Unable to look at her stricken expression any longer, Morgan pulled her into his embrace and hugged her fiercely. “That bull acted according to his own law, lass, set down by the blood of his ancestors,” he continued more gently. “That the two of us clashed today was nothing more than the journey of life playing itself out.”

He squeezed her tightly when he felt her begin to tremble. “Say something, Mercedes,”

he entreated once again. “Give me either your anger or your hurt.”

“Will you be just as ruthless when you protect this valley from me?” she asked into his shoulder, her voice void of emotion.

Morgan closed his eyes on the realization that this woman knew him more than he cared for her to, that she now understood he would never compromise when it came to protecting his home.

He tugged on her hair, forcing her to look at him. “When the time comes, wife, I will do what I must to keep this valley safe. And also to keep you safe,” he quickly added when she tried to pull away. “Because you and this land are all that is important to me now.

Without either, I am nothing.”

“Who are you, Morgan MacKeage?”

“Your husband.”

She tried to pull away again, but he held her firm. “I’m also your greatest ally, Mercedes. Give me your trust now, and we will find a way through this.”

Well, it seemed she needed to think about that for at least a minute. And in that time Morgan saw emotions flash in her eyes that ranged from hope to suspicion—before anger finally won the battle.

“Dam—”

He kissed her before she got the curse out, canting her head and covering her lips with his, swallowing her words as he swept his tongue inside. She made a mewling noise, and he couldn’t decide if she was welcoming him or protesting. Nor did he care, as he found himself spiraling downward, deeper into the magic of her spell.

She tasted sweet, fresh, and so wonderfully alive. She felt vibrant in his arms, strong enough to possess his heart, solid enough to anchor his wandering soul.

He had traveled eight hundred years to find her, and he would let nothing come between them.

His spirit soared when she suddenly melted against him, raised her arms, and tugged on his hair to deepen their kiss.

Morgan flinched as pain suddenly shot through his body.

They pulled away at the same time, Mercedes with a gasp of surprise, Morgan with a groan. He shot a hand to his leg, covering the gaping hole in his jeans.

“You’re hurt,” she said, pulling his hand out of the way. She gasped again. “You’re bleeding.”

In a frenzy of movement, Morgan suddenly found himself sitting on the ground, Mercedes unfastening his pants at the waist. Unable to keep from smiling, he leaned back on his elbows and let his now distraught wife tend to his wound. He lifted himself up enough that she could pull his wet pants down to his boots, where she suddenly stopped and frowned. She grabbed his hand, making him fall completely flat, and slapped it over his bleeding thigh.

“Keep pressure on it,” she hissed, now beginning to work on the laces of his boots.

It took her a few minutes to strip his legs bare, and then she carefully lifted his fingers and examined his wound. She looked up at him then, her eyes dark with concern against her pale complexion.

“It… it needs stitches,” she whispered, as if the news might undo him.

He wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. Mercedes was the one beginning to panic. Her hand covering his was shaking, her quivering jaw was making her teeth chatter, and her eyes were glistening again with unshed tears.

“Do you have a needle and thread, then?” he asked, stilling her jaw by clasping it with his hand, into which she slowly nodded.

He nodded back and gave her a reassuring smile. “I promise not to howl like the wolf, lass, when you sew me up. Now, do you think you can find my pack before you go looking for your thread? There’s a nice bottle of Scotch in it that just might make the job a bit easier.”

“I have painkillers in my first aid kit,” she said. “But you can’t mix them with alcohol.”

Morgan lifted a brow. “The Scotch is for you, wife. I prefer your hands steady when you take a needle to my flesh.”

He gave a grunt of surprise when she suddenly pushed herself to her feet, and another grunt—this time of approval—when she balled her fists on her hips and glared down at him.

“It’s not funny, Morgan. Stitching a wound like that is nothing to joke about. You belong in a hospital.”

He scanned the river bank they were on and let his gaze stop on their one remaining boat before he looked back at her. “Any suggestions on how we get to this hospital?” he asked.

“My cell phone,” she said, suddenly brightening. “I can call my mother to come get us.”

She ran to her kayak and rummaged around in the front hatch. She straightened with her cell phone in her hand, but her smile suddenly disappeared.

“It doesn’t matter, Mercedes,” he quickly assured her. “I’m not needing a hospital. Sew me up and bandage my thigh, and I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

She still refused to look at him. She bent over and rummaged around in the hatch again.

She straightened, a small red bag in her hand, and finally returned to him.

And, like the idiot he was, Morgan just couldn’t seem to keep himself from asking,

“What’s wrong with the phone?”

“The battery is dead.”

Morgan started undoing the buttons of his soggy shirt. He stripped himself bare, except for his wet and now muddy boxers, keeping them on only because he didn’t want his wife distracted when she sewed him up.

She handed him two small pills. She looked up and down his now nearly naked body, then suddenly reached into her bag, took out one more pill, and placed it in his hand with the others.

“These are for pain?” he asked, examining them.

“They will dull it.”

“And my head? Will they dull my thinking, too?”

“If I’m lucky.”

He handed them back to her. “Keep them, then. I can’t afford to be slow-witted right now.”

She tried to give them back. “You need these. I can’t sew you up without them.” She lifted one perfectly arched brow. “Afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”

He tapped the end of her insolent nose. “Nay, lass. That worry never crossed my mind.”

He looked upriver and then back at her, suddenly serious. “We’re not alone in this valley, Mercedes. The Dolan brothers are here, looking for the gold. And I have no wish to be drugged should they suddenly appear.”

“They’re harmless,” she said, waving his concern away. “They’ve been searching for Plum’s gold as long as I have. It’s a hobby for them. Almost a game.”

“They’re also armed with powerful rifles,” he countered. “And last I knew, gold was not a dangerous prey to hunt.”

“How do you know they’ve got guns?”

“I’ve seen them.”

“You’ve met Harry and Dwayne?”

“In a way,” he said, nodding. “I met them, but they didn’t meet me.”

“You spied on them?”

“I thought they might be poachers,” he said. “That day I asked you to stay out of the woods, I was trying to learn their purpose here.”

“Did it ever occur to you just to ask?”

Morgan gave her a broad grin. “What fun is there in that?” He reached up and ran his finger down the side of her cheek. “Why don’t you go find my gear before it floats any farther downriver?” he told her. “I really could use a drink of that Scotch.”

She hesitated, looking torn between getting him a drink and wanting to stab the needle she was holding into his thigh.

“I’ll be fine, Mercedes. I’ll keep pressure on it until you return.”

She finally stood up, started for her kayak, but stopped and looked back. “I’m sorry you got hurt, Morgan. I thought the moose would just bump your boat and run off.”

“I know, lass. I expected that, too. And don’t worry about my hurt, Mercedes. I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine in a few days.”