the third, the eldest son of Clan Scot, was as large as a bear and strong. Sweat dripped off his forehead, his muscles burned blocking strike after brutal strike. He was supposed to lose this battle of his own accord, and yet the way he was faring, he’d lose, anyway.
The crowd swore and yelled for both of them, and Aedan knew the only way he’d win would be to keep moving, make the larger man exert more energy, and hopefully, make him more vulnerable.
But as the bout went on, it became apparent the warrior was desperate for the purse of money the event would wield. Aedan thought of the sweet lass Mae, who didn’t deserve to be married off to the brute, Rory Kirk. He shuddered at the thought of anyone being handfasted to such a man, who liked to use his fists more than his mouth.
Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t see the strike that slipped along his sword and struck his arm. He tried to avoid the blade, but knew it was too late when he looked down and noted his arm gushing with blood.
He held up his hand to stop the bout. “Enough,” he said, clapping Alec on the shoulder and congratulating him. “You’ve won this day. Congratulations.”
Aedan smiled as the young man’s clan surrounded him, offering ale and congratulations of their own. He caught the worried attention of Abigail and watched as she stood as if to come to him.
He clasped the cut on his arm and headed toward the tents, needing it tended to. He sat on a wooden stool, pulled back his bloodied shirtsleeve, and cringed at the mess. He needed to concentrate more. Being distracted would kill him and he couldn’t let it happen again. Foolish mistake.
“Oh my God, look at your arm!”
He looked up as Abigail joined him, her brow puckered in worry. She swiped up a tunic that was lying on a nearby table, ripped it in two, and wrapped it about his wound.
“’Tis nothing a little stitching will not fix.”
“Your sister is coming.” She clasped his hand, stroking it in comfort. “What?” she asked when he chuckled at her ministrations.
“I’m fine, lass. Stop worrying so.” She frowned, and he had the overwhelming urge to kiss her scowl away, to make her forget his blasted wound, and to look after him in other ways. More pleasurable ways they’d both enjoy.
“It’s already bleeding through the bandage.” She looked outside, searching for Gwen.
“Abigail, I will not die from this cut.”
“Where is Gwen? She saw what happened to you. She should be here by now.”
Aedan grabbed her as she paced by and pulled her down to sit beside him. Not caring where they were, he slid a flyaway curl behind her ear. “Ye look beautiful when you’re worried. Did ye know that?”
She relaxed a little and threw him a lopsided grin. “I didn’t, no.” She applied pressure to his wound, the worry lines still marking her beautiful features. “If I had a cut like that I’d be flat on my back out cold.”
“Do ye mean ye would’ve fainted?”
“Absolutely.”
At that moment, Gwen strode in and busied herself preparing the bandages and stitching equipment. Aedan spied a bottle of whisky and asked Abigail to fetch it for him. She did, grabbing it quickly before seating herself next to him again.
Gwen grinned and he inwardly groaned. The last thing he needed was his sister starting to meddle in his private affairs. She meddled enough already.
“Do you think it’s a bad cut?” Abigail looked to Gwen, gasping as the makeshift bandage was removed.
“Nay. Aedan’s had worse and no doubt will again.”
He downed a large sip of whisky and prepared himself for the sting of the needle.
“You know, Gwen, if you pour alcohol over the wound it can help clean it and sterilize it at the same time,” Abigail said, while hovering over him like a worried wife. His sweet lass was a welcome distraction. She looked beautiful today, her gown of green velvet against her perfect creamy flesh made him want to slide it from her body and bask in the glory hidden beneath.
He swore when Gwen took Abigail’s advice. “For the love of all things Scottish, why did ye do that, woman?”
Gwen shushed him. “I trust what Abigail says, now do keep still.”
He met Abigail’s gaze. There was something innocently sweet about her. A kind soul, who although she had faced her own troubles and heartbreak, still remained true to herself. Only when they were alone did