Timeless Tales of Honor by Suzan Tisdale, Kathryn Le Veque, Christi Caldwell

worries. “Lass, I promise we’ll do our best to be gentle and not harm ye.”
    The only harm she was worried about at the moment was to her reputation. What if word got out that she had removed her clothing in front of a man? Two men to be exact! “You’ll be seeing my back,” she whispered.
    Rowan coughed lightly and turned his back to her while Duncan let loose with an exasperated sigh. “Aye, lass, we will be needin’ to see yer back fer that’s where yer cuts are.” He could understand the lass’ reluctance but now was not the time to stand on proper social protocol. “If we dunna change yer bandages, they could grow infected.” He hoped she would listen to reason.
    While the thought of infection did not please her, perhaps it would be worth the risk. “But what would people think?” she asked as her knees began to knock together.
    Duncan threw back his head and laughed heartily. Aishlinn’s eyes blazed with anger. He was a man, a blasted fool, who could not appreciate the fallout of a sullied reputation. “I am glad, Laird McEwan, that I’m able to bring such amusement to you,” she gritted her teeth at him. She noticed Rowan had remained with his back turned and his body shook with laughter. “And you as well Laird Graham.” They could both take a leap from the nearest cliff as far as she was concerned. Men set the rules in this world, and then laughed at you when you followed them.
    “Lass, there be no one here but us,” Duncan said through smiling lips. “Yer reputation will remain in tact.” He shook his head as his laughter began to subside.
    Rowan had managed to take a deep breath and turned back to them. He was doing his best to remain composed as well as thoughtful. “Lass, we really must change the bandages. We’ll only be lookin’ after ye like a brother would towards a sister who is ill or injured.”
    Her own brothers would have poured salt into her wounds and laughed while she cried in pain. Neither Rowan nor Duncan appeared to be anything like her brothers. Aishlinn knew they meant well and she began to relax a bit towards the idea. She couldn’t very well change her own bandages. And as long as they behaved as a good brother might, then perhaps she would be able to suffer through the embarrassment.
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    T hankfully , 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