Free The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman

look to be too serious. Your arm, however—''
    "Is fine," he interrupted.
    Her eyes softened. "Ye've little need to pretend it doesn't hurt, sir. I've seen grown men cry for less grievous wounds."
    "Cry!" Good Lord! He'd rather die of the clap right here and now. Boden concentrated hard and came up with a respectable glare. "Need I remind you that I am a knight, lady. I don't pretend. Nor do I lie. If I say I am fine, I am fine."
    "Oh. Well..." she said and tipping her hand over, dropped the hot cloth against his wound.
    Jesus, God! Boden jerked up with a mental roar of pain. Fire seared his arm, consuming his mind. She was trying to maim him! Dismember him! Kill him! But no. Reality settled slowly back in like dust motes on an abandoned path. He dropped from the balls of his feet back into a flat-footed stance.
    She'd stood up with him. Still holding the cloth to his arm, she stared dead center into his eyes.
    "My apologies," she murmured. "Did that hurt?"
    It was nearly impossible to breathe. But he managed to draw in one shallow inhalation and said, "Nay." She was a witch. "Not atall."
    To his utter surprise she chuckled. The sound surely should have irritated him, but somehow it did the opposite.
    "Regardless of what ye think, I am not a witch," she said.
    "Nay?" he managed from between his teeth.
    "Nay. I be but an evil woman bent on vengeance."
    He turned his eyes to her, nervously watching as she removed the cloth, rinsed it in warm water and replaced it on the wound.
    "Revenge for saving your life?" he asked.
    Her gaze rose swiftly to his. "Revenge for threatening to take it."
    "I did no such thing."
    "I am Bernadette," she said. "Your badgering will do nothing to change the facts."
    He drew another deep breath. Pain shot through his torso. "My apologies," he said. "Being skewered and clubbed always seems to put me out of sorts."
    "That does not change who I am," she said. "Nor will it."
    From somewhere unseen she produced a needle. He eyed it nervously, reminding himself not to run screaming into the woods. After all, he was a knight, but St. Boniface's butt, he hated needles. Far better to suffer untouched. "What are you planning to do with that thing?"
    "I will stitch your wound for ye," she said.
    He said nothing for a moment, but couldn't remain silent for long. "If I apologize again would it change your mind?"
    "Tis my duty," she said, smiling a little.
    "If I apologize to the goat?" he asked.
    She laughed aloud. "I would give ye spirits to help ease the pain if I had any."
    "Leaving me alone will ease me enough," he said.
    "Do ye forget that I owe ye for saving my life?"
    "I would have done it for anyone. Even the goat, if she but smelled a bit sweeter. Tis in the time-honored vows of the knighthood."
    "Truly?"
    "Aye."
    "What a hero ye are."
    "Tis good you've noticed."
    She nodded. "Cold water will bring down the swelling."
    "What?"
    "Twould help if ye would soak your arm in the burn."
    "The burn?"
    "The river," she said, translating from Gaelic to English.
    He turned toward the rapidly flowing stream, then back to her. "It surprises me that a face like yours could hide such a cruel heart. That's not water. Tis ice that flows."
    She propped her hands on her hips. ' 'Is whining a part of your training, knight?"
    "I don't whine."
    "Then get yourself in the burn, afore the swelling worsens."
    He glanced at the stream. It was fast-flowing, shallow, strewn with rocks the size of his fists.
    The night had been bad. It looked as if the day would show little improvement.

Chapter 4
    She should have left him. Sara stared at Sir Blackblade as he lay on the rocky shoreline with his torso draped in the racing water. His back was dark-skinned, crisscrossed with a myriad of scars and muscles, and very broad. She had been a fool to think he couldn't care for himself. She owed him nothing. Her loyalty was to Thomas; he was hers now. Her heart twisted as she glanced at the babe, then back to the knight.
    She should have taken