The Rose and The Warrior by Karyn Monk Read Free Book Online Page A

some strips of linen or wool to bind around his leg to stop the swelling. Lewis, have you any extra fabric in your bag?”
    Lewis shook his head. “You’re welcome to have my plaid, Melantha.”
    â€œNow, there’s a sight I don’t much care to see,” said Finlay. “Little Lewis’s freckled arse polishing his saddle all through the mountains.”
    Lewis regarded Finlay with irritation. “Melantha needs some fabric. Besides, my shirt is almost long enough to cover me.”
    â€œI’ve a better idea, Lewis,” said Colin. “Each of you take your dirks and cut a length off your plaids, but not so much that you can’t secure them around your waists. Between the four of us, we should have enough cloth to bind poor old Morvyn’s leg.”
    â€œYou’ll have more than enough between the eight of us,” interjected Roarke.
    Melantha looked at him in surprise. “You would spare us some of your plaid?”
    Roarke shrugged. “I hate to see an animal in pain.”
    â€œOf course you do.” Colin’s tone was flagrantly sarcastic. “That’s what you MacTiers are known for—your soft hearts.”
    Roarke ignored him and kept his gaze fixed on Melantha. “You may take whatever you need from our plaids.”
    â€œYou seem to forget, you’re our prisoners,” pointed out Finlay. “We don’t need your permission to take something from you.”
    â€œNow, Finlay, let’s not be rude,” scolded Magnus. “ ’Tis most obliging of Roarke here to make such an offer. Most obliging.”
    Melantha stared at Roarke a long moment. His expression was utterly composed, revealing no trace of the kiss they had shared moments earlier. Her body stirred at the memory. Shame washed through her, making her feel small and soiled.
    Had her father been alive to hear that she had not resisted the touch of her clan’s sworn enemy, he would have been mortified.
    â€œI don’t want your plaid,” she said coldly.
    Roarke shrugged. “If you change your mind, my offer stands.”
    â€œShe won’t be changing her mind,” Colin snarled, glaring at Roarke. “Lewis, cut the plaids and help Melantha tend to Morvyn. Magnus and Finlay, get these MacTiers secured to trees so we can make camp. We will stop here for the night.” He shoved Roarke toward a tree.
    Pushing aside her shame for the moment, Melantha focused on the task of helping Morvyn. She ordered Lewis to cut the swaths of fabric he collected from the other men into narrow strips while she went to a nearby stream and filled a leather pouch with water. Then she tied the strips of wool together, dipped them into the frigid water, and carefully wrapped the sodden bandage around Morvyn’s swollen leg. He endured her ministrations stoically, although it was clear it pained him to have his foreleg handled. Once the leg was thickly sheathed in cold wrapping, Melantha poured more icy water on it, trying to chill his throbbing flesh and keep the swelling to a minimum.
    â€œShall I fetch more water for you, Melantha?” asked Lewis.
    She nodded. “Fill this pouch, and empty my saddlebag and see if it will hold water as well. Morvyn must be thirsty by now, and I’m going to have to keep chilling this bandage through the night if I’m to get the swelling down. The cold will help to ease his pain as well.”
    â€œHow’s he farin’, lass?” asked Magnus, going over to join her as Lewis left.
    â€œBetter.” Melantha gently stroked her horse’s neck. In truth she could not discern any improvement, but she was not about to admit that. “I’m certain by tomorrow he’ll be able to stand.”
    â€œOf course he will, lass,” Magnus agreed. “A few hours of rest, and old Morvyn will be as fit as ever. A true warrior can’t be kept down by something as paltry as a banged shin, ye know. Why,