Devil of the Highlands Page 0,6

frowned, not sure what that meant. Was Duncan his name or title? She suspected it was his title, but wondered if the Duncans were a neighbor of clan Donnachaidh? She opened her mouth to ask, but then decided it didn't matter. What was important was that the man knew the devil she was supposed to marry.

"Is he as cruel as they say? He is not, is he?" she asked hopefully. " 'Tis just a rumor, is it not? Tales told by the fireside that grow all out of proportion? I am sure he will be a fine husband. Really, he could not be more cruel than Edda. Could he?"

The man wasn't answering any of her questions, which Evelinde thought was terribly rude. Then she saw the streak of red running down his neck and recalled his injury. It really was not well-done of her to sit here pestering him with questions when he was wounded.

"You are bleeding badly," she said with concern. He reached to feel the back of his head, and Evelinde saw pain flash through his eyes at just that tentative touch.

Snatching up her ruined gown, she stood and glanced around. Much to her relief, he'd taken his tumble at the end of the meadow nearest the river. She hadn't paid attention to where they were when their mounts had reared—her attention had been taken up with keeping her seat—then she'd been more worried about him than anything else as she'd rushed to dismount and reach him. Fortunately, they merely had to walk a short path through a narrow band of trees to reach the water.

Turning back to the man on the ground, she held out a hand. "Come. We should tend to your injury."

The man noted her offered hand but got to his feet without accepting her help.

Men can be so proud, Evelinde thought with an exasperated shake of the head.

"Wait here, and I shall retrieve our horses," she instructed. Both animals had moved a good twenty feet away. Her mare was standing still, studiously ignoring the other horse, who was nosing at her side.

Evelinde had only taken a step in that direction when a piercing whistle made her pause. Eyes wide, she glanced back to the Duncan, then gasped in surprise when he caught her arm as his horse suddenly charged over and presented himself with a proud flick of the head.

Evelinde waited long enough to see the Duncan murmur a soft word of praise to the animal and run a hand over his mount's neck. She then turned and headed off to collect her mare.

"There is a river just through the trees here," she announced, returning with Lady. "We can wash your wound, and I can get a better look and see how bad it is."

"I be fine," the Duncan muttered, but followed when she moved past him with her mare and started through the trees.

"Head wounds can be tricky, sir," Evelinde said firmly as she led him into the clearing on the edge of the river. "It needs to be cleaned and tended. And you need to be careful about sleeping and such for a bit. You lost consciousness after the fall."

"I be fine," he repeated, his voice a growl.

"I shall be the judge of that," she announced, releasing Lady's reins and moving to the water's edge. Once there, she knelt, found a clean bit of skirt on the gown she carried, and dipped it in the water. She'd been hoping the wind would dry her dress, which was why she'd been riding back and forth, holding it over her head. It probably would have worked better had she simply taken Lady for another, heart-pounding race, but she hadn't wished to be seen charging through d'Aumesbery's woods in naught but a chemise. The meadow was surrounded by trees, and she'd hoped to dry the dress without being seen. Her plan hadn't worked too well, obviously. She'd been seen, startled off her horse, and her gown still wasn't dry.

Grimacing, Evelinde stood up with the now-sopping skirt in her hands. She turned to find the Duncan, only to pause and stare when she saw he'd removed his boots and was standing knee deep in the river, bent forward, with his head under the waterfall.

"Well, bother!" Evelinde muttered, wishing she'd thought of that rather than soaking her skirt again. Sighing, she laid the gown out to dry on the boulder she'd sat on earlier and crossed the clearing to stand on the bank near where he was