Free Keeper of my Heart by Laura Landon Page A

nonetheless.”
    He reached out and lifted her arm. The grimace on her face told him how much it pained her. “You should have told me you’d been injured.”
    “Would that have stopped you from marrying me?”
    “Nay. We would have still wed.” He separated the torn material of her gown and glanced down. It was worse than he’d feared. “Are you cold?” he asked, feeling her tremble.
    “A little.”
    He wrapped his tartan around her shoulders, taking care to place it so she couldn’t see her arm. It would be best if she didn’t realize how bad the gash was. “What happened between you and your father that was so bad you felt the need to run away from the safety of your home and hide with only Kenneth to protect you?”
    “We did na get along.”
    “Many fathers and daughters do na get along,” he said, watching the far-away look in her eyes, “but their disagreements are na bad enough that their daughters choose to sacrifice their freedom and live in a convent for the rest of their lives.”
    “I’m not like other daughters.” She leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes.
    “Perhaps marriage to me will na be so bad.”
    “The day will come when you, too, will regret this day. Even your so-called peace will na be worth the price you had to pay.”
    Iain ignored her words, knowing they were just the thoughts of a willful lass angry because she’d been forced to comply with her father’s demands. Things would seem different on the morrow.
    Lifting the dagger from the belt at his waist, he slit the sleeve of her gown from her wrist to her elbow. The material fell away, exposing the long, ragged wound. “Do na look,” he said, placing his finger on her chin and turning her head.
    “Is it that bad?”
    “Nay. But a wound always looks worse before ’tis washed and bound.”
    Iain tore a strip of material from her muslin undergarment and rinsed it in the stream. She sucked in her breath when he placed the cool cloth against her skin and he angled his back to her so she couldn’t see when he cleaned away the blood.
    “Do you think it will need to be sewn?” she asked, her soft voice bearing a great deal of trepidation.
    “Aye.”
    Kenneth came with the three horses and tethered them beside the stream, then walked over to her. The look on his face held a wealth of concern. “I did na protect you well, milady,” he said, kneeling beside her. “I swear it is the last time I will let your father harm you.”
    “It was na your fault, Kenneth. It was foolish of me to try to battle him. I should have known better. I have never come out the victor.”
    Kenneth smiled. “You are more warrior than half the MacBrides with him. ’Tis a pity he will never see it.”
    She smiled, but her smile soon faded. It was obvious her arm pained her more with every minute gone by.
    “Kenneth,” Iain said, still cleaning the wound as best he could, “go to the abbey and bring back some thread and a needle, the smallest they have. And some clean cloths and a poultice of stonecrop. Even some catnip and some tea if they have it.”
    “Aye, milord,” Kenneth said, rising to his feet and heading toward the abbey at a run.
    “Would you rather Kenneth did the sewing?” he said when they were alone.
    “Will the pricks going through my skin hurt less if Kenneth holds the needle?”
    “Nay, but. . .”
    “Then I will have you do it. Besides, if the scar is not so very pretty when you finish, I will display it when I have need to remind you of your ungainly talents and torment you into submission to grant my every wish. Isn’t that what a wife would do to get her way?”
    He laughed. “It is good you can joke at such a time. I ken I’ll be likin’ that particular trait.”
    She chuckled. “I must be overly tired. I am usually quite successful convincing people that I do na have a pleasing humor at all. I can see I have erred with you already.”
    Her upturned lips gave her pale face a beautiful glow.