“There’s an inn back that way,” she said, crawling up beside Jamie and looking about for something to cover him with. She was trying to pull his shirt and coat closed when another shepherd joined them.

“The cottage is closer,” Cutter answered shortly, before turning to explain the situation to his companion.

When he’d done that, the tall white-haired man set his staff in the wagon bed and climbed up into the box without so much as a look or a word for Bliss. Dog jumped in beside her and laid his muzzle on Jamie’s chest, making a sympathetic whining sound in his throat.

Bliss held Jamie’s head in her lap as they traveled over steep, rutted roads, despairing at every groan her wounded husband uttered, struggling against tears of confusion, fear, and pure agony of the heart. She would love Jamie McKenna all her life, she was certain, but she would never, never forgive him for offering her to those men. . . .

After an inordinately long distance, the rig lumbered to a stop in front of a small, isolated stone cottage. Cutter climbed over the box into the bed of the wagon and caught Jamie’s chin in his callused hand, giving him a gentle shake.

“Wake up, lad. We’re here now.”

Jamie’s eyes rolled open. “Aye,” he said, and the word was a ragged sigh. “I suppose I ’ave to walk somewhere again.”

Cutter’s chuckle sounded almost like a sob. “That’s right, mate. You ain’t lost any weight since we picked you up down there on the road.”

Her eyes stinging, Bliss turned her head for a moment, in an effort to recover her composure. Far down on the main road, the sheep were moving in a shifting, bleating mass of grayish white, driven by a second shepherd and several barking dogs.

After taking a deep breath, Bliss again helped Cutter with the laborious task of moving Jamie from the wagon to a bed in the corner of the little cottage’s main room.

“This is—me wife,” Jamie said, in an anguished attempt at cordiality, as Bliss and Cutter placed him carefully on the mattress. Bliss knew that he was talking to distract himself from the pain, and the familiar scalding sensation seared her eyes and branded the back of her throat.

“Charmed.” The shepherd spared barely a glance for Bliss; his manner was so stiff that it almost seemed he blamed her for Jamie’s condition.

Jamie laughed, but the sound was half groan. “They fixed me up right and proper,” he said, as if that weren’t perfectly obvious from the bloody state of his flesh and his clothes. “But ’e didn’t get to break me nose, Cutter.”

“Aye,” Cutter teased, with gruff fondness. “You’re as bonny as you ever were, Jamie me boy.”

“I’ll need hot water and clean cloths,” Bliss announced, feeling forgotten.

Cutter gave her an unreadable look, then nodded his bushy head and went off to fetch the things she’d asked for. It was then that Jamie raised one scraped, unsteady hand to caress her face.