Tempting the Highlander Page 6
He was a huge man, well over six feet tall, with dark auburn hair and several days’ growth of beard shadowing the harsh planes of his face. He was wrapped in a length of plaid cloth, cinched around his waist with a wide leather belt. There was another, different-colored plaid lying beside him.
Catherine took a quick step back when she noticed the long sword clutched in his left hand, half covered with leaves and the edge of the plaid blanket he was wearing.
A sword?
The man looked like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, only scarier.
She crept closer and slowly bent down, keeping her stick poised to strike. She reached out and touched his shoulder, only to gasp at the realization that he was warm.
Not dead. Unconscious.
Catherine scanned his body and saw the blood seeping through the cloth on his right side. She also noticed several scratches on both his arms and legs, some of them deep. Only half of his broad chest was covered by the cloth, and she could see a large gash on his right shoulder. There was a bruise on his left cheek and another one on his temple. He’d been in some sort of fight. She leaned forward, still careful not to touch him, and saw a good deal of blood covering the ground.
“Mommy!” Nora shouted.
Catherine stood up and leaned past the tree. “I’m okay, sweetie. And he’s not dead, he’s unconscious. He’s bleeding quite badly, though.”
“Then come back, Mom,” Nathan hissed. “We gotta leave before he wakes up.”
Catherine looked back at the man. If she didn’t stop that bleeding, he never was going to wake up. She looked back at her children.
“Nathan, I want you to go get that old wheelbarrow from behind the outhouse and bring it here. Nora, walk over to me and stand next to this tree.”
“No!” Nora cried, shrinking back.
“It’s okay,” Catherine assured her, holding out her hand for her to come. “He can’t hurt us. He’s just a poor wounded man who needs our help. Go, Nathan,” she said more firmly. “He’s bleeding to death.”
Nathan urged his sister forward, then turned and ran back down the hill to the outhouse. Nora walked over slowly, her eyes rounded in apprehension.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetie,” Catherine said softly. “Come see for yourself. He’s just a man.”
Nora finally reached the tree and sidled up to it, hugging it for protection, and peered at the ground behind Catherine.
“See?” Catherine said. “He can’t hurt you.”
“He…he’s big,” Nora whispered.
“Yes, he is. And he’s hurt real bad, baby, and we have to help him.”
Nora looked up at her mother. “Can’t we call an ambulance?”
“I’d have to run down the mountain to call one, and he could die before an ambulance can get here. We have to take care of him ourselves,” Catherine explained, turning back to the man. She set down her stick and started loosening his belt enough to slide it out of the way. “Now that you see there’s nothing to be afraid of, can you do me a favor, Nora?”
“Wh-what?”
“Can you run back to the cabin and get me a towel?”
“The blue one?” the little girl asked.
“The blue one would be just fine,” Catherine assured her, carefully peeling back the sticky cloth. “And grab a couple pairs of my wool socks and bring them also,” she called to the retreating girl.
She looked back at the man. He was covered head-to-toe with dirt and leaves, and his skin, even his tanned face, was ashen.
Catherine slowly lifted the cloth away from his right side, sucking in her breath at the sight of the ugly gash just above his hip bone. It was about six inches long, and deep, the skin pulled wide as blood slowly oozed from it.
“Well, mister, we may have found you just in time,” she whispered, gently prodding the cut to see if anything more than blood was involved. No organs or intestines popped out, and Catherine blew a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t up to performing internal surgery, but her many years assisting her dad in his veterinary practice had left her capable of stitching closed a wound like this one.
“What’s the wheelbarrow for?” Nathan asked, pushing it over the bumpy roots of the large pine tree.
“To get him to the cabin,” Catherine explained, moving to shield Nathan’s view as she lifted the plaid to see if he had any other wounds. She dropped the cloth as if she’d been burned, bowing her head to keep Nathan from seeing her blush. Her daddy’s animal practice hadn’t prepared her for anything like this. The guy was a brute of a man and looked as if he had more testosterone than blood in his veins. In fact, that was probably all that was keeping him alive right now; his powerfully fit physical condition was compensating for losing so much blood.
“How are we going to get him in it?” Nathan asked, walking over and staring down at him. His eyes suddenly widened. “That’s a sword!” he said, reaching down to grasp it.
Catherine caught his hand. “Don’t touch it.”
Nathan stepped back and blinked at her. “What’s he doing with a sword? And he’s dressed funny.”
“I have no idea,” Catherine admitted. “Maybe there’s some sort of gathering in Pine Creek, where people dress in period clothes. You know, like when I took you and Nora to that Civil War reenactment last summer. This guy is dressed like an ancient warrior. Maybe there’s a Scottish festival going on.”
“Here’s the towel, Mommy. What’s the socks for?”
Catherine took the towel from Nora, placed it under the plaid, and slid his belt down to hold it over the wound. “He’s in shock, sweetie, and his body temperature is dropping. Here,” she said, handing one pair of socks to Nathan. “Put these on his feet.”
She carefully pried the sword from the man’s left hand, slipped one of the socks over his fist, then slipped the other one over his right hand.
“He’s got six toes!” Nathan blurted, stepping back. “On both feet!”
Catherine snapped her gaze to the man’s feet. His toes did look rather crowded. She looked up and gave Nathan a reassuring smile. “I’ve heard of people having six toes.”
“Is he a monster?” Nora whispered, hugging the pine tree again. “He’s awful hairy, and he’s real big and scary-looking.”
“He’s not a monster,” Catherine said firmly. She took the socks away from her gawking son and put them on the man’s feet herself. “Come on, help me get him into the wheelbarrow,” she said, standing up. “The sooner we get him back to the cabin and I stop that bleeding, the better we’ll all be.”
“We ain’t gonna be able to lift him,” Nathan said, grabbing the wheelbarrow.
Catherine didn’t bother correcting his speech but squatted beside the man’s head and grasped him by the shoulders. “When I lift him up, try to wedge the nose of it under his back,” she instructed. “Okay, now.”
She lifted him only a few inches, then had to ease him down and get a better grip. Good God. The man was solid dead weight.
“Again,” she said as she lifted, grunting against the strain. “Push it under him, Nathan.”
Nathan wedged the nose of the wheelbarrow under his back. Catherine pulled the man more upright, carefully eased him back against the wheelbarrow, then moved to between the handles and took hold of him again, this time under his arms.
“Okay, Nathan,” she said, panting from the exertion. “I’m going to give him a final tug while you push on his legs.”
“I don’t want to touch him,” Nathan whispered.
Catherine didn’t much care to be touching him herself. The guy was solid muscle, with not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He was so warm to the touch, and so frighteningly male, she wasn’t sure if she was trembling from being this close to such an imposing man or if her muscles were quivering from moving his dead weight.
“Then get on the side and try to pull the wheelbarrow under him,” she suggested. “You can help, too, Nora. Get on this side, opposite Nathan, and pull when I lift him up.”
Just as she thought it would, the words wimp and heroes galvanized Nathan. He bent down and grabbed the side of the wheelbarrow and looked over at Nora.
“Come on, sis,” he urged. “You can be a hero, too.”
Not looking all that convinced, the six-year-old hesitantly took hold of the rusty metal and looked at Catherine.
Catherine nodded. “Okay. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!” she growled, pulling on the man with all her might.
He rose only about six inches, but it was enough for Nathan and Nora to slide the wheelbarrow under his backside.
“We did it!” Catherine cried, grabbing the handles and pulling them down.
The wheelbarrow dropped level with a jarring thud, and both Catherine and Nathan scrambled to stop it from tipping sideways. Nora scrambled back to her pine tree.
“You’re both my heroes,” Catherine whispered. “Now we just have to get him to the cabin without bypassing it and rolling him all the way down the mountain.”
Her plan was easier said than done. They nearly lost him out of the wheelbarrow more than once and almost ran him into the side of the cabin. Getting him through the narrow door was even more of a challenge, but they finally wheeled him up to the bed and rolled him into it. All three of them were panting by the time they finished.
“Are we a great team or what?” Catherine said, tightly hugging her two kids. “Good job, guys. Nathan, take the bucket and the large pot, and get some water from the spring. Nora, you carry in what’s left of the wood from the pile outside.” She patted both of them on the backside to get them moving. “We have to hurry,” she said, going over to her suitcase and rummaging through it, looking for her sewing kit. “I have to get him cleaned up, warmed up, and sewn up.”
Nathan stopped by the door. “And then what?” he asked.
Catherine looked up from her suitcase. “And then…I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess the three of us head down the mountain and tell someone he’s up here.”
Both children appeared to like that plan and hurried to do their chores. Catherine set her sewing kit by the bed, lit the last of their candles, and turned and stared down at the man.
He looked vaguely familiar.
She might have seen him in Dolan’s Outfitter Store when she’d been buying the hats and mittens, or they might have passed on the street.
She suddenly stepped back. No, it couldn’t be him. But the more she studied the giant, taking in his size and build and auburn hair, the more she realized who he was.
Well, darn it to hell. Of all the blasted bad luck she’d had lately, this was the prize. The man she’d stolen from—and had outrun twice—was bleeding all over her bed.
Chapter Six
Robbie came awake with enough presence of mind to keep his eyes closed. He held himself perfectly still and listened to the hushed conversation of at least three people while he considered his situation.
He was warm, stiff with pain, and apparently alive. Those were the pluses. He didn’t know which time period he was in, couldn’t decide how badly he was hurt, and for some reason, he couldn’t move his hands.
The good seemed to outweigh the bad, but the conversation was proving a bit hard to grasp—something about a pretty sword, a Sasquatch, a dead car, a job, sewing, and cookies.
It was the mention of the Sasquatch and car that made Robbie think he was back in the twenty-first century.
But a pretty sword?
That remark had come from a young girl.
He could make out the soft voice of a woman, her tone sometimes coddling, sometimes instructing, and often-times trying to restrain laughter. He also heard a young boy whispering—he was the one who had called the man in the bed a Sasquatch.
Catherine Daniels, and Nathan and Nora.
Robbie stifled the urge to shout with joy.
He didn’t have to find his little thief—she’d found him!
None of which explained why he couldn’t move his hands.
Robbie cracked open his eyes and looked through his lashes, squinting at the candlelit scene. Catherine Daniels was sitting beside the woodstove, facing her two children sitting at the table. The boy was dividing his attention between his mother and the sword standing in the corner by the door. The girl was watching Catherine sew his MacKeage plaid as if that needle and thread were the most exciting thing since sliced bread.
“Where will we sleep tonight?” Nathan asked softly, darting a frown at the bed Robbie was in, then back at his mother.
“We’ll pile our jackets and some blankets on the floor by the stove,” Catherine told him, not taking her eyes off her work.
“I thought we was going to tell somebody he was here,” Nora whispered, scooting off her chair and moving closer to inspect her mother’s sewing.
Catherine finally looked up. “We’ll have to wait until morning.” She glanced at Robbie, then back at her children. “I don’t dare leave him alone. Not until he wakes up.”
“What if he don’t wake up?” Nora asked.
“If he’s not awake by morning, I’ll stash you guys someplace safe and run down the mountain.”
This time, Robbie had to stifle a snort. That should take the lady only half an hour, the way she ran.
The lure of Robbie’s sword finally defeated Nathan, and the boy slid off his chair and sidled over to the corner.
“Stay away from that,” Catherine said. “It’s quite heavy and the edges are sharp.”
And bloody, Robbie wanted to add. He assumed she’d noticed that fact when she brought it in and hoped she thought it was his blood on the blade. It wouldn’t do to have Catherine Daniels thinking he was in the habit of maiming people. Not with what he had planned for her.
“Could I have something to drink?” he asked.
Three pairs of startled eyes rounded on him. Nora squeaked and moved to the other side of her mother. Nathan stepped forward as if to defend them but changed his mind at the last minute and grasped Nora by the shoulders.
Catherine Daniels, once she got over her surprise, broke into a beautiful smile. “You’re awake,” she said, standing up and setting her sewing on the table.
She picked up a cup and brought it over to him. Robbie went to reach for it—and finally realized why he couldn’t move his hands. Both wrists were bound to the side rails of the bed. He shot his gaze to Catherine.
Her smile disappeared. “I…ah…we don’t know you,” she explained, canting her chin defensively.
Robbie relaxed into the pillow and gave her a crooked grin. “You not only run like the wind, Catherine, but you’re smart as well.”
Her face paled. “You know who I am?”
“You left your backpack hanging on a bush along the road near my house,” he told her, his smile widening when her eyes rounded. “That drink?” he asked, nodding at the cup in her hand.
“Oh.” She leaned down, lifted the back of his head, and held the cup to his lips.
An ice-cold beer couldn’t have tasted better. Robbie drank every drop of water but for the ones that ran down his chin. “Thank you,” he said with a sigh as she lowered his head. “What time is it?”
“Almost five in the evening.”
“What day?”
“Ah…” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t really know. I haven’t kept track of the days.”
“How long have I been out, then?”
“We found you this morning, up behind the cabin.”
“So this is Thursday?”
“I really don’t know.”
Robbie decided to ask her something she did know. “What condition am I in?” he asked, lifting his head to look down his body. All he saw was an old blanket covering him, but the pain in his right side told him that eight-hundred-year-old wounds still hurt like hell the next day.
“You have a deep gash just above your right hip,” Catherine said, setting the empty cup on the stool beside the bed. She waved her hand at his torso. “And another cut on your shoulder. And you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“But the bleeding has stopped?”
She nodded. “I’ve sewn up both wounds. And I washed your smaller cuts.” She hesitantly leaned over and set her delicate hand on his forehead, then quickly pulled back. “You don’t have a fever,” she said, her face tinged pink. “But you need to see a doctor as soon as possible.”
Robbie was still trying to get over the fact that she’d taken a needle to him. “Sewing flesh is messy work,” he said, lifting one brow. “And should involve at least a passing knowledge of human anatomy.”
Catherine Daniels’s smile returned. “People aren’t so different from horses and cattle.”
Robbie lifted his other brow.
“My dad was a veterinarian,” she told him. “And I did rounds with him every summer through high school. I had some silk thread in my sewing kit, but the doctor will probably redo the sutures. I just wanted to stop the bleeding and close you up to lessen the chance of infection.”
“And I thank you for that, Catherine,” Robbie said with a slight nod. He looked toward her children standing beside the woodstove, their eyes huge and apprehensive, then back at her. “How did I get from behind the cabin to here?”
“In a wheelbarrow,” she told him. “These are my children, Nathan and Nora,” she added, turning and waving them forward. “Nathan is eight, and Nora is six.” She took hold of their shoulders once they approached and faced him again. “They helped get you in here.”
Robbie nodded to them. “Thank you,” he said.
“Do you have a name?” Catherine asked.
“Robbie MacBain. I live at the bottom of this ridge, in the white farmhouse with the chicken coop that sits next to the large barn. I believe you’re familiar with the place?”
Catherine’s face colored with another beautiful blush.
Robbie thought about how he was going to get down off this mountain and how he could persuade Catherine Daniels to come with him.