“Ye were watching me,” he said, lowering his voice as he knelt beside her.
Her hands were still busy arranging her instruments, but she paused for a moment to listen to him.
“Was I?”
“Aye, ye were. And daenae try to deny it. I can tell.”
She finally looked at him, her blue eyes piercing. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t affectionate either. It was hard for him to tell what she was feeling.
“Did I nae do it well?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.
“If ye must ken,” she said, “I was only surprised because ye did it right.”
He blinked. “Did ye think I would ruin it somehow?”
“I didnae think anything,” she replied. “I just didnae ken if that was something ye could do. And ye have proven me wrong.”
He let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I spent years on a ship with more wounded men than cannonballs. I learned how to clean wounds. Nowhere near as good as ye, but I can at least do that.”
“Aye, how could I forget the years ye spent on a ship. Ye were there under me faither’s commands, remember?” Lily muttered, her voice low enough for him to hear
He wanted to talk at that moment. To ask what she thought of him, now that she could see the people around her. He wanted to know if she was still of the belief that she had been kidnapped.
Alas, he didn’t get the chance, as Daisy returned at that moment, her arms wrapped around a bunch of small bottles.
“Here’s all the whisky I could find, me Lady.”
“Thank ye, Daisy,” Lily said, standing up to take them. “And please, check on the water again.”
“‘Tis nearly ready. I will bring it as soon as it has boiled.”
Lily nodded. “That would be good. Thank ye again.”
Daisy lingered a second longer. “Ye daenae have to thank me, me Lady. I’m only doing me duty.”
Lily gave her a strange, soft look. “Where I was raised, we were taught to say thank ye.”
Daisy’s eyes widened slightly. “Aye, me Lady. I’ll go see to the water now.”
After she left, Lily glanced down at the wound again and adjusted the fabric at Timothy’s ankle. “Alasdair, can ye hold this bit here, just above the edge?”
Alasdair didn’t hesitate; he stepped behind her, his fingers closing gently over hers.
And just like that, the space between them vanished.
Her back pressed against his chest. The scent of her hair hit him first. He was already familiar with the scent of lavender and rosemary. He’d smelled it on the horse for half an hour before she stabbed him. A few strands brushed against his chin, and he had to grit his teeth to keep still.
His palm covered her hand, steadying the cloth as she bent over Timothy’s foot. The dip of her waist grazed his hip. His body stirred without permission, and for some reason, she didn’t even notice what she was doing to him.
She shifted slightly, unintentionally pressing tighter against him.
He clenched his jaw. This was neither the time nor the place.
The weight of his men’s eyes and the stink of wounds around them grounded him. He was Laird here. He had to keep his composure.
“There we go,” Lily said suddenly, straightening.
He stepped back as if she’d burned him.
