Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two by Emma Prince

patient’s life.
    “Use the material
of his breeches,” Garrick said, then turned to Burke. “We should have changed
earlier outside of Dunbraes anyway. It would have been…entertaining to see
Warren’s face as he recognized the Sinclair plaid.”
    This brought a
chuckle from Burke and a wry smile from Garrick. At first Jossalyn let the
words pass over her head, assuming that it was some inside joke meant to lighten
Burke’s spirits. But something tickled her mind, and as the gears ground
together, Jossalyn’s mouth fell open.
    “Are you
saying…How do you know my brother? And what do you mean by ‘Sinclair plaid’?”
    Garrick sobered
and gave her a long look, but then started to turn away. “You’ll see soon
enough about the plaid, lass. And as for your brother, we can discuss that
later.” He reached first into Burke’s saddlebag and pulled a bundle of cloth
from it, then strode to his horse and withdrew a similar-looking dark fabric
from his own bag.
    Burke, standing
with all his weight on his left leg, began undoing the ties to his breeches. Jossalyn
spun on her heels, not wanting to see these men disrobe in front of her. Several
minutes elapsed, and she felt a blush creep up her neck as she thought about
the fact that Garrick might be naked behind her.
    “It’s all right
now, lass.”
    She jumped at
Garrick’s voice. He was standing right behind her. As she turned, she was met
with the staggering sight that confirmed what she had suspected. Both men were
now dressed in kilts. The fabric was the same dark shade of red as the blood on
their clothes had appeared in the moonlight.
    She shivered
unconsciously and took a step back. These weren’t English-sympathizing
Lowlanders. These men were Highlanders. Suddenly all the pieces fit into
place—Garrick’s abruptly thickening accent, the enormous swords both men had
wielded back at Dunbraes, and now these kilts.
    She had met many
Scotsmen over the years living in the Borderlands, but they were almost all
Lowlanders who were sympathetic enough to the English to at least do business
with them.
    From what she had
always been told by her brother, though, Highlanders were a different sort. He
had always said that Highlanders were proud, stubborn, and hell-bent on not
being controlled. He had called them barbarians, savages, and animals. She
could recognize the vehemence and hatred in her brother’s voice whenever he
spoke of Highlanders, and she normally didn’t trust his word or opinion, but
without any other information to go off of, she had always been apprehensive
when it came to the people who lived in the far north of Scotland. And now she
found herself alone in the middle of the wilderness with two Highland warriors.
    Her face must have
clearly shown her unease, for Garrick gave her a wolfish grin that held no
mirth, only a raw warning.
    She broke their
stare, unnerved and unsure of herself. She still needed to see to Burke’s leg
as best as she could given the circumstances, so she skirted Garrick’s large
form and walked toward Burke. When she reached him, he handed her a few strips
of what used to be his breeches. Taking them, she knelt next to his right leg
once more and, after he shifted his kilt out of the way, wrapped the bandages
tightly around the wound. He winced and let a few muffled curses slip, but
didn’t complain. When she was done, she turned and found Garrick watching her
closely.
    “I should tend to
your back as well,” she said carefully.
    “I’ll be fine. We
need to keep moving.”
    As if his words
concluded the discussion, he went to Burke’s side and helped him into his
saddle, then turned to his own horse. Unsure of what to do, Jossalyn simply
stood there. She certainly didn’t want to be left in the middle of the woods,
hours of riding away from anything, but she also couldn’t just go north with
these men—these Highland killers—willingly.
    Apparently reading
the war on her face, Garrick reined his horse around so