Free Highland Knight by Hannah Howell Page A

Peter
    “Aye?” Cameron set his fingers against the vein in Peter’s throat and felt a steady, if dangerously weak, pulse. “He doesnae look as if he can travel verra far.”
    “Nay, not now. Howbeit the wound did little damage to his innards. It but bled so freely, ’twas like to drain him. The bleeding has ceased. If it doesnae start again, and if he doesnae take a fever, he could heal quickly, at least to the point where he could survive a journey taken carefully.”
    “How soon could ye tell?”
    “Two days. Mayhap less.” Avery did not even blink at the harsh curse he spat out. She had heard worse.
    “We will move to a new camp as soon as Leargan has found us one.” He glanced at the shrouded body. “Who is the dead mon? Do ye ken?”
    “One of the women said he was a mon called Adam.”
    “Ah.” Cameron felt guilty for feeling a hint of relief that the man had been neither kin nor friend. “A mon who joined us as we traveled here, a mercenary who kenned he had a better chance to earn money as part of a group rather than alone. Why did ye come back?” he asked abruptly, meeting her gaze and silently cursing the fact that she had her feelings well shielded.
    “I may wish to be free, but nay at the cost of others’ lives.”
    “Ah, and here I thought it might be for love of my fair face.”
    “Your face is about as fair as a moonless night.” She gently lifted Peter up until his face rested against her shoulder, and slowly began to feed him a drink, stroking his throat with her long, beautiful fingers to coax him to swallow.
    “What is that ye feed the lad?” Cameron asked, finding himself ridiculously jealous of young Peter’s position.
    “An herbal drink that will strengthen him and will help him to replace all that blood he lost.”
    “Ye didnae give it to the others.”
    “Nay, they arenae hurt so badly. They are stoutly whining, a sure sign of health and quick recovery.”
    Cameron grinned. “If Peter begins to whine, ye will consider him cured, will ye?”
    “Aye.” She gently settled the young man back down on his blanket. “A mon facing death doesnae usually whine about twinges, itches, and foul-tasting medicines. If he has any wit or strength left to speak or think, he usually tries to recall all the sins he has committed, worries on what faces him after death, and begs for absolution.”
    “Ye have seen a lot of men die, have ye?”
    “Too many,” she replied in almost too soft a voice; then she rose and walked away.
    An hour later they moved camp. A distance of little more than a mile away was another small clearing with adequate water and grass for the horses. There was also a high hill close at hand that would allow a watch to be kept on the surrounding countryside. The DeVeaux would not be able to get close again without being seen.
    By the time camp was set up, Cameron had bathed and eaten and was more than ready to seek his bed. He looked around for Avery. It annoyed him to see her and Gillyanne returning from the brook only lightly guarded. Even as she paused by the wounded men to check on them, Cameron strode over and grasped her by her wrist. He ignored the disapproving looks and mutters from his men as he dragged Avery to his tent. Clearly he had lost whatever support he had had for his plan. He wondered how they could so easily disregard his sister’s needs—the insult done her and thus the whole clan. Cameron shoved Avery into his tent, followed her in, and went to pour himself some wine.
    “I assume this means that my daring, gallant rescue today changes nothing,” Avery drawled as she sat down on the furs that formed his bed and began to remove her boots.
    “It cannae,” he said flatly as he sat down on a heavy, dark chest that held his belongings. “Ye are needed to force your brother to do his duty by my sister, the lass he dishonored.”
    “Why dinnae ye just try to grab him? Drag him before the priest yourself instead of using me to lure him to his