outline with her fingertips, but resisted.
She pulled the cape ties away and let it flutter to the ground around him, and finally saw what was ailing him. The missing black horn of the dead boar protruded from his side and was covered with blood—some was undoubtedly his, but the flesh of the boar still clung to it. He wore no shirt under his cloak and his bronzed skin was feathered with light brown curls of hair, matted with blood. Kensey reached her hand down to touch the hair on his chest and he flinched.
“What’s wrong?” She sought out those captivating gold-brown eyes. What was it with Sinclair men and gold eyes? She’d never seen so many in her life.
“Do not attempt to save me, lass.”
“But it will be easy to heal,” she assured him. Truthfully, it would much more difficult than she made it sound. But she would not have him resist her care, even if the outcome looked dire.
“I am beyond repair.”
“You will survive.” She surveyed the wound and then looking around, trying to decide what the best course of action would be.
“I cannot be saved.”
“Stop saying that,” urged Kensey.
His eyes fluttered again, but he kept his gaze on her face. “You came back for me, lass.”
Behind her, Malcolm pulled up his horse, dismounted quickly, and stalked the ground until he stood at her back. Once he came in view of the man whose head lay in Kensey’s lap, she heard his sharp intake of breath, and he loosed an oath. She turned to look up at him, and his face had gone white, his mouth open in shock.
“Sweet Mother of Holy Jesus,” he swore again, after staring at the strange man for a full minute. Kensey saw more than shock in his dark eyes, but before she could decide what it was, he turned around and yelled for Robert. “We have a man here who needs assistance.”
“We’ll need to put him on your horse,” she said to Malcolm. It has the widest back and I don’t see his horse.” She looked ahead on the trail to the castle and spied the outline of his giant stallion, loping toward Castle St. Claire.
“It’ll take all three of us to lift him.”
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “We must hurry, though. The blood loss will be so great already.”
“Can we bind it somehow right here?” Malcolm asked, moving around in front of her to get a better look at him. “Perhaps we can lay him out.”
They spent the better part of half an hour laying the stranger on the ground, careful of the rather large wound in his side, and continually watching for signs that it started bleeding again.
Kensey unthinkingly reached below her dress and was pulling off her underclothes and ripping them into long shreds, which she used to put pressure on the wound, trying to stay well clear of the horn itself. But Malcolm’s eyes on her made her suddenly aware of what she was doing and she made sure her skirts still covered her body. There wasn’t much blood coming away, which was either a sign that the wound had begun to heal itself, or that there was no more blood to lose, and he would soon be dead.
“Is that one of the Sinclair Runaways?” Robert asked as they finally bound what they could of his wound. Kensey looked up at him and nodded, and Robert’s eyes opened so wide she could see the whites all the way around their deep green centers.
They gathered around him and Kensey nodded. “I don’t know much about him, but he belongs to the Sinclair family.” Malcolm forced out a long breath and Kensey stared up at him.
“He doesn’t?” she asked.
He shook his head and the two braids that ran down the sides of his face kept moving when he stopped. “Oh, he does. We just haven’t seen him in years.”
Kensey knelt at his hips and directed Robert to his feet. “Can you take his shoulders, Malcolm?”
He nodded, but couldn’t stop staring at the stranger’s face. “We thought he was dead,” Malcolm added.
“Quickly, now,” she said to Robert as they lifted the stranger atop
She pulled the cape ties away and let it flutter to the ground around him, and finally saw what was ailing him. The missing black horn of the dead boar protruded from his side and was covered with blood—some was undoubtedly his, but the flesh of the boar still clung to it. He wore no shirt under his cloak and his bronzed skin was feathered with light brown curls of hair, matted with blood. Kensey reached her hand down to touch the hair on his chest and he flinched.
“What’s wrong?” She sought out those captivating gold-brown eyes. What was it with Sinclair men and gold eyes? She’d never seen so many in her life.
“Do not attempt to save me, lass.”
“But it will be easy to heal,” she assured him. Truthfully, it would much more difficult than she made it sound. But she would not have him resist her care, even if the outcome looked dire.
“I am beyond repair.”
“You will survive.” She surveyed the wound and then looking around, trying to decide what the best course of action would be.
“I cannot be saved.”
“Stop saying that,” urged Kensey.
His eyes fluttered again, but he kept his gaze on her face. “You came back for me, lass.”
Behind her, Malcolm pulled up his horse, dismounted quickly, and stalked the ground until he stood at her back. Once he came in view of the man whose head lay in Kensey’s lap, she heard his sharp intake of breath, and he loosed an oath. She turned to look up at him, and his face had gone white, his mouth open in shock.
“Sweet Mother of Holy Jesus,” he swore again, after staring at the strange man for a full minute. Kensey saw more than shock in his dark eyes, but before she could decide what it was, he turned around and yelled for Robert. “We have a man here who needs assistance.”
“We’ll need to put him on your horse,” she said to Malcolm. It has the widest back and I don’t see his horse.” She looked ahead on the trail to the castle and spied the outline of his giant stallion, loping toward Castle St. Claire.
“It’ll take all three of us to lift him.”
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “We must hurry, though. The blood loss will be so great already.”
“Can we bind it somehow right here?” Malcolm asked, moving around in front of her to get a better look at him. “Perhaps we can lay him out.”
They spent the better part of half an hour laying the stranger on the ground, careful of the rather large wound in his side, and continually watching for signs that it started bleeding again.
Kensey unthinkingly reached below her dress and was pulling off her underclothes and ripping them into long shreds, which she used to put pressure on the wound, trying to stay well clear of the horn itself. But Malcolm’s eyes on her made her suddenly aware of what she was doing and she made sure her skirts still covered her body. There wasn’t much blood coming away, which was either a sign that the wound had begun to heal itself, or that there was no more blood to lose, and he would soon be dead.
“Is that one of the Sinclair Runaways?” Robert asked as they finally bound what they could of his wound. Kensey looked up at him and nodded, and Robert’s eyes opened so wide she could see the whites all the way around their deep green centers.
They gathered around him and Kensey nodded. “I don’t know much about him, but he belongs to the Sinclair family.” Malcolm forced out a long breath and Kensey stared up at him.
“He doesn’t?” she asked.
He shook his head and the two braids that ran down the sides of his face kept moving when he stopped. “Oh, he does. We just haven’t seen him in years.”
Kensey knelt at his hips and directed Robert to his feet. “Can you take his shoulders, Malcolm?”
He nodded, but couldn’t stop staring at the stranger’s face. “We thought he was dead,” Malcolm added.
“Quickly, now,” she said to Robert as they lifted the stranger atop
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