Highlander Unchained(7)

Cree stepped out of the shadows and her breath stalled. He was so very large, more so at this short distance than seeing him from afar. And so sinfully handsome, even in dismal light, one would never think him a savage. But evil was a cohort of deception and she would do well to remember that.

“Colum sends me a plain one.”

For once Dawn was relieved to be thought plain, perhaps then he would not find her to his liking. At least she prayed he would not.

“Come over here.”

Though his voice low, it was no less a command. One that Dawn had no choice but to obey. It was seeing that his wrists were no longer bound that caused her to hesitate.

“I give an order only once.”

The threat in his tone left no doubt that she should pay quick heed to his warning. With limbs that refused to stop trembling, she stepped forward. Three small steps and she stood in front of him, her head lowered, daring not to glance in his eyes.

“Look at me,” he snapped so sharply that her head shot up.

If she could have gasped she would have, though in a sense her eyes did for they spread wide. His dark eyes intoxicated and as before she felt a tingling warmth take hold of her flesh.

“You will tend me.”

Not a question, but another command. She nodded and placed the burden of the basket and bucket on the ground. Reaching in the basket, she snatched a hunk of cheese to hand him.

He took it and as he broke off pieces to eat, he walked slowly around her, at times so close that his bare arms brushed against her. Even through her linen shift she felt his rock-hard muscles and knew his strength must be unfathomable.

He stopped in front of her. “You will need to stop trembling to see to my wounds.”

That he saw she quivered and smelled her fear, left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She often felt that way without a voice to defend herself. But what good would a voice do her now. Even if she screamed the guards would not come to her aid.

He grabbed her chin roughly and his dark eyes bore into hers. “Do you understand what I say?”

Dawn nodded as best she could, his grip strong and then he quickly released her. She tore off a chunk of bread from the loaf to give him, hoping it would keep him from talking while she saw to his wounds.

He took it and remained standing where he was, a wise choice since it was the only spot that had a modicum of light. She got busy, praying that once she was finished tending him the guards would let her leave.

Dawn scooped up a full dipper of water and held it out to him. He drank it and handed it back to her. She then poured water over a clean cloth she retrieved from the basket and proceeded to gently clean his chest of the dried blood. She continued to wet the cloth from the dipper and wring it out on the ground so that the water in the bucket would remain clean to drink and use for cleansing.

With each swipe of the cloth she saw that his wounds were nothing more than scratches. While it was unlikely that his chest could deflect arrows, axes or swords, the taut, hard muscles certainly felt to have the strength of an impenetrable shield.

She moved around to his back and was met with more muscles. What truly amazed her was that his body bore no scars. There were few, if any, warriors who did not bear a battle scar and many thought the more scars the more courageous the warrior. But was the true mark of courage for a warrior to walk away from battle without blight on him?

After wiping his chest and back with the wet cloth one last time, Dawn took a fresh cloth and rubbed him dry. Her bare hand followed the cloth making certain she had cleaned away all dried blood.

“You have a gentle touch.”

Dawn yanked her hand away and froze.

Cree spun around and grabbed hold of her hand. “Swallow that foolish fear of yours or you will suffer for it.”

Dawn could do nothing but stare into his eyes and their darkness only served to frighten her more. How could she be brave against a man of his size? Even now his hand could easily crush hers. She would be a fool not to fear him.

“You forgot one wound,” he said and took her hand and shoved it down into the top of his leggings.

Shocked by his actions, she fought to control her panic. She pressed her fingers along his flat, hard flesh just below his waist, but found no wound. She glanced back up at him.

“Lower.”

She looked again but even the dim light she saw nothing and reluctantly loosened the ties so that she could ease his garment down lower on his hips.

“Keep going,” he said.

She gently worked the leather down, her fingers brushing along more muscled flesh. And then she noticed the large bulge between his legs and though she near froze again, she fought against it. Was there truly a wound or was this a ploy to have her touch him intimately?

“Go on,” he urged.