Once Upon a Highland Christmas by Lecia Cornwall Page B

supposed in this case they most certainly did, but still, he was a stranger. Yet it felt as if the light and heat went out of the room when he left it. Perhaps it was because he’d rescued her. Perhaps it was because he was the tallest, handsomest man she’d ever seen. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d saved her from a fate almost worse than death: If she were at Dundrummie at this very moment, she would be reciting the wedding vows that would bind her for life to the Marquess of Merridew. Iain MacGillivray had given her a reprieve from that. She felt gratitude bloom in her breast.
    Annie laid a wrinkled hand on Alanna’s cheek. “You’re flushed like a summer rose. I feared you were fevered, but you’re not.” The old woman glanced after Iain, her eyes speculative. Alanna lowered her gaze.
    â€œI’m well, I think, except for my leg.”
    Annie moved the tattered edges of her skirt away.
    Janet gasped at the sight of her injuries, and Seonag made a sound of pity. Fiona pointed. “That’s Iain’s handkerchief!” she said in a half whisper. “The one I embroidered with his initials last Christmas.”
    Annie cackled. “Perhaps we needn’t have sent him out after all. I trust he was the one that bandaged you up in the first place?”
    Alanna felt more fiery blood fill her cheeks. She pictured his naked body in the firelight, the sensation of his strong hands on her leg, the way he’d held her on the horse, the ease with which he lifted her, carried her. She kept her eyes on her leg. “Yes, he was the one who bandaged it,” she said. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
    Annie probed carefully and squinted before replying. “Sprained and swollen, bruised and scratched too, but not broken. No wonder Iain was carrying you about the way he was. He’ll be carrying you for a few days more.”
    â€œOh, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I can manage,” Alanna said. “I really can’t stay here for so long as that. I am grateful for your kindness, but I must get home.”
    â€œWhere’s that?” Annie demanded as she poured hot water into a bowl and added a handful of herbs. She mixed them with her hands.
    â€œGlenlorne—­well, Dundrummie,” Alanna said. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home to her brother, and Muira, and the ­people she loved—­not that she didn’t love her mother, or her aunt Eleanor, but she decidedly did not love the Marquess of Merridew. She felt fresh tears sting her eyes.
    â€œOch, lass, don’t cry. You’ll be fine. We may be strangers now, but we’re good, kind folk, and Iain . . . well, there’s no better man than Iain,” Seonag soothed, laying a reassuring hand on Alanna’s shoulder.
    Annie spread the warm poultice on Alanna’s knee, her fingers gentle. The strong summer smell of the herbs filled the air, another reminder of home. “You’ll need to stay put,” Annie said firmly, but not unkindly. “You mentioned a healer named Muira—­I’ve no doubt at all that she’d tell you the same.”
    â€œWhat of the Laird of Craigleith?” Alanna asked. “I should speak to him, ask his permission—­”
    Annie looked surprised, and Seonag chuckled.
    â€œBut Iain is the Laird of Craigleith. Did he not introduce himself properly?” Annie asked.
    â€œWe did not—­talk—­very much.” Alanna swallowed, and Annie cackled again.
    â€œMy brother is also the Earl of Purbrick in England . . . well, he’s going to be. The old earl was our great-­uncle, and he died this past autumn. Iain will go to England in the spring and take up his duties there,” Fiona said.
    An earl? Alanna swallowed. And she’d imagined him to be a tacksman or a stable hand. She should have known of course, by the confidence in his eyes, the innate