Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) by May McGoldrick Page A

fisted his hands and held them up before his eyes. They were whole. He remembered the wound in his side. It wouldn’t stop bleeding. He touched it. There was no fresh blood, and the hole made by the raider’s sword was closed. It felt more like an injury weeks old. He shifted his weight. Soreness, but more of a nuisance than anything. Nothing like the sensation of a hot poker boring into his side.
    He wondered how long he’d been unconscious.
    The last clear memory he had was Kenna fussing over him as he tried not to pass out. Everything after that was a jumble, a hazy hodgepodge of visions from his past, of touches both healing and sensual. There were moments when he didn’t know if he was dead or alive.
    The life Alexander led up to now was full and adventurous. He could think of very few moments that he would do over. His wedding night was one. And he regretted not going after Kenna the next day. Or the day after. He should never have allowed so much time to go by with the two of them apart. They’d been strangers at the kirk steps, but they were well suited for each other. She was fearless and independent. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met.
    He recalled something else. Pain. He’d been here in this same hut and he’d felt the worst pain. He was dying. And wanting Kenna had been his final wish.
    Alexander turned his head. Kenna was sleeping an arm’s length away. She hadn’t deserted him.
    His sword lay between them, close enough for either to reach. He wondered for a moment whether it was there for defense against the danger lurking outside or a message to him.
    He was alive, and he wasn’t about to be deterred.
    He rolled toward her, admiring how beautiful she looked in spite of everything she’d been through. She was fast asleep, one hand tucked beneath her chin. Her lips were parted, her breathing uneven. She was fighting demons in her dreams, as well. The laces of her dress had loosened, and the curve of one breast showed above the linen shirt she was wearing beneath it. He immediately went hard. It was good to know everything was in working order.
    He reached for the sword to move it. Her eyes flew open. She grasped the weapon just as he did.
    “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
    “Good morning, wife,” he replied instead. “Or is it night? It’s still dark, it seems. How long have we been here?”
    She pushed up onto one elbow. A blanket of curls swept over one shoulder. The neckline of the dress pulled further apart, giving him a better view of the tops of her breasts. He wanted to taste them. She seemed to be struggling to wake up.
    “May I?” he asked, moving the sword behind him.
    She slowly sat up and got onto her knees. The dress slipped off one shoulder. He was relieved he still had his kilt covering him. He didn’t want to frighten her.
    “How are you feeling?” she asked, peering at his stab wound.
    “Better than you know.”
    Kenna didn’t appear to trust his words. She pushed his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. As she leaned over to inspect his side, her hair trailed across his stomach, caressing him with its silky softness. Her touch was as arousing as any dream.
    Alexander took a deep breath. Control, he told himself.
    “How long have we been here?”
    “Since yesterday. It hasn’t been a full day.” She sat back on her heels again. “I want to wash the wound. I’ll be right back.”
    Alexander couldn’t tear his gaze from her as she picked up a bowl and went out into the darkness.
    “Wait,” he called out, but she was gone.
    He struggled to get up. He had to go after her. Danger could be right outside the door. He felt weak. By the time he managed to sit up on the bedding, she was back.
    “You shouldn’t go out unprotected,” he snapped. At least she wasn’t limping, he noticed. “Where’s that dirk you’re always waving about?”
    “Right here, to use against you when I need it.” She crouched down beside him, holding the bowl to his