Page 24 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Most warriors keep it fer bruisin’,” Rhona brought her supplies over to him, setting them on a small table beside his chair. “Now, let me see what we have here.”
She knelt beside his chair, bringing her face close to his as she gently tilted his head toward the firelight. Ian found himself holding his breath as her fingers traced carefully around his injured eye, her touch feather-light and professional. Then, he inhaled and his senses exploded. This close, he could smell the scent of chamomile and honey in her hair, sweet and intoxicating in a way that made his pulse quicken
“Hold still,” she murmured, completely unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on his composure. “I need tae get this just right.Open it slowly,” she instructed. “Tell me if the pain gets worse.”
Ian complied, gradually opening his eye while Rhona peered intently at the injury. “The eye itself looks clear,” she said after a thorough examination. “Nay blood, nay visible damage tae the surface. But there’s already some swellin’ around the socket, and ye’ll likely have a nasty bruise.”
Her delicate fingers continued their gentle exploration, and Ian found himself grateful for her skill. When was the last time someone had tended to him with such tenderness and genuine concern?
“This might sting a bit,” Rhona warned, dipping a clean cloth in the wolf’s bane ointment. “But it’ll help prevent the worst of the bruisin’.”
She began applying the medicine with careful strokes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Ian tried to focus on something other than how close she was, how professional and competent she seemed.
“Where did ye learn all this?” He asked, as much to distract himself as from genuine curiosity.
“Our healer,” Rhona replied, not looking up from her work. “I’ve been learnin’ from her since I was a wee lass. Whenever I couldslip away from me lessons, I’d go tae her cottage and watch her work.”
“That’s unusual fer a lady of yer standin’.” Ian observed.
Rhona’s hands stilled for a moment. “Aye. Me maither always said it was useful tae ken how tae help people.”
Ian heard the pain in her voice and felt a stab of sympathy.
After a few minutes of silence, Ian spoke.
“Why ye were so determined tae find yer sister yerself?” he asked suddenly. “Because yer family couldnae afford tae send men searchin’? I ken yer clan was strugglin’ somewhat.”
“Partly.” Rhona resumed her ministrations, her touch even gentler now. “But mostly because I couldnae bear the thought of her bein’ possibly lost while I sat safely at home doin’ naething.”
Ian found himself studying her face as she worked. The fierce loyalty in her voice struck him. Her dedication to family was evident, even in captivity.
“Ye’re skilled at this,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the ointment. “Baird could learn a thing or two from ye.”
Rhona’s hands stilled again, and when she looked at him, Ian saw something shift in her expression. The careful distanceshe’d been maintaining seemed to waver, replaced by something warmer, more vulnerable.
“I’m nae.” She whispered. “I’ve made many mistakes.”
“Aye, well,” Ian said carefully, “we’ve all made our fair share of those, lass.
Rhona continued applying the ointment, her movements efficient, completing the task.
“There,” she said softly, but she didn’t immediately pull away. Their faces were still close, her fingers still gentle against his skin.
For a moment, neither moved. Ian found himself studying her face in the firelight, noting the concentration in her blue eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed.
“Ian,” she breathed, and Ian thought he detected something different in her voice, something that turned his name on her lips into a physical caress.
He leaned closer, “Rhona…”
For a moment, she stayed perfectly still, her eyes fluttering closed. Then, as if suddenly realizing what was happening, Rhona jerked back so quickly she nearly knocked over the ointment pots.
“I… I need tae go,” she stammered, scrambling to her feet. “The ointment needs time tae work, and ye should rest.”
“Rhona, wait–”
But she was already at the door, her hand on the latch. “Keep that eye closed for at least an hour,” she said without looking back. “But best nae tae sleep fer as long as ye can after a blow tae the head. And if the pain gets worse, wake Baird immediately.”
Before Ian could say another word, she was gone, leaving him alone with the lingering scent of chamomile and honey, and the memory of her touch against his skin.
