Page 14 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Her hand flew to her mouth as her mind rushed back to her thwarted escape from castle Mackinnon four years ago and the terrible blow dealt to her almost-rescuer, the man she’d only ever thought of as Black-Mask. She made a mental note to question Arran about the origin of the scar when the right moment came. Could he be Black-Mask? Was this why she had the faint sense she’d met him in some other time and place?

Arran was grumbling half-heartedly. “Have ye taken leave of yer senses, Lady Dahlia? Should ye nae be riding yer horse away from here, instead of tending tae the likes of me?”

“Aye, that I should, Mackinnon.” She drew her brows together in puzzlement. “And I cannae fer the life of me understand why I’m here trying tae help such an ungrateful whelp as yerself, instead of taking meself back tae the land of the MacLeods.”

“Mayhap, after all, ye’ve gone soft on the idea of marrying Laird Bairre.”

She shook her head. “Nay. That will never be.”

He reached for her hand and held it briefly in his. “Then I can only believe ye’re doing it out of a good heart, and I thank ye.”

She quickly withdrew her hand before he could see the strange effect his touch had on her. “Now roll on yer belly so we can see tae the damaged place that needs fixing.”

With no more grumbling, he lay down.

His back was already bruised and there was a deep gash to his hip where the blood still flowed.

“I’ll need tae undae yer belt and ease down yer kilt so Elspaith and her attendant can deal with ye.”

He grunted, raising his hips slightly so she could snake her hands around his waist and undo the buckle on his belt.

Her face flushed red-hot as she pressed against him, her fingers grazing his bare skin. She felt coarse hair beneath his belt and the breath caught in her throat at the thought of where her fingers might stray if they were to follow that pathway of hair below it.

She undid the buckle and sat upright, catching her breath.

A soft chuckle issued from his lips. “Be careful, Lady Dahlia. I enjoyed the touch of yer fingers so much I clean forgot about the pain in me back.”

“Pshaw, Mackinnon. Ye’ve nae right tae such thoughts.”

“Ah, but surely a kind lass would wish tae help relieve an injured man’s pain.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, even though her fingers still tingled and her thoughts tumbled in all directions.

Dahlia held up the bloodstained shirt as Elspaith’s assistant approached with two small jars of tincture. The shirt was in need of laundering but, at this moment, treating the wound over Arran’s hip was of far greater urgency.

“Lass, can ye apply the salves yerself? Elspaith needs me tae assist her.” The woman handed Dahlia one of the jars. “Here be a tincture of arnica fer any bruises.” She indicated the second jar, “And this is the paste of yarrow leaves that will stop the blood flow. Once the flow is staunched Elspaith will stitch the wound to hasten healing.” She turned and scurried across the room leaving Dahlia with the tinctures and several strips of clean cloth.

Applying salve to a wound was something Dahlia had no trouble with. She’d worked with the healers at Castle MacLeod on many occasions, dealing with her brothers’ injuries sustained in training or hunting, and with numerous injuries from burns and cuts incurred by the castle servants. But now she was strangelyunnerved by the prospect of laying her hands on Arran’s bare hip.

“Needs must,” she breathed aloud, infuriated by Arran’s answering chuckle.

“Daes it embarrass ye tae place yer soft hands on me rough body,” he taunted as she eased down his kilt, exposing not only his hip but, necessarily, half his backside.

“Shush up, Mackinnon, ye’re far too cheeky fer a man in yer condition.” Taking a deep, steadying breath she took one of the rags and wiped the wound clean of blood. After that she dabbed his hip with the yarrow tincture, trying to ignore the inviting curve of his buttocks as her fingers trailed across his hip.

Once the flow of blood had stopped, she pulled the worn sheet up to cover his backside and set about lightly spreading the tincture of arnica over the bruised and reddened area on his back.

“Och, that feels good, lass. I could lie here and let ye caress me like this all day.”

She felt her cheeks heating at his words. The sight of him half-clad and the touch of his strong muscles under her fingers had fired up strange sensations in her own body. Confusing sensations that she’d never experienced before.

Elspaith bustled over and inspected Arran’s wound. “Good. The cut has stopped bleeding.” She installed herself on a stool by the bed and took out a wrapped bundle containing assorted needles and a thin roll of thread. “I havenae the coin tae purchase catgut like ye nobles have, milady. But me thread of hemp will dae fer yer lad, although it may nae be as strong.”

She applied her needle and thread to the gash on Arran’s hip with a skill borne of long practice, while he lay still without a word or a moan. When she’d finished, she turned her attention to the lump on his head.

“Ye’ve taken quite a blow there, lad.” She turned to Dahlia. “He’ll benefit from a rub of arnica on that egg. And mayhap dinnae let him sleep for a while tae be certain he’s nae been more affected.” She grinned as she addressed her next words to Arran. “We’re all grateful fer the help ye gave Colban. I believe yer quick work gave us the time we needed. He’ll likely walk with a limp, but hewillwalk.”

Before she left, she collected Arran’s stained shirt. “I’ll give this tae one of the lasses tae wash away the blood.”

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