to the bed,” he snarled. “I will not do so again.”
She turned and cocked her head in his direction. Bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, she resembled some pagan goddess. Her hair was wild and unruly, tumbling about her shoulders and down her back in a riot of dark curls. Where the sun struck them, her tresses glowed red as fine burgundy. Her face was more exotic than beautiful, golden cat’s eyes slanting above high cheekbones, a straight nose, full mouth and a stubborn chin that warned of her willful nature.
Even her name was strange and pagan. Kara Guenna, she’d told him she was called. Not Mary or Margaret after one of the saints. Or even a decent name like Jean or Janet. Janet, good Lord, she was as different from his cool, neat Janet as day from night. This Kara was not only dark and exotic, but immodest. Her coarse skirts came only to her calves, showing shapely legs.
Staring at her made Duncan’s skin grow warm again with a fever he knew too well. Desire. Deep inside him dwelt a bad seed Cousin Niall had not beaten into submission. Something in this wild girl called to the baser nature he’d inherited from his mother. Gritting his teeth, Duncan pulled on the ropes binding him to the bedposts. “Let me up.”
“You will get up when I say.”
A red mist obscured Duncan’s vision and he ceased struggling. “So, I’m a prisoner.”
“You are my patient.” Her voice was rich and low. Her hips moved in seductive swirls as she walked toward him.
Damn. Duncan shut his eyes.
“See, this argument has tired you.”
Ha. Duncan’s eyes flew open at the precise moment she stopped at his elbow. His nostrils filled with the scent of her. Not the sour stink of sweat and horses. That he’d have welcomed. Instead, she smelled of heather. Damn. He’d dreamed of heather when he lay fevered in the Hospitallers infirmary. Heather and home. It was almost obscene to smell it now, underlaid with the sweet muskiness of this pagan woman.
“I am not tired,” Duncan snapped. “I am outraged to think that you and your...your heathenish clan would waylay a Crusader knight returning from the Holy Lands.”
“What is a Crusader?” She sat on the bed beside him.
Her scent overwhelmed him. Duncan groaned.
“Did I jostle your wound?” she asked.
Eyes squeezed shut, jaw clamped so tight his teeth ached, Duncan nodded.
“I am sorry.” She slid to the stool she’d occupied when he’d awakened this morning. “What is a Crusader?”
“You’ve not heard of them?”
Wisps of curly hair flew about when she shook her head. She was so close he could see the freckles, sprinkled like cinnamon over her nose and cheeks, and the green flecks in her amber eyes. Witch’s eyes, he thought. Which explained a great deal but didn’t make him feel any easier about lying here.
“We Crusaders are knights who take the cross...”
“What cross? Where do you take it?”
“’Tis a figure of speech,” he grumbled. “We lay our hand on the cross, pledge ourselves to the glory of God and go to drive the Infidels from the Holy Lands.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “You are a priest?”
“At least you’ve heard of Christianity.”
She straightened. “Despite your slurs, we are not pagans, We...we just happen to follow the old ways, too.”
“You cannot be both pagan and Christian.”
“Father Luthais doesn’t mind, so why should you?”
“There is a priest here.” Relief washed through Duncan. “Fetch him to me.”
“Nay, I—”
“Fine, I will go to him.” He tugged on the ropes.
“He does not dwell among us, but in the priory in Kindo. And cease struggling, you will chafe your poor wrists.”
“Do not refer to me as poor.” Duncan sucked in air as her fingers grazed his inner wrist, brushing him with fire. It leapt along his veins like lightning igniting a summer sky. Every nerve in his body sizzled, every muscle contracted. Especially those over which it seemed he had no control at all. Thank the heavens for the thick blankets, else she’d have known.
“Stubborn man. I want only to help you.”
“Then let me go,” he growled.
“And most ungrateful. Father Luthais says we should give thanks to those who do us good.”
Lessons in civility from a little pagan. “I am grateful to you for saving me from...” He wasn’t exactly certain what.
“MacGorys.” She grinned. “Eoin and the lads killed four of the fiends and sent the others fleeing into the hills.”
He tried to imagine Janet, who fainted at the sight of blood, speaking of a battle with such relish. “Well, my thanks for your timely arrival. And for tending me through the fever, but I am expected elsewhere and cannot tarry here wi—” He suddenly recalled the pouch with the gemstones. “Where are my things?” he cried, raising his head and glancing about.
“There.” She pointed to the far corner, where his sword did indeed lean against the rough stone wall. “We are not robbers.”
“That remains to be seen. There was a bag hanging from my belt. It contained my papers and a few coins.”
The girl smiled and ran across the room, returning with the leather pouch. “Here is it.”
“Loose my hands that I may see all is intact.”
She scowled and clutched the purse to her heart. The action pulled her ugly brown gown tight across surprisingly full breasts. “We would not steal from you.”
“Why? You’ve no compunction about tying me up.”
She sighed. “Only to save you from harming yourself.”
“I have been looking out for myself since I was ten, and I will be the judge of what is right for me.”
Tears filled her eyes, magnifying their color. “You have no family,” she whispered.
He didn’t want her pity. “I have a cousin.”
“Surely he—or she—took you in. We’ve orphans aplenty in Edin, thanks to the scurvy MacGorys, but we look after our own.”
“Cousin Niall gave me a home,” Duncan said stiffly.
“He was mean to you.” She scampered over to the bed and plopped down again, enveloping him in a cloud of heather and woman. “Dinna worry. You have us, now.” She stroked his
