Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides)

reach, all she could see were dark shapes. She could feel the blood soaking his plaidthough when she placed a hand to it, and quickly grabbed up her skirt hem. She tried to tear it, but the material was toothick for that, and she had to feel around on Geordie for the dagger she’d seen him slide into his belt back in his room.Dragging it out, Dwyn used that to cut off a strip of her skirt. She then balled it up, and pressed it against the centerof the spreading patch of blood, before slicing at her skirt again to get another swath of the material. Dwyn laid that overthe ball of cloth she’d placed over the wound, then stuck each end under his arms before rolling him onto his back. She slicedaway a third strip of her gown to ball up and press against the center of the blood patch on the front of his chest when shefound it with her fingers. Dwyn then grabbed up both ends of the cloth she’d tucked under his arms and drew them togetherto tie them off over the cloth. She pulled both ends as tight as she could as she did it, putting her whole body behind theeffort, relief sliding through her when she heard him grunt in pain.

Pain was good, it meant he lived, Dwyn thought as she finished tying off the cloth and bent over his face. Patting his cheeklightly, she said, “Geordie? Are ye awake, husband?”

“Aye,” he groaned.

“Thank God,” she breathed, and then ordered, “Stay that way!”

“Well, I’m no’ likely to sleep with ye bellowing at me like that,” he said, his voice weak, but with a touch of humor to it.

“Good, because ye’re no’ getting out o’ marrying me good and proper in front o’ a priest, Geordie Buchanan. So do no’ eventhink o’ dying on me,” she growled, and then glanced around anxiously, trying to think what to do. She needed to get him backto the clearing and his horse. “Can ye get up, do ye think?” Dwyn turned back to him to ask.

He raised his head and shifted his hands to his sides to help push himself up, but then dropped back to the ground on a sigh.“I’m sorry, lass. I do no’ think—”

“’Tis okay,” Dwyn said at once. “Don’t waste yer strength talking.” She glanced through the trees, trying to judge how farshe’d been dragged. Turning back to Geordie, she bent to press a quick kiss to his mouth, then pushed herself to her feet,muttering, “I’ll be right back. Do no’ die on me.”

“Wife, wait,” he gasped, but she ignored him and burst into a run. The clearing wasn’t far at all, perhaps twenty feet, butwhen she didn’t see Geordie’s horse, Dwyn at first thought she’d somehow got turned around and come out at the wrong spot.But then she saw the plaid spread out under the moonlight and cursed. This was the right place. Geordie’s horse was just gone.

Dwyn stood still for a second, her heart thumping and brain twisting itself up trying to sort out what to do. She had to getGeordie to help, and quickly, or she could lose him. His horse had been their best bet. She hadn’t thought ahead to figureout how to get him on the horse when he couldn’t even stand up, but she would have figured out something. Unfortunately, therewas no horse to get him on.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Dwyn breathed, turning in a circle. She could lose him. She couldn’t lose him. She loved him.

The thought made Dwyn freeze briefly. Love? Already? She wanted to scoff at the thought, but was very much afraid that shedid already love Geordie Buchanan. The man was just . . . He made her feel alive. For years she’d felt like she was fadingaway, becoming just another piece of furniture at Innes. That had been happening for the last seven years actually, sincethe day that she’d learned her betrothed had died. She’d never met the man who was to be her husband, so had not grieved hispassing for the man he was. Instead, she’d felt only panic and fear.

When they received the message with the news of his death, Dwyn had turned to her father with dismay and asked what they woulddo now. His response had been “not to worry, everything would work out,” and she’d known then that he wasn’t likely to tryto find her a replacement husband. Her father was too comfortable with the way things were. He was too happy having her torun his keep, and handle his people. And she’d known she would live out her days at Innes, alone, without the husband andchildren she’d dreamed about someday having.

Dwyn was positive that if it weren’t for Geordie she would have died a lonely old maid, running her father’s home and people.Or perhaps living out her end days on the charity offered to her by her sisters, depending on what had been done with Innesif her father died first.

By the time the first letter had arrived from Buchanan, she’d already been a shriveled-up old maid in her head. Almost. Butthat first letter had sparked hope in her heart. However, her father hadn’t shown much interest in it. In fact, he’d tossedthe first away. It was Dwyn who had snatched it up from the floor where he’d tossed it after crumpling it up. And it was Dwynwho’d responded to the message in her father’s name. She’d continued to respond to each successive message from Jetta Buchanan,telling herself it was a nice little fantasy to pass her dreary days so that she wouldn’t get her hopes up, because she knewher father ultimately wouldn’t agree to anything that might prevent her taking care of him. But then the message with theBuchanan terms had arrived. Dwyn had begun to tremble when she’d read that if a brother chose her to wife, Laird Innes hadto agree and put in the marriage contract that the Buchanan brother would become the heir to Innes, and next