Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

side, grunting in pain.
    “It serves you right!”
    He ought to be as mortified as she was! “I’m fine,” he said, rolling back toward her, holding his arm, nursing it, and looking sheepishly up at her.
    “More’s the pity!” How dare he look so beset when she had every right to chastise him!
    “It’s just that… I saw you were gone,” he explained, wincing as he tried to rise.
    “Am I a prisoner in that hovel? Can I not leave to attend to my own affairs when I must?”
    He merely looked at her, blinking, but didn’t reply.
    “Well?” she persisted, vexed with herself for noticing, once more, the color of his eyes—the deepest blue she’d ever spied. “Am I your prisoner?” she demanded to know.
    “Nay,” he replied somewhat grudgingly, holding her gaze. Some strange light glittered there in the depths of his eyes. Admiration, mayhap? “I merely worried, lass.”
    “Aye, well, I have been taking care of myself since the day I was born,” she informed him baldly. “I can certainly handle myself as long as it takes to—”
    He grinned suddenly. “Piss?”
    Elizabet’s face heated. He didn’t have to put it quite so crudely. “Let me see your arm!” she demanded, changing the subject.
    He offered it to her without question, though smiling still. His mistake.
    “Ouch!” he said when she seized it.
    She didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him!
    And she didn’t know how to remove his garment either. She wanted to be certain he hadn’t hurt himself. “Take off your… dress,” she commanded.
    He shrugged away from her. “Och, it’s not a dress, lass and I’m fine.”
    “Of course you are, because you’re a man and you’re invincible,” Elizabet argued. “Now, take it off, please.”
    When he didn’t comply quickly enough, she took matters into her own hands, tugging at the garment to loosen it. Upon closer inspection, it was almost as though he’d just rolled himself up in one big piece of woolen cloth, and she grew frustrated at once. Surely there had to be some way to remove only the top portion of his clothing. “Haven’t you people ever heard of needle and thread?”
    He gave her a beleaguered look and once more tried to shrug free of her. “I dinna wish ye to take it off. We people dinna run about showing our arses to strange lasses.”
    Elizabet’s cheeks warmed. “We are no longer quite strangers after last night,” she reminded him.
    “I beg to differ,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve never met any woman stranger than you. One minute you like me, trust me, the next you loathe me and want to break my arm!”
    Elizabet’s brows collided. “I never said I trusted you.”
    “Nay,” he agreed. “Ye didn’t.” And he returned her wounded glance.
    “I only wanted to be sure you weren’t injured.”
    He stared at her. And then suddenly his lips curved into a slow grin. “Verra well, then…” He stood with purpose, watching her intently, the muscles in his arms tensing. With merely a few tugs in the right places, the folds of cloth fell away, exposing him completely.
    For an instant, Elizabet merely stood, eyes wide.
    Good Christ, every part of him was large.
    His shoulders were massive and beautifully carved—like some majestic Roman statue. His chest seemed as solid as stone. His hips were lean and his legs so muscular that she could only stare in awe. Thin white scars covered his body—the most prominent a diagonal line across his breast. He was a man made for war, there was no doubt.
    Her gaze fell to his male parts, conspicuous as they were.
    Gasping softly at her own brazenness, she spun about, impatiently waving a hand, her face as hot as Hades must be. “You’re fine! You can get dressed now!”
    He chuckled at her back. “But you haven’t even looked at my arm yet,” he protested.
    God’s truth, she had looked at more than enough!
    She could hear the note of amusement in his voice, and she hardly appreciated it. “I’ll look at it