She looked like a stiff wind could blow her away. "You?"

"My horse and I."

His brows drew together. "There was no man who could do it?"

He was nearly six and a half feet tall and weighed more than seventeen stone. He could imagine how difficult it had been to haul him back even with the horse—especially if she lived high on the mountainside.

"We managed fine."

Court owed her a debt of gratitude; he despised being indebted in any way. He grated, "Then you saved my life."

She peered at the ceiling, appearing embarrassed.

Forcing the foreign words, he said, "You have my thanks."

She nodded and turned to go, but he didn't want the lass to leave yet. "Annalía," he said, unable to remember anything else from her catalog of names.

She whirled around, eyes wide, no doubt at the use of her given name. In a flash, he remembered her. Her beautiful countenance and curious expression had waned into sharp and glaring by the riverside. He rubbed his forehead with his good hand. In fact, she'd lamented the fact that he lived.

"That is Lady Llorente to someone such as you! You would do well to remember that."

His eyes narrowed. He'd been right. "Why did you call me an animal? Because I was so beaten?"

"Of course not," she said with an incredulous look. "I could tell you were Scottish."

Court wrestled with his temper. "Scottish?" Many people held prejudices against Scots, and some hated them sight unseen, but no context on earth gave an Andorran the right to look down on one. "Then why would you save 'someone such as me'?"

She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I would spare a mangy, rabid wolf suffering—"

"So now you think me a mangy, rabid wolf?" His head had begun pounding on both sides of his skull.

She stretched out one hand and studied her nails, a perfect picture of disdain. "If you'd let a lady finish her thoughts, I would have added that I lowered my standards to accommodate you."