Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel) (13 page)

“No, better not, now let me.” Sucking in a breath he told her, “I’m amazed you’re still standing. Though I think the cut on your cheek adds to your beauty.”

Rolling her eyes, she heard him laugh, the big ol’ charmer.

Gently, he took her hands in his, the air around her grew warmer, her fingers tingled, silver light spilled out from his hands, and a low electrical hum filled the air. Releasing her hands, he did the same for the cuts on her arms and cheek. Finished, he patted her shoulder, stood and went to build up the fire.

“Best keep this to ourselves, aye?”

Speechless, she examined her hands. Each of her missing and broken nails—healed. Shiny, pink and no longer tender to the touch. Astonished, she looked at him. “How? Is this part of the Shadow Walker thing? But then why didn’t Colin do it? I don’t understand…”

“He told you about us?” The look of incredulity on his face was almost laughable.

“Yes, it’s a long story.”

Robert stopped her. “I suppose it is. Though it’s starting to make sense. Let’s just say Colin would have healed you if he could. The reason is his to tell.”

A knock at the door brought Mary with the water and whisky. Robert had a roaring fire going, “Emily, bring the water here, we’ll set it to boil. Can ye sew?”

“Oh no, not really, other than making a pillow in school, haven’t ever really had to know how.”

Robert raised his eyebrows at her, “Funny how the world changes, sewing used to be a skill every lass knew, now, I’d reckon very few know how to sew.”

She had to ask, “How old are you?”

“Well, milady, I’m a few years older than Colin, I look pretty damn good for my age, don’t I?” He chuckled at her surprised look.

“I, um, well, I, um, just, don’t know what, um, to say,” she stammered. Jeez, was everyone hundreds of years old? Didn’t they make young Shadow Walkers?

She would grow old while he would stay the same. Being a bit vain, it bothered her more than she thought it would.
Best not to worry about it, you don’t even know if he’s interested in you for anything longer than a night.

“Don’t fret milady, let’s get Colin taken care of.”

Stripping Colin out of the tattered remains of his kilt, she tried not to look but had to catch her breath. He had broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist showcasing muscles that came from hard work and swinging a sword. These weren’t gym muscles, no way, sister; these were amazing, corded, rock-hard muscles, and they ran straight to a large cock and heavily muscled legs. Covering him with a towel from the waist down, she quickly averted her gaze from his fantastic package. Staring at the scars covering his chest and stomach, her gut heaved when she realized how many battles he must have seen over the years.

“Like what you see, do you?” Colin came to and peered at her through his inky, long lashes. A wolfish grin on his face. “Keep looking at me like ye want to devour me lass, I’ll have to lose the towel and oblige ye.” Colin rumbled, low in his throat. She noticed when he was tired, injured, or angry, his accent was more pronounced. She loved his voice.

“Hmmph, I was just noticing all the scars, no need to have your head get any bigger.” Emily sniffed, her face flaming, as she prepared the water and cloths to clean his wounds. Robert threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Scowling at him, she busied herself inspecting Colin’s arm. It looked awful, encrusted with dried blood and dirt, swollen and bruised. It made her squeamish, light-headed simply looking at it.

“Think I could have a sip of whisky?” she asked voice shaking.

“Now milady, no need to be afraid, it’s only a wee bit o’ blood. Pretend you’re making, what was it? Oh yes, a pillow. You’ll have to make do. I have to recharge or I’d help Colin myself. Then I’m off to meet my mates and ready the ship to leave in the morning on the tide,” Robert said.

“It’s, well, I don’t particularly like blood.” Emily said.

“Not me should be worried I think. Colin’s the one should be worried by your lack of womanly skills.” Robert gave him a look, Colin shook his head and grimaced.

“Wait, Robert?” She stopped him from leaving with a hand on his arm, her eyes tearing up. “I don’t know how to thank you for healing me.” Reaching up, she hugged him.

“Couldn’t have your lovely fingers less than perfect, now could we?”

“Robert, quit mauling Emily and get the hell out. Emily just sew the damn thing up and pour me some whisky. I’m tired of hearing the two of you blathering on like old biddies, you’re making my head pound.” Colin growled at them as Robert shut the door with a bang.

“Fine. Don’t get grouchy with me, Mr. Crankypants, I’m the one with the needle, remember?” Emily tried to sound mad, but she was tired. She couldn’t blame Colin for being grouchy. She knew his arm must be killing him; couldn’t stall any longer after cleaning the rest of the superficial cuts. After a healthy swig for Colin and one for her, she set to cleaning the worst of his wounds.

Colin gritted his teeth but didn’t make a sound as she first cleaned his face, removing the dirt and blood, gently cleaning his split lip. He had full lips and even with the bruising and half his bottom lip split, Emily had the strongest urge to run her finger down his face, tracing the scar, it stood out starkly against his pale skin. His head wound was fine, didn’t need stitches; his thigh and arm injuries would require lots of stitches.

Moving to his wounded arm she cleaned the dirt and blood. There were bits of rock embedded in the cut. Feeling sick to her stomach, knowing she’d have to remove them, she took a deep breath.

Okay, no fainting, throwing up or generally falling to pieces. Come on now, he needs you, be strong, you can do this.

Listening to the sounds drifting up the stairs—the tavern-glasses clinking, patrons murmured voices, and the fiddler’s music helped calm her nerves. “I have to remove the shards of rock from your arm. I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice trembled.

“You’ll do fine. Pain doesn’t bother me, ye willna hurt me. There’s no one else I’d rather have tend me.”

He never said a word while she removed the debris, an occasional grunt or sharp intake of breath were the only sounds in the silence of the room other than the crackling fire. Stretching, she moved to clean his thigh. His legs were amazing. Strong and well-muscled. Running her hand along the muscles, she heard Colin swear under his breath.

His voice was hoarse, “Lass, if ye don’t jab me with a needle soon, I’m going to pull you on top of me and ravish you.”

“Oh. As much as I’d like that, you’re in no shape to do anything.” With one comment, the ornery man almost made her forget what she was doing. One minute he was gruff and grouchy, the next he was teasing her, flirting, or putting her at ease. She knew he was a good guy, rough around the edges with some kind of serious baggage, but he seemed like a decent, honorable man. Emily shook herself. What did it matter? The last thing she needed was another relationship. Hell, her track record was so awful it should be a neon warning sign she found Colin attractive. Given her history, he seemed good, so it was a safe bet he was totally bad news.

Finally finished cleaning his wounds, she moved on to the sewing.

“Okay, this is going to sting; I’m going to pour the whisky on your injuries. Last chance to call a doctor and go to a nice, sanitary hospital with people who know what they’re doing…”

“No doctors or hospitals. ‘Tis a waste of good whisky if you ask me, but if you insist then go ahead and do it.” Colin tensed as she poured it on his thigh and arm, over and over, until the wounds were clean. All throughout her ministrations he never made a sound of protest. Emily couldn’t believe the kind of pain he must have endured during his life not to cry out. She would have been screaming at the top of her lungs, yelling for the best drugs the hospital had to offer.

She put the needle in the fire to sterilize it, pulled the thread from the boiling water and took a deep breath. “I’ll try and do my best but I’ve never done anything like this before. I hope it doesn’t get infected, this can’t be sanitary.” Emily couldn’t keep the waver out of her voice.

He looked up at her and Emily had to stifle the impulse to lean down and hug him. He looked so vulnerable laying there; she had the strongest urge to protect him, to make the hurt go away. If only a kiss could do that, she’d kiss him from head to toe.

She leaned back to see him intently watching her with the slightest twitch of his lip, but to his credit he didn’t say anything. Emily thought she might have stabbed him with the needle if he made a smart remark.

“Lass, just do your best. One or two more scars won’t even be noticeable.” Colin closed his eyes, waiting.

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed the needle through his skin. The wound went from the crook of his elbow down the underside of his arm, all the way to his wrist. Sweat beaded on her forehead. It was harder than it looked. It was difficult to go through skin, not to mention, the needle made a popping noise as it entered the skin. She could hear the thread making that squicking sound as it pulled through skin, tissue, and blood.

She had to stop, putting her head between her legs to breathe so she didn’t faint or throw up. That wouldn’t do at all. Shaking, sweaty, and pale, she lifted her head to see Colin trying to lean up on his elbows.

“Are ye okay, lass? Can I help ye? What do ye need?” Colin looked so concerned for her, she almost laughed. He was the one seriously injured, yet he was worried about her. No teasing or laughing, he gently took her hand in his uninjured one and held it.

Looking down at Colin’s hand, Emily marveled at how large and strong it was. With callouses set off by tanned rough skin, this was no corporate America hand of the men she typically dated. Those were usually, pasty white, manicured, and doughy. This was the hand of a real man. Solid, warm, and strong. At that moment, Emily thought everything would be all right, as long as Colin held her hand, and that nothing would ever harm her. It was a silly thought, but it comforted her and she said, “Thank you.” He didn’t say a word, simply rested his hand across his chest, closing his eyes.

Time stood still, the moments stretching out, the quiet, the crackling logs, the warmth of the room seeping in her bones. Pausing in stitching up his arm, she checked on Colin. He was pale, eyes closed, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow the only indication of the pain he felt.

Rubbing her aching neck and shoulders, she stood. Putting the needle in the fire again and pouring more whisky over it to sterilize it as best she could, she laid a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. Moving to sew up the thigh wound, she was thankful it wasn’t nearly as long as his arm injury.

Bloody hell, his arm was on fire and hurt like the devil but damned if he’d tell her. He liked her fussing over him. Stealing a look at her through his lashes, he marveled, she was so beautiful with her long brown hair, reaching halfway down her back. He loved her hair, made him want to fist both hands in it as she straddled him while he brought them both to climax. Shades of chestnut and gold caught the light as she moved. Her face was round with full lips, currently in a pout as she tried to concentrate on not stabbing him with the needle. As she leaned over him, he could see her eyes were the color of a winter day, clear gray with a hint of silver and blue and still…she smelled of sunshine and peaches. He’d never look at a peach the same way again. His groin tightened, he shifted to ease it. Gods, he burned for her.

Could he let her into his battered heart, take the chance and trust again?

He felt queasy thinking on the possibility Emily might be the one, the only one for him. He’d pushed aside feeling for so long, it was painful to feel anything other than anger and the thrill of battle. His thoughts shifted. Being powerless was going to cause problems. They needed to get to Ravensmore. He could defend them from there. Until he was sure who was coming after Emily, he couldn’t take any chances. Didn’t want to risk Captain Huntington finding them while he wasn’t at his best for a fight.

Emily cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been caught staring at her. He had his uninjured hand in her long hair, winding his fingers through it. Colin quickly released her hair before she said anything. Finishing up, tying off the knot, he told her to put honey on his wounds to keep them from getting infected and then wrap the injuries with clean linen. Watching her get up, she stretched like a cat, easing the kinks from her back, shoulders, and neck. Disposing of the cloths, she asked him, “Can I get you anything? Some water or more whisky?”

No answer forthcoming, she turned; Colin had passed out, snoring quietly. Something was crawling on his arm. Moving closer to look, hoping it wasn’t some giant spider, she could see a fat, lazy, honeybee walking along his arm. Weird, maybe it was attracted to the honey. She liked bees, they were good for everything, she didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother her. Looking around the room to figure out how a bee got in, not to mention how it was surviving when it was so cold outside, she couldn’t tell and was too tired to investigate further. She turned back to Colin, only to see the bee had disappeared as well.

Great, disappearing bees, if there are immortal bees, I’m so outta here, straight to the nearest loony bin, checking myself in.

Dragging her hand across her forehead, she found a wash basin to clean up as best she could. There was no place to sleep except next to Colin. It was a big enough bed, but she worried she’d jostle him, waking him up or rolling on his arm. Throwing her worry aside in favor of exhaustion, Emily climbed in bed next to Colin, passing out into a dreamless, exhausted sleep…

Why am I so warm? I can’t move or breathe.
Emily started to struggle before she realized it was Colin she was curled up against, a naked Colin. He was warm, his leg draped over her body. Looking down she could see his hand on her breast. Thinking about it made her nipples tighten, her body tense in anticipation of what it would be like to be with him. She could imagine his strong body over hers, raised above her, the muscles of his forearms straining, ready to take her.