Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: book #3
“The fire crackled. Sorcha practically drained a cup of whisky, the liquid warming her insides.
It was dusk, that time of day that seemed to be neither light nor dark, and the room was shadowy from the flickering light of the candles. It was still raining and the wind gusted outside. As she removed her wet boots there was a knock on the door.
“Sorcha?”
Wordlessly, she opened the door and let Malcolm in. He closed it and stood by the hearth. “Come here, by the light, lass, and remove yer wet tunic.”
She turned to him, uncertainty in her eyes.
“I’ll no harm ye. I want to be sure ye dunna ha’e any serious injuries from yer fall into the burn.”
She was too exhausted to argue. She went to his side and gingerly slipped her ripped tunic over her head, discarding it on the floor. She stood before him, her body aching, sore, and bruised from her ordeal at the burn.
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