To Tempt Highland Fate (The Mac Coinnach Brothers) by Kella McKinnon Page A

so soft in her fingers, such a contrast to the harsh masculinity of his face, with the square chin and high cheekbones, and the hard muscular planes of his body.  Unable to stop herself, she traced her fingers along the bold lines of his jaw, pausing at the divot in his chin, then drew them across firm, full lips, and then ever so gently swept them over his long, thick lashes.  His eyelids fluttered, but he did not waken. 
                  He fascinated her.  She was utterly bewitched.  “Who are you, beautiful man?” she said just above a whisper as her hand moved over the thick contours of his arm, tracing the striking black dragon wrapped around it.  “Won’t you wake up and look at me?”  Willa sighed as yet another inexplicable wave of tenderness washed over her, a deep longing of sorts.  And yet she could not quite understand it, how could she be having feelings of longing for a man who had not yet spoken a word to her, in truth had not so much as looked at her?  And yet she felt the urge to lie beside him and press her body to his.  To taste his lips… touch his skin.  It ran through her blood, tingling to the tips of her fingers like lightning. 
                  Shaking herself from her thoughts before she broke down and acted on them, she gathered the bowl and rag and went to do the many small tasks that she hoped would take up the long hours of the next several days.  There was water to fetch, her horse to tend, a stew to make, and washing to do.  Then it would be time to tend her patient again.  And she should probably bathe him again…
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
     
     
                  Drust came awake with a start, his eyes flying open as if from the sudden ending of a dream.  He was drenched in sweat and God, he ached all over.  For a moment he thought he was still asleep, that this was a dream, but then he turned his head, and the dusty daylight streaming through an open window stung his bleary eyes.  The sun… a window…  A window?
                  Where the hell am I?  
                  The last thing he remembered… what was it?  Ah yes, he was dying.  He had been stumbling and groping his way through a seemingly endless black tunnel, and then he finally, finally saw light… had he reached it?  He couldn’t remember… he must have collapsed.  He had lost a lot of blood from where the sword had slashed his side… even in the dark of the tunnel where he could see nothing at all, he had felt it oozing through his fingers where he pressed one hand against the wound, feeling his way through the dark passages with the other, all the while his body growing weaker, his eyes heavier... his breaths shallower…
                  Drust carefully lifted his throbbing head just a little and looked down at his body.  The wound had been dressed, and he was clean and lying in a bed.  With clean white sheets.  Someone had been caring for him. 
                  A woman?
                  He thought he remembered a woman, glimpsed from beneath his barely cracked-open lids, but his head still felt too foggy and he couldn’t be sure if she was real or only an image from a fever dream.  Aye, come to think of it, she had been far too beautiful to be real.  Almost like an angel.  He remembered how soft and cool her touch had been on his hot skin, how her voice had soothed him.  He looked up and saw the thatched ceiling.  It seemed vaguely familiar, as if he’d looked at it before like this, but he couldn’t quite remember.  Had he been awake before now?
                  He tested his strength, trying to sit up, and quickly realized his hands were tied to the bed posts. 
                  What the hell? 
                  Was he a prisoner? A prisoner in a bed with soft white sheets?  He fell back against the pillow with a soft groan, weak