The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford Page B

drew in a deep breath, her gaze moving involuntarily toward her companion.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    He was breathing hard but standing yet, and now regarding her with an expression she had not seen before.
    ‘Aye, lass, thanks to you.’
    ‘It was thanks to me that this happened at all,’ she replied.
    ‘You couldn’t have known yon scum would attack us.’
    ‘No, but it is my fault we were separated from your men.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Iain, I’m so sorry.’
    For the second time in five minutes he was completely taken aback for there was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice.
    ‘Dinna fret yourself, lass. We’ll meet up with them again soon enough.’ She watched him wipe the blood from his sword and sheathe it again. ‘In the meantime we need to get out of here.’
    ‘You think there may be more of them?’
    ‘No. If there were we’d know it by now, but there are plenty more like them hereabouts. Time is getting on and we’ve a way to ride before we reach shelter. I’d as soon do it in daylight.’
    Ashlynn nodded. The thought of travelling through this country after dark had no appeal at all.
    They retrieved the horses and for a while rode fast, putting distance between themselves and the scene of the recent ambush. However, they saw no one else.
    * * *
    It was dusk when they came to the farmhouse. Like the place they had stayed in before it was remote and again it seemed that Iain was known here for he was greeted with words of welcome before being directed to the stables. The latter was a long low building constructed of stone and thatch, but it was weatherproof and would afford shelter for the beasts and for themselves.
    Ashlynn unsaddled Steorra and rubbed her down while Iain dealt with his own mount. Then she fetched grain from the nearby bin and fed the two horses while he filled the hay racks. When the animals were settled Iain removed the heavy cloak and sword belt and then eased off his tunic. Her startled gaze fell on the torn and bloody sleeve beneath.
    ‘You’re hurt!’
    ‘A scratch only.’
    ‘It needs tending. I’ll go and beg some clean cloths. The farmer’s wife may have some honey and woundwort salve too.’
    Iain didn’t argue. Nor did he follow her from the stable. A few minutes later she returned with the necessary items and a bowl of clean water. Seeing this he unfastened his belt and eased off his tunic. Ashlynn stepped closer and rolled back the sleeve of his shirt the better to inspect the wound. It was a long shallow gash, vivid against the paler flesh of his arm. It had bled profusely and she knew it must hurt. However, Iain made no complaint, merely observing her in silence. Keenly aware of that penetrating gaze and the proximity of the man, Ashlynn tried to concentrate on the task.
    ‘I need to clean this but it may sting a little.’
    He returned a non-committal grunt. She dipped a cloth and carefully wiped away the dried blood. For a moment or two he watched the deft movements of her hands before letting his gaze move higher. It lingered a little on the soft hollow of her throat before travelling to her face, a face whose delicate contours were as familiar to him now as his own hand. The ride and the cool air had brought fresh colour to her cheeks and loosened tendrils of hair from her braid. The effect was strangely beguiling.
    ‘It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been watching my back today,’ he replied. ‘Where did you learn to use a sword?’
    As her eyes met his, the cornflower blue deepened with inner emotion. ‘Ban…my brother…taught me a few basic skills.’
    ‘He taught you well I’d say.’
    She shook her head. ‘I got away with it because I took my opponents by surprise. There wasn’t much skill involved, believe me.’
    ‘Skill enough for the task, lass,’ he replied. ‘It took courage too.’
    Something in his tone and look caused her heart to skip a beat. To hide her confusion she bent more assiduously to her