presumably so she could examine the back of his skull. At least that was what he thought she must be doing when he found his face buried in those breasts he'd been watching with such interest.
"Aye, 'tis here. You must have hit your head on a rock or something when you fell," she announced with a combination of success and worry.
Cullen merely sighed and nuzzled into the breasts presently cuddling him. Really, damp though they were, they were quite lovely, and if a man had to be smothered to death, this was not a bad way to go. He felt something hard nudging his right cheek beside his mouth and realized her nipples had grown hard. She also suddenly stilled like prey sensing danger. Not wishing to send her running with fear, he opened his mouth and tried to turn his head to speak a word or two of reassurance to calm her.
"Calm yerself," was what he said. Cullen didn't believe in wasting words. However, it was doubtful if she understood what he said since his words came out muffled by the nipple suddenly filling his open mouth. Despite his intentions not to scare her, when he realized it was a nipple in his mouth, he couldn't resist closing his lips around it and flicking his tongue over the linen-covered bud.
In the next moment, he found pain shooting through his head once more as he was dropped back to the ground.
Chapter Two
"Oh!" Evelinde gasped when she realized she'd dropped the man on his injured head again.
She hadn't meant to, but she'd suddenly realized where she'd pressed his head while searching for the wound. At first she'd simply frozen, mortified at what she'd done, and when he'd tried to speak, his mouth against her breast had caused the oddest tingling sensation to shoot from where his mouth moved. It had been stunning in the pleasure it caused. So, of course, she'd released him. Anything that felt that good must be bad.
The man rolled onto his side, his tartan shifting so that she had a lovely view of his legs almost all the way up to his personal bits. Evelinde forced herself to look away from the intriguing sight and instead leaned forward to peer at the wound on the back of his head. He was a Scot, but that didn't worry her. Her father had several friends who were Scots, mostly highlanders he'd met at court or on his travels. They'd had many visitors over the years from Scotland, and Evelinde supposed this was another, and expected he'd treat her with the same respect and kindness the others had. She'd found that Scots weren't nearly the primitive heathens they were reputed to be.
A curse of pain from the man brought Evelinde's attention back to his head wound. There had been a good deal of blood on the gown, and there was still more caught in his hair. However, she found it impossible to tell how bad the wound was with the blood and dirt obscuring the injury.
"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, shifting her gaze to what she could see of the side of his face. He was grimacing in pain, his one visible eye squeezed tight shut. Evelinde shifted on her knees and glanced around the meadow as she tried to think what to do. Then she asked, "Do you think you can stand?"
A grunt was his answer. Unsure if that was a yes or no, she stood up herself, then bent to catch his arm and try to help him to his feet. "Come. We have to tend your head."
"Me head is fine," he growled, but would have been far more convincing if he weren't still grimacing in pain.
His words, spoken with a heavy burr, reminded her that he was Scottish, and Evelinde found herself leaning anxiously over him again as she asked, "Do you know the Devil of Donnachaidh?"
The way he suddenly stiffened suggested he at least recognized the name though most people did. It was the name parents all over England and Scotland used to terrify children into good behavior. 'If ye don't behave, the Devil of Donnachaidh will get ye,' was an oft-repeated warning by nursemaids and mothers.
When the man started to sit up, Evelinde quickly sat back to give him room. Much to her dissatisfaction, however, he didn't answer her question but simply stared at her, his expression closed.
"Do you know him?" she asked fretfully.
"Aye. I'm the Duncan," he said finally, and Evelinde