The shirt was far too big for her, sliding down one shoulder and gaping over her pretty bosom. The looseness would have helped her to get it over her head. Somehow she’d managed to rip off her stained and torn shift as well as her blouse.
He shouldn’t look at her bosom. If only for the sake of his sanity. But he couldn’t help it.
Round breasts pressed wantonly against the soft lawn of his shirt, the pink nipples clearly visible, and they jiggled in a most enticing fashion when she moved. The heat sizzling through him made him feel like a barbarian. Mhairi was hurt and vulnerable, and she'd nearly died. Right now, she deserved his care, not his desire.
He wrenched his gaze from that forbidden, arousing sight and stared blindly across the void where she'd nearly lost her life and where Sheena had met her death. A few deep breaths and some stern words to himself about being a gentleman before he was ready to look at her again. "This is going to hurt."
For once, she didn’t pretend to a strength she didn’t possess. "Aye."
He couldn’t get her arm into the sleeve without torturing her. So he slashed at the shirt then gently drew her arm through the hole.
By the time he’d rigged a makeshift sling with more material from her petticoat, he felt like he’d lived through a hard century. Mhairi was pale and shaking and her lips were white with pain.
Fearing she might faint, he lashed his arm around her and waited while she regained her breath. Today’s ordeal had strained her to breaking, he could tell. When he held her close, she said not one word of objection.
"Can ye ride?" he asked after a long time.
"I'll have to. I cannae stay up here forever."
The acid in her tone made him smile. Doughty Mistress Drummond came back to herself, he was delighted to note.
"I could go back to Achnasheen and arrange a litter." Although heaven knew how a party of men would manage to carry her down that perilous path.
To his relief, she shook her head. "I'm fine."
Not really. But she was well enough to go on, and with time, she'd get over her injuries and the day’s mental anguish. She was strong, his Mhairi.
He didn’t want to let her go, but she no longer needed the support of his arm. Sitting up, he drew a silver flask from his coat pocket. He opened it and passed it across. "Then let’s get ye somewhere dry and warm."
Before he could stand, she reached out to catch his arm. It seemed she meant to continue the habit of touching him. Too late, too late, his heart mourned.
"Wait. Ye didnae tell me how ye came to be here. Had ye followed us the whole way?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Then how?" He watched understanding seep into her eyes. "Flossie."
"Aye. Dinnae blame her for breaking your confidence."
"I’m grateful she did." That familiar wry smile appeared. She was definitely on the mend. "I should have listened to her in the first place. She told me no’ to trust Sheena."
"But ye were so desperate to get away," he said with a bitterness he had no right to feel. After all, he could hardly accuse Mhairi of deceit. She'd never made any secret of how her captivity chafed at her.
"Aye." She avoided his eyes and hitched his shirt higher up her shoulder. Even one-sleeved, she looked much better in it than he did, he couldn't help thinking. "I still dinnae ken how ye knew which way to go. Ye cannae have left Achnasheen much after we did."
While he’d dreaded that he left too late. He’d ridden Kelpie without consideration and care along the rough roads, frantic to find Mhairi before some harm befell her. As it was, he arrived just in time.
"After Flossie told me you’d gone, Sel the Red confessed the plot."
It had taken precious time to get the man to break trust with his lover. Too much time. The consequences of arriving even five minutes later would haunt Callum’s nightmares for years to come.
The recollection of his choking fear fueled a surge of anger. "Why the devil did a clever lassie like you no’ work out that ye were going in completely the wrong direction? Bruard is east, no’ north."
Her lips turned down. "Sheena told me she followed a drovers’ track that switches back over the hills toward my home." She paused. "There is nae such track, is there?"
"No." He grabbed her hand, needing the physical assurance that Mhairi was indeed alive and sitting in front of him, not lying dead five hundred feet below the ledge.
His voice roughened, although he wasn’t angry with her. He reserved his rage for himself. He’d been a poor guardian of the treasure he had in his keeping. His blood turned to ice when he thought how close they'd verged on tragedy. "Without Sel giving up Sheena's plans, I wouldnae have found ye. If you'd gone over the Mare's Tail, it’s likely I’d never have known what happened to ye, although with fine weather, we may have been able to track you over the hills."