The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights #2) - Madeline Martin Page 0,48

asked. “We’re nearly to your tent.”

“Of course I can,” he replied resolutely from against a sagging Alan.

She pulled at Cormac’s other arm as he slowly straightened. He huffed a breath, stiffened his back and strode to the tent without assistance, his face a mask of sheer determination.

A stubborn man indeed.

But Isolde was glad for it. Most likely, that stubbornness was what had kept him alive.

Once they were in the tent, Matilda set to gathering fresh garments for Cormac. Alan and Isolde helped remove Cormac’s chainmail and gambeson, as well as the thin linen beneath, to ensure he had no critical injuries. Pip lay by the tent flap, his anxious gaze fixed on Isolde.

“Does anything hurt?” she asked.

Cormac laughed. Then winced. “Dinna trouble yerself. I’ll be fine.”

A massive bruise showed red black on his upper left arm. She had noticed him favoring it earlier, and it was the one she had grabbed when he stumbled earlier. The pain of the injury was most likely what had caused him to fall.

“Move your arm,” Isolde said.

Cormac ground his teeth and rolled his shoulder with a grimace.

Isolde nodded. “Now bend it at the elbow.”

He complied, his mouth set in a tight line.

Isolde breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t believe it to be broken.” She’d seen a break once before where the white of the bone had jutted from the knight’s elbow as he screamed in agony. He had not been able to move his arm at all.

Still, it was best to be assured of his health, and so Matilda was tasked with locating a healer. An older woman came to the tent, smelling of herbs and smoke. She searched over his body with her withered hands while Matilda and Alan waited outside. Once done, the woman announced Cormac’s injuries, with time, would heal and cause no further damage. She did stress his need for rest. Not that Isolde expected him to listen to such advice.

“Let us leave,” Cormac said when the healer had gone.

“Now?” Isolde gazed up at him. She couldn’t stop staring at him, as if having to confirm to herself repeatedly that he was alive and well.

If he wished to leave at that very moment, she would abandon everything behind to follow him.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckle and stared down at her with matched intensity. “On the morrow. After we’ve wed. I dinna want anyone to question our union. We can return to Scotland and ye can inform yer brother of our marriage by missive.”

Isolde nodded and squeezed his hand. The melee would be the following day, but she had no interest in staying to observe the mock battle. “I should like that very much,” she replied. “I’ll return to the castle with Matilda to have my chambers packed for our departure.”

“And I’ll find Graham to let him know we’ll be returning earlier than anticipated.”

Cormac pulled Isolde to his side with his healthy arm, his movements gentle in light of both their injuries. “I enjoyed calling ye ‘wife’ earlier. I look forward to calling ye ‘wife’ henceforth.” He pressed his mouth to hers in a tender kiss.

Isolde wanted to remain locked in the warmth of his arms, kissing his sensual lips, and reassuring herself again and again that he was still alive and that he was hers. However, she had much to prepare for their departure.

“There’s only one final thing I need.”

Cormac gave her a suggestive grin. “And what is that?”

She returned his grin with a coquettish one. “My armor.”

Cormac approached the outskirts of the village where he had promised to meet Isolde. His stomach twisted with apprehension.

She would not be pleased with what he had to tell her. He had gone to Graham to explain his early departure and discovered the Rosses had given his brother no choice but to fight against them. He had, of course, anticipated Cormac would join him.

Cormac didn’t protest. Not when he knew his brother needed him. They never let one another down.

While he was anticipating making Isolde his wife, he was not looking forward to telling Isolde of his plans. She would be upset, especially in light of his injuries.

In truth, he was much better now. The blow to his arm had merely bruised it deeply, but nothing was broken. The injuries to his head had not addled him as thoroughly as he had initially feared.

Suddenly Isolde was there, sauntering torward him and all thoughts of telling her about the melee the following day slipped away. She was awash