and the protection of her woolen cloak, she could not stop shivering.
“A mile I reckon,” Malcolm replied. “I left me horse hidden further down the road so I wouldnae draw attention.”
“A mile!” Catriona exclaimed, appalled, unsure she would make it before freezing to death. She rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to keep out the chill, and realized Malcolm was staring at her and frowning.
“Are ye cold?” he asked. Before she could answer, he took off his own cloak and offered it to her. “Put this on,” he said. “I dinnae want ye gettin’ a chill.”
Catriona was tempted to snatch it from him, she was so desperate for any hint of warmth. Yet she hesitated. Accepting the cloak seemed to her an admission of weakness she did not want him to see.
Pride won out. She shook her head. “Thank ye, but nay. I’m fine as I am.”
“Aye, I expected nay less from ye, Catriona,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching annoyingly.
“Stubborn as always.” Before she could stop him, he whirled it about her shoulders, “Nay arguments, lass,” he added, fastening it at her throat.
“I’ll deliver ye tae Duncan hale and hearty if ye dinnae mind, tae avoid any trouble. Come along.”
The thickly lined cloak warmed her as Malcolm led her slowly yet steadily across country, taking hidden trackways, sticking to the trees for cover when they could.
From time to time, Catriona glanced back and was thankful to see no one was following them.
At the same time, she knew that Sinclair soldiers could appear at any moment.
The thought pushed her onward, and she had no one else to trust but Malcolm.
After a while, the weather grew blustery, and gray clouds gathered overhead.
“Smells like rain,” Malcolm observed, sniffing the air and surveying the sky.
His brow darkened. “I reckon there’s a storm about tae break.
We’re nae far from where I left me horse.
There’s a shepherd’s hut there. I dinnae think we’ll make it back tae me keep if the storm breaks, but at least we can take shelter there fer the rest of night. ”
Catriona nodded, freezing and exhausted. They trudged onwards, the rising wind whipping at their clothing, the sky darkening ominously above them.
“There’s the hut,” he said, jutting his chin at a low, dark shadow. As they approached, lightening suddenly crackled across the sky, and she saw a wood shingled roof set back from the track behind some trees. Then, and a mighty clap of thunder shook the very ground beneath their feet.
“Christ, this is all I need!” Malcolm grumbled loudly.
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her with him as he ran for the door of the hut.
He kicked the door open and shoved Catriona inside.
“Stay here. I’m gonna check on me horse.
I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her before slamming the ill-fitting door behind him.
Catriona stood shivering, listening to his heavy footsteps going around the back of the flimsy structure, until the sound was blasted away by another crack of lightening and roar of thunder.
She looked about the single, low-ceilinged room apprehensively.
The hut had obviously been abandoned for quite some time.
She took in the dirt floor, the small, blackened hearth, the cobwebs, and shivered some more. There was no window, but a little light from the lightening leaked in through the rickety wooden walls.
Just be thankful fer some shelter, she told herself sternly, pushing down the sudden desire for Malcolm to hurry back.
When he reappeared a few minutes later, vexing as it was, she could not deny her relief.
He was carrying a saddlebag, a lantern and a rolled blanket slung over his shoulder, which he placed neatly on the floor.
“’Tis comin’ down in buckets out there,” he said, straightening up, his hair, face, and shoulders wet with rain.
He reached up and ran his fingers through his thick, dark curls, pushing the wet strands off his face.
The movement only served to emphasize the rugged beauty of his features and show off his brawny arms and broad shoulders.
He occupied himself with lighting the lantern.
Catriona suddenly found herself staring up at him, mesmerized by the drops of water running down his face, feeling a strange warmth stirring inside her that was quite alarming.
Lord, he’s braw, she thought, shocked to realize the depth of attraction he held for her.
He had always been popular with the local girls for his looks and, she supposed a little grudgingly, his charm.
But the passing years and all the battles he had fought had honed his once boyish good looks and already powerful physique into something harder and much more dangerous. And more... desirable.
Malcolm’s voice jerked her out of her trance. Trying to push away the disturbing thoughts, she cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his eyes.
“The horse is all right,” he said, thankfully, not seeming to notice her discomfort. He brushed more water from the shoulders of his leather jerkin.
Catriona nodded and let down her hood, watching with chattering teeth while he fiddled with the door, trying to get the warped wood to close properly. The latch was rusty too, and as he resorted to brute force to get the thing to work, he suddenly inhaled sharply and jerked his hand away.
“Dammit.”
“What is it?” she asked, coming closer to see.
“Ach, ’tis naethin’. I caught me hand on the latch and cut it, ’tis all,” he replied with a dismissive gesture.
“Why, ye’re bleedin’,” Catriona said, seeing the crimson droplets falling to the ground. Her caring nature kicked in. Reaching for his hand, she said, “Let me see.”
He scoffed and retracted the injured hand. “What fer? I told ye, ’tis naught but a wee gash. Dinnae fash.”
She fixed him with a stern look, her hand extended. “Let me see,” she repeated in her firmest voice. “That latch is rusty. Ye could end up with an infection if the wound isnae cleaned properly.”
He sighed. “All right, if ye must.” He surrendered the hand for her inspection, unfurling the palm so she could see the gash. It spanned his palm and was welling with blood.
When Catriona took the large, calloused hand in hers, she at once felt a strange shock run up her arm and into her chest. Fortunately for her, a huge crash of thunder masked her jerked response, though she almost dropped his hand.
Composing herself, bent her head over the wound, examining it carefully in the dim light. All the while, she felt Malcolm’s eyes upon her, watching her every move. It made her feel very uncomfortable.
“’Tis deep,” she said in her professional voice, “but ’tis bleedin’ freely. That’s good, because it means the blood will wash out most of the dirt.”
“Grand. Nay need tae make a fuss then,” he said gruffly, starting to pull his hand away.
She held onto it firmly until he relented and let her keep hold of it.
“It may seem small, but it would be very foolish tae ignore it. It needs tendin’ tae at once,” she said, extracting a clean headkerchief from the pocket of her dress and pressing it to the wound to staunch the bleeding. The fabric quickly turned red.
“I’ll see tae it,” Catriona said, grimacing at the sight.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Thank ye. The storm will slow Sinclair’s men down for a few hours, so we have a little time tae spare.
But they’re nae gonna give up lookin’ fer ye.
As soon as the bad weather clears, we must be on our way again. I’ll take nay risks with yer safety.”
“Aye, of course,” Catriona murmured, her attention on treating the wound. After a few moments, she added, “The gash isnae long, but it goes deeper than ye think, and there’s dirt around the edges. It needs cleanin’ right away.”
“I keep a supply of clean cloths and some salve in me saddlebag for small injuries. Ye can use them. And there’s water in the canteen,” Malcolm said.
Glad to have something to take her mind off the unwelcome effects of his proximity as well as the cold, she quickly fetched the items from the bag. “Ye might as well sit down while I dae this,” she told him, gesturing at a wooden bench set near the hearth.
She expected more protests and felt an odd twist of satisfaction inside her when he did as she suggested without complaining.
At least he’s takin’ me seriously, she thought, standing close in front of him, holding his hand out over the dirt floor to wash away the blood and irrigate the wound with water from the canteen.
“Stop me if I hurt ye,” she told him, expertly rolling a corner of the cloth to a soft point, trying to ignore the weight of his hand and the heat that was already penetrating her clothing. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
He gave a soft scoff, and the small, smug smile of old appeared on his lips. “Wheesht, lass, I’ve fought a lot of battles and had a lot worse than this. ’Tis a gnat’s bite.”
“Then ye should ken that it daesnae signify how big and strong ye are, a gnat’s bite can kill ye if infection sets in,” she replied tartly.
Talk ceased between them while she thoroughly cleaned the wound, the only sounds the pelting rain on the roof and the tumult of the storm raging outside. As she worked, she felt some of the tension go out of Malcolm. He lounged back against the wall, his broad shoulders relaxing.
Catriona tried to focus on what she was doing, but the heat emanating from him was distracting. Her back was cold, but her front, so near to him, was burning. It was a relief when he broke the silence.
“Ye’re skilled at this, eh?” he murmured, the impatient edge gone from his voice.