from her raw flesh. She gasped.
He felt the flesh tear in his own chest. He’d not thought it possible for Maria to become any paler, but as he looked up into her ghostly complexion, he was certain that she had. Her eyes glistened with pooling tears, but they refused to overflow onto her bloodless cheeks. She continued to look stubbornly at her hands. He’d seen many wounded in battle. He’d tended to many injured on his ship. But none of them had been a woman, and none had been as beautiful or valiant than this one. He watched as another wave of pain shook her frame, but she bore it well.
“Talk about something,” he ordered. “Tell me anything, but talk.”
“It hurts!”
“I know it does,” he growled. “But if you hadn’t tried to hide your injury earlier, it wouldn’t be quite this painful now.”
She said nothing but, tearing her eyes away from her hands, she stared off into the darkness.
“Talk to me, Maria. Trust me, it will help. You must take your mind off your hands. Separate yourself from the pain.”
“I can’t!”
“Aye! You can, damn it!” he responded sharply, his tone commanding.
She lifted her face, and John saw the tears now rolling down her face. He reached over for the cup, poured some more drink, and raised it to her lips.
“Drink,” he ordered quietly, and this time she complied with no argument, draining the cup.
With another gentle tug, the piece of linen came away. A flush of relief swept through him. He was nearly finished.
“But I don’t know what to say,” she hiccupped softly. “It hurts so much.”
There was one large flap of skin that needed to be cut away, and the Highlander pulled his razor-sharp dirk from the sheath at his belt and laid it on the table. He suddenly wished she were not as strong-willed as she obviously was when it came to enduring pain.
“A story,” he suggested. “Tell me a story.”
“I don’t know any stories. What are you going to do with your dagger?”
He put her hands back on the table. “Think of some happy moment in your life. Perhaps some time to come. Or one from your past. I need to cut away that piece of skin. You won’t feel it.”
She felt light headed. “There have been no happy moments in my life.” She watched in horror as he carefully wiped the blade with the linen and then quickly sliced the skin. He was right; she felt nothing.
“Think of your husband,” he said, gazing steadily at her. “Think of your marriage.”
John took a handful of the ointment from the jar and gently smoothed it onto the palm and fingers of the hand that appeared less injured. She didn’t deny being married.
“Imagine his face, when he finds out you are alive. That you survived the sinking of the ship.”
She shook her head.
“Try!” he ordered.
“But I can’t,” she said weakly, her eyes rolling up in their sockets.
“You have to. He’ll be waiting.” John smeared the ointment as lightly as he could on her other hand. “He’ll be waiting when you arrive, his arms open to you. His heart full of affection. He’ll be waiting at the docks to whisk you away. And you’ll run to him. Glad to have found him again...”
John paused. She was staring at him, her expression suddenly blank. Even her breathing seemed to have stopped. “Maria?” He reached out and touched her above the elbow, giving her a gentle shake.
Maria’s eyes tried to focus for the briefest of moments. “But...he is dead!”
John was too late to catch her head as it banged to the table with a thud.
She wasn’t married.
Chapter 5
John Macpherson’s attention was wandering.
He could still feel the thick black hair uncoiling, tumbling, caressing his arm with a slippery softness of the silk. She had been as light as feather, as beautiful as an angel, and as trusting as the dead.
After all, she had passed out.
Vaguely, the Highlander could hear his navigator speaking, but John’s mind was not with him. The two men leaned over the maps
He felt the flesh tear in his own chest. He’d not thought it possible for Maria to become any paler, but as he looked up into her ghostly complexion, he was certain that she had. Her eyes glistened with pooling tears, but they refused to overflow onto her bloodless cheeks. She continued to look stubbornly at her hands. He’d seen many wounded in battle. He’d tended to many injured on his ship. But none of them had been a woman, and none had been as beautiful or valiant than this one. He watched as another wave of pain shook her frame, but she bore it well.
“Talk about something,” he ordered. “Tell me anything, but talk.”
“It hurts!”
“I know it does,” he growled. “But if you hadn’t tried to hide your injury earlier, it wouldn’t be quite this painful now.”
She said nothing but, tearing her eyes away from her hands, she stared off into the darkness.
“Talk to me, Maria. Trust me, it will help. You must take your mind off your hands. Separate yourself from the pain.”
“I can’t!”
“Aye! You can, damn it!” he responded sharply, his tone commanding.
She lifted her face, and John saw the tears now rolling down her face. He reached over for the cup, poured some more drink, and raised it to her lips.
“Drink,” he ordered quietly, and this time she complied with no argument, draining the cup.
With another gentle tug, the piece of linen came away. A flush of relief swept through him. He was nearly finished.
“But I don’t know what to say,” she hiccupped softly. “It hurts so much.”
There was one large flap of skin that needed to be cut away, and the Highlander pulled his razor-sharp dirk from the sheath at his belt and laid it on the table. He suddenly wished she were not as strong-willed as she obviously was when it came to enduring pain.
“A story,” he suggested. “Tell me a story.”
“I don’t know any stories. What are you going to do with your dagger?”
He put her hands back on the table. “Think of some happy moment in your life. Perhaps some time to come. Or one from your past. I need to cut away that piece of skin. You won’t feel it.”
She felt light headed. “There have been no happy moments in my life.” She watched in horror as he carefully wiped the blade with the linen and then quickly sliced the skin. He was right; she felt nothing.
“Think of your husband,” he said, gazing steadily at her. “Think of your marriage.”
John took a handful of the ointment from the jar and gently smoothed it onto the palm and fingers of the hand that appeared less injured. She didn’t deny being married.
“Imagine his face, when he finds out you are alive. That you survived the sinking of the ship.”
She shook her head.
“Try!” he ordered.
“But I can’t,” she said weakly, her eyes rolling up in their sockets.
“You have to. He’ll be waiting.” John smeared the ointment as lightly as he could on her other hand. “He’ll be waiting when you arrive, his arms open to you. His heart full of affection. He’ll be waiting at the docks to whisk you away. And you’ll run to him. Glad to have found him again...”
John paused. She was staring at him, her expression suddenly blank. Even her breathing seemed to have stopped. “Maria?” He reached out and touched her above the elbow, giving her a gentle shake.
Maria’s eyes tried to focus for the briefest of moments. “But...he is dead!”
John was too late to catch her head as it banged to the table with a thud.
She wasn’t married.
Chapter 5
John Macpherson’s attention was wandering.
He could still feel the thick black hair uncoiling, tumbling, caressing his arm with a slippery softness of the silk. She had been as light as feather, as beautiful as an angel, and as trusting as the dead.
After all, she had passed out.
Vaguely, the Highlander could hear his navigator speaking, but John’s mind was not with him. The two men leaned over the maps
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