Page 53 of Sins of the Highlander

“How could ye allow that to happen?” she snapped. Her gray brows drew together, and she narrowed her gaze at him. “I canna tell until I see her. Bring Elspeth Stewart in.”

He flinched at her foreknowledge.

“Muckle of beauty, little of brains.” She shook her head. “Dinna waste time puzzling o’er it. D’ye think ye can steal a bride from the altar and not have the story wing through the Highlands swifter than a eagle’s flight?”

She turned and opened the door to the cottage. Then she cocked her head him, like a robin eyeing the worm she intends to eat for breakfast. “Dinna ye want to know who I am afore ye place your woman in my care?”

Rob grinned. “I have eyes. Ye’re the witch of Loch Eireann.”

“Cheeky.” She frowned at him. “My Christian name is Hepzibah Black.”

A witch with a Christian name. Rob sprinted back to the boat, feeling as if he’d just had his ears twisted.

Elspeth didn’t stir when he lifted her from the pallet. She seemed like nothing in his arms, a disembodied spirit. Her arms hung limply, and unless he supported her head, it lolled.

His chest felt as if someone had placed an anvil on his ribs.

When he ducked to enter the croft, Fingal tried to follow.

“No, ye don’t, Master Hound,” Hepzibah Black said.

The deerhound thumped his bottom down on the stoop and whined at the doorway.

“He’s attached himself to the lass,” Angus explained as he followed Rob in. “If ye dinna let him come in, he’ll howl and pine and make a horrible racket.”

“Verra well.” Hepzibah palmed Fingal’s muzzle without a hint of fear. “Dinna bother the cat or the bird or I’ll turn ye into a rug.”

Angus’s red brows shot skyward at that, but he said nothing. Fingal accepted the invitation and slinked into the cottage. The hound shot only the quickest of glances at the raven on a roost in the corner and the gray tabby, who eyed him calmly from the chair by the hearth.

“Put the lass on the table,” Hepzibah ordered. “And we’ll see what’s what.”

Rob laid Elspeth down carefully. Hepzibah Black took a knife from above her hearth and slit Elspeth’s skirt open, baring the length of her leg from groin to ankle.

“No place for modesty in a sick room,” the witch said with a shrug.

Then she unwound Rob’s shirt from Elspeth’s leg. It was matted brown with blood and stuck to her skin in places. She didn’t move while Hepzibah peeled it off.

“I have some salts ye’ll want to rinse this in afore ye wash it.” She handed the shirt to Rob and turned back to Elspeth. She snapped her fingers before the girl’s face but got no response.

“The lass is insensible,” she said. “That’s for the best, but we canna count on her remaining so.”

Hepzibah leaned down to examine the bolt. She sniffed at the wound.

“No putrefaction yet. That’s all to the good.”

She put a hand to the shaft and gave it a slight tug. Elspeth’s eyes popped open, and her mouth went wide in a silent scream.

Hepzibah released her hold on the bolt and put a hand to Elspeth’s forehead.

“There, there lass,” she said in a motherly tone. “’Twill come round right. Ye’ll see. Ye’ll feel better after I make ye some tea.”

“Ye’re no’ a witch, after all,” Angus said, slapping his thigh.

“Of course, I’m no’ a witch.” Hepzibah rolled her eyes at him. “But how did ye come to that astounding knowledge?”

“Ye didna shrink from touching iron,” he said. “Everyone knows witches canna abide iron on their skin. Burns them something fierce.”

“Of all the dunderheaded…a woman has eyes and ears and the wit God gave her, and the eejit thinks her a witch!“ She mumbled several things that sounded like spells, or at the least curses, to Rob, before she pointed at Angus. “Ye! Keep her company while Mad Rob helps me.”