MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter by Suzan Tisdale Page A

And as long as they behaved as a good brother might, then perhaps she would be able to suffer through the embarrassment.
     
    ******
     
    Thankfully, the men had allowed her to keep her tunic on while she lay face down on the plaid.   Manghus had brought water to clean her wounds with and apologized repeatedly for it being so cold.   The tunic was so big that Duncan had no troubles pushing it up towards her neck so that he could get to the bandages.  
    Although the cuts were healing nicely, her back was a ghastly sight.   A dark bruise, looking very much like the bottom of a man’s boot, could be seen quite clearly just under her left shoulder blade.   There were five deep cuts across her back, left by a man’s belt.   Not just any man’s belt; these were left behind by the same bastard who had killed his family.   If the man had not already been dead, Duncan would be on his way to Penrith to slice his blade across the man’s throat.
    By the time he was finished cleaning the wounds, applying fresh salve and bandages, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.   He could not comprehend how a man could do such a thing.   Duncan was also baffled by the fact that not once in the past days had Aishlinn complained of being in pain.   She had only winced twice when he had applied the salve, but spoke not a word.   Duncan knew from his own experience how badly the salve stung when first applied to a cut or open wound.   But the lass had only balled her hands into fists and said nothing.
    Duncan had carefully lowered the tunic and patted the back of her head.   “We be done now, lass.” His throat had gone terribly dry and left his voice sounding husky.  
    Aishlinn quietly thanked him as she pushed herself to sit.   His stomach seized when he saw her face and the tears that had fallen from her eyes.   She wiped her cheeks with the sleeves of the tunic but said nothing.  
    “Lass, I ken it hurts like the devil. Tis right fer ye to say it does,” Duncan told her.
    Aishlinn forced a smile to her face. Yes, it did hurt like the devil, but she had learned at a young age that the only thing complaining got you was a slap to the back of your head. Or worse. “Aye.” It was all she could think to say as she tried to stand.   
    He studied her closely for a moment and realized she was quite a remarkable young woman.   She complained not of anything and did her best to behave bravely. There was not one woman who came to his mind, who could have endured what this lass had, and still manage to hold on to her composure and pride.   He also took note that she was doing her best to not be a bother to them.   He tried to give her a moment or two to walk on her own.   He saw no sense in allowing Aishlinn to try to force her body to do something it was not quite capable of doing just yet. Duncan scooped her up in his arms and headed towards the horses.   There would be time, soon enough, when she wouldn’t need to be carried to and fro.   Today wasn’t that time.  
    “Really, Duncan,” she told him.   “I do know how to walk.   I believe I mastered that task right around the age of one!”   If they would only give her but a minute, she would be able to convince her legs to move on their own accord.
    “Aye. I’m sure ya did lass.   But I’d rather not wait while ya relearn it!   We need to away from this place and get to Dunshire quickly.”   He quashed a smile that had formed when she began to protest again.   “Lass, I’ll damn well carry ya if I damn well choose.   Ye be in no condition to argue the point.” He handed her to Rowan and mounted his horse.
    “How long do you plan on carrying me wherever I need or wish to go?” she asked him. Rowan handed her up to Duncan who sat her gently upon his lap before wrapping the blankets around her.   “Until I grow weary of it.”   He cast her a look, that had she known him better, would have warned her not to argue the point.
    “I’m not quite as