“You should not judge a man without proof of his character,” Honoria scolded. “I’d stake my life that he’s not a criminal or bad sort.”
“I pray for all our sakes you are right, lass. There is no telling the creative way Adair will punish us once he gets wind that we sheltered a stranger attacked on our property.”
“He will understand.” Honoria took the cloth from his hand. “That is enough. You are relieved from your duties.”
Hugh leaped from the bed and strode to the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“I think he’s terrified of what you will ask next of him,” Isla said with a chuckle, eyes bright with amusement. “He can be such a bairn at times.”
Honoria’s lips quirked. “’Tis like I asked him to touch a corpse.”
Isla rose to her feet. “I will have the cook prepare broth for when he wakes.”
Honoria gave a grateful nod, reaching for the rag to wash away the dried blood. His body shivered beneath her fingers as the damp cloth connected with his skin.
“Poor beastie,” she cooed.
He was hard beneath her hand, and again Honoria wondered how someone had gotten so close to such a formidable man to stab him. No additional bruises indicated a fight. And raised in a castle of brothers, Honoria had seen her fair share fights and bare chests. In all of them, both parties walked away with bruises.
Darting a glance at his face, she listened to his slow, deep breaths as she gingerly ran a finger over his tattoo. It was only when he shuddered beneath her touch once more that Honoria felt the slight draft in the air.
Och! She had been so busy caring for the man; she hadn’t given thought to the chill. Rising, she set out to light a fire in the hearth, somewhat ashamed she hadn’t thought to do so in the first place.
Once the room crackled with warmth, she crossed over to the bedside and covered the wound with a clean wrap.
“My name is Honoria,” she whispered, tugging a quilt over him. “I found you on the side of a hill not far from our castle.”
When he shivered, she leaned closer, her gaze traveling over his face for any sign of consciousness. He had a strong countenance. Nothing about him could be called refined.
“Can you hear me?” she asked in a whisper. There was no response to her words, not even a tick in a muscle. “I must be imagining things,” she muttered and pulled away from him.
“Maybe if I shared something about me, you might feel less like a stranger,” Honoria murmured aloud. “Let’s see, I prefer summer over winter, loathe tea and wished I was as tall as my brothers.”
She sank down on the mattress.
“I wonder if you are as dangerous as my brother fears and whether you believe in fate.” Honoria had never given fate much thought, to be honest. “Not until you appeared on the hill . . . If I accompanied my brothers, I’d not have found you. Fortune or fate? Predestined or coincidence? Perhaps they are the same.”
Would he have perished if she hadn’t discovered him? No one else was prone to wander up that hill.
“I suppose that is a question only time can reveal.” She glanced at the pot of salve. “Granted, I may kill you yet.”
A soft moan drifted from his lips, drawing Honoria’s gaze to their fullness. The man had been sculpted to attract the attention of any woman, on death’s bed or not. But his wasn’t the sort of face that would have you swooning at his feet, not like her brother Callum. The stranger’s features were too harsh for that. They did not draw awareness but commanded attention. And this man had enslaved hers.
How would it feel if his lips brushed hers?
Gah! She shook her head, dislodging the sudden fantasy. He was unconsciousandbadly wounded. This was not the time to indulge in such musings.
Honoria smoothed a hand over his sudden puckered brow when he started to twitch restlessly. “Shall I cite you some poems?” she cooed. “I know quite a few.”
As the softly spoken words of her all favorite poems rolled off her tongue, Honoria noticed some of the harsher lines of his face softening. More of her favorite poems spilled from her lips until she was certain that he’d settled into a deep, peaceful sleep.
