Amanda Scott by Prince of Danger

no cloths here that I want to use, but my shift is clean enough. I can rip strips of it to tend the worst of them, and I saw herbs near the streambed from which I can make a plaster to ease your pain. Then you may sleep until Ian returns.”
    His wan smile revealed his exhaustion more than anything else had, making him look more like a weary child than a grown man. “I am yours to command, my lady,” he said. “After a few bites of food, I’ll be in fine fettle again.”
    “Sit on that pallet then, sir, and eat what I’ve cut for you,” she said.
    “You should not call me ‘sir,’ you know,” he said as he lowered himself to the pallet. “I warrant that lad thought me your servant until you identified me as a gentleman and friend. That may prove a costly error if he is caught and questioned.”
    “They won’t catch him,” she said confidently.
    “Still, it would be easier if you could bring yourself to call me Michael.”
    “I do not know you well enough for such familiarity, sir.”
    “Aye, well, at least now I ken you to be more properly called Lady Isobel.”
    “But so I told you from the outset,” she said, watching as he bit off a large chunk of the bread at last and chewed. “My name is no secret.”
    “At the cavern you identified yourself only as Macleod of Glenelg’s daughter. If memory serves me, the man has many daughters.”
    “That is true,” she admitted. “There were eight of us, but only Adela, Sorcha, and Sidony remain at home. The others are all married or dead.”
    “I see,” he said, his tone harsh again. “Tell me something of your husband then, madam. Who is he and what manner of man is he that he allows his lady wife to ride about the countryside without anyone to guard her from evil assailants?”
    “Sakes, sir, I don’t have a husband!”
    “You said that all but those three of your father’s daughters were married or dead,” he reminded her. “You are certainly not dead.”
    “No, but as I’m sure I told you earlier, I have lived with Hector Reaganach and my sister Cristina at Lochbuie since I turned thirteen. I was not counting myself as part of the group that remained at Chalamine but merely describing the others. I do see, though, that I did not make myself clear when I said that about my sisters.”
    “Your denial was most vehement, lass. Do you dislike men so much?”
    “I don’t dislike them at all, most of the time, for they can be quite useful creatures,” she said, chuckling. “Indeed, they are indispensable at court if one wants to dance or to flirt. ’Tis not men I have no use for, sir, only husbands.”
    “I see.”
    That reply being more encouragement than usual to express her point of view on the subject, she said, “Marriage is forever and ever, sir, and in my experience, it is the nature of husbands to be tyrants.” When he frowned, she added with a sigh, “Should I cut more bread and cheese for you, or may we go out to the burn now?”
    “We’d better go now if we’re going to go at all,” he said.
    He did not look much steadier as he got to his feet, but after she peeked outside and decided no one would see them if they took care to keep to the shelter of the shrubbery, he followed her meekly. When they neared the swiftly flowing burn, he sat on a boulder and rested while she ripped a generous portion of her shift away and soaked it in the chilly water.
    He remained stoic while she tended the cuts across his back, but his skin rippled from time to time in shudders that told her more than words that her ministrations were hurting him.
    “The plaster I’ll make will help as you rest,” she said, gently dabbing the deepest of the cuts. “Sicklewort will help protect against putrefaction, too, but you may have trouble sleeping, especially if you often turn over in your sleep.”
    “’Tis a pity I’ve no southernwood with me,” he murmured. “It makes a fine brew that sends one straight off to sleep.”
    “I’ve chamomile at