again, and he saw that she had dropped to one knee to bend over him. As he took in the two soft-looking, well-tanned mounds of flesh that peeped over the low-cut bodice so close to him, his head seemed instantly clearer.
Her lips were moving, and he realized that she was speaking. Having missed the first bit, he listened intently to catch the rest, hoping thereby to reply sensibly.
“… would laugh to hear anyone mistake me for a sprite,” she said, adding firmly, “Now, lie still, sir, if you please. You must know that I was leery of getting too near until I could be sure that you would not harm me.”
“Never fear, lass. I would not.”
“I can see that, but Boreas, my companion here, dislikes letting any stranger near me. Had you moved suddenly or thrashed about as some do when they regain consciousness after an injury, he might have mistaken you for a threat.”
Having noted how quickly the wolf dog had stepped back after the snapping sound he’d heard—surely a snap of her slim fingers—he doubted that it would attack against her will. But he did not say so. His eyelids drifted shut again.
“Are you still awake?” No amusement now, only concern.
“Aye, sure, but fading,” he murmured. “What is your name, lass?”
“Catriona. What’s yours?”
He thought about it briefly, then said, “Fin… they call me Fin of the Battles.”
“What happened to you, Fin of the Battles?” Her voice sounded more distant, as if she were floating away again.
“I wish I knew,” he said, trying to concentrate. “I was walking through the forest, listening to a damned impertinent jay that squawked and muttered at me for trespassing. The next thing I knew, your escort was huffing in my ear.”
He drew a long breath and, without opening his eyes, tried moving his arms more than had been necessary to shift himself. Pain shot through his head again, and he felt more pain from some sort of scrape on his left arm. But both arms seemed obedient to his will. His toes and feet likewise obeyed him.
A hand touched his right shoulder, startling him. She had come up on his other side, and again he’d not heard her move. He was definitely not himself yet.
“Be still now,” she said, kneeling gracefully beside him. As she bent nearer, he noted the bare softness of her breasts again before a cold, wet cloth touched his forehead and moved soothingly over it to cover his eyes.
He knew then that she must have gone to the burn that he could hear splashing nearby. He tried to decide if he remembered seeing that burn.
“That feels good,” he murmured.
“It won’t in a minute. You have a gash on the left side of your forehead with leaves, dirt, and hair stuck in it. You will have a fine scar to brag about.”
“I don’t brag.”
“All men brag,” she said, the note of humor strong again. “Most women do, too, come to that. But men brag like bairns, often and with great exaggeration.”
“I don’t.” It seemed important that she should know that.
“Very well, you don’t. You are unique amongst men. Now, hold still. Recall that Boreas will object to any sudden movement.”
He braced himself. He was not afraid of the dog, but he hated pain. And he had already borne more than his share of it.
Catriona saw him stiffen and easily deduced the reason. All men, in her experience, disliked pain. Certainly, her father and two brothers did, although they were all fine, brave warriors. The excellent specimen of manhood before her looked as if he could hold his own against any one of them.
When he’d turned over, it had taken all of her willpower not to exclaim at his blood-streaked face. She reminded herself that head wounds always bled freely, and noted thankfully that all the blood seemed to come from the gash in his forehead.
In cleaning his face before she put the cloth over his eyes, she had decided that, besides being well formed, he was handsome in a rugged way. His deep-set eyes were especially fine, their light gray irises surprising in a darkly tanned face. His thick, black lashes were less surprising. For a reason known only to God, men always seemed to grow darker, thicker lashes than women did.
“Have you enemies hereabouts?” she asked as she gently plucked hair and forest detritus from his wound.
Instead of answering directly, he said, “I have not passed this way before. Are your people unfriendly to strangers?”