Page 42 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“There,” she said, stepping back to examine her work. “Perfect tension, neat finish. Who’d like tae try next?”
Several hands shot up eagerly, and Rhona selected one of the older recruits to attempt the technique on his partner. As the lads began practicing, she found herself drawn back to Ian’s side, ostensibly to observe, but really because she couldn’t help herself.
“Now fer the ribs,” she announced, picking up a long strip of linen. “This is where many men make mistakes than can be costly.”
Ian’s eyes met hers as she approached again, and she saw something dark and dangerous burning in their green depths. “And what sort of mistakes would those be?”
“Bindin’ too tightly around the chest,” she replied, trying her best to ignore the way his voice had dropped to that rough whisper that did terrible things to her composure. “A man cannae breathe if ye crush his ribs.”
She positioned herself behind him, reaching around his torso with the bandage. The position brought her closer than was entirely proper, her breasts brushing against his back as she worked. She felt him tense at the contact, heard his sharp intakeof breath, and had to bite her lower lip to suppress a small sound of her own.
This is torture,she thought as she wrapped the linen around his chest with hands that trembled slightly.
Absolute, exquisite torture.
The bandage required multiple passes around his torso, each one bringing her hands across the broad expanse of his chest, over the ridged muscles of his abdomen, around the narrow span of his waist. By the time she’d finished the demonstration, the air between them crackled.
“Looks good,” she managed, stepping back quickly before she could do something foolish like run her palms over his chest just to feel those muscles flex underneath her touch.
The next hour passed in a blur of instruction and demonstration, with Rhona showing the recruits how to handle other types of wounds while trying desperately to ignore the half-naked warrior serving as her model. Ian, for his part, endured her ministrations with admirable professionalism, though she did catch him watching her with an intensity that made her stomach perform a complicated acrobatic turn.
When she began inspecting the recruits’ work, moving among them to correct techniques and offer encouragement, Ian finally retrieved his shirt. But even clothed, his presence continued to distract her, especially when she noticed the way he observed her interactions with his men.
“Nay, Gavin, ye’re bindin’ too low,” she corrected one young soldier. “The wound would be here, so ye need tae start the wrap just below it. Like this.”
She demonstrated the proper technique, then watched approvingly as the lad tried again. “Better, much better! Ye’ll save lives with work like that.”
The boy beamed at her praise, and a warm glow of satisfaction settled over Rhona at being able to teach skills that might be genuinely useful to these young men, enabling them to survive whatever battles lay ahead.
“What about stomach wounds?” one of the recruits called out.
“They’re very different,” Rhona replied, moving to address the group. “And much more dangerous. The key is tae keep pressure on the wound without pushin’ any damaged bit further inside…”
As she continued the lesson, explaining the complexities of abdominal injuries and the delicate balance required in treating them, she gradually became aware of Ian’s steady gaze upon her. When she glanced his way, she found him watching her with something approaching wonder – almost as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time.
Why is he lookin’ at me like that?
“Right then, lads,” she announced as the sun climbed higher. “I think ye’ve learned enough fer one day. Practice what I’ve shownye, and remember – in battle, a calm head saves more lives than a sharp sword.”
The recruits dispersed with grateful murmurs and obvious enthusiasm for their newly acquired knowledge. Several of them stopped to thank her personally, their young faces bright with appreciation that made her chest tight with unexpected emotion.
“That was remarkable,” Ian said quietly, approaching as the last of the soldiers departed.
“They’re good lads,” Rhona replied, gathering up the remaining bandages. “Quick learners, all of them.”
“I wasnae talkin’ about them.” Ian’s voice held a note she couldn’t quite identify. “I was talkin’ about ye.”
Rhona looked up to find him studying her with that same intense expression that had distracted her throughout the lesson. “What dae ye mean?”
“The way ye taught them. The way ye made them feel capable instead of foolish.” Ian shook his head slightly. “They’ll follow ye anywhere after today.”
“They’re nae mine tae lead.” Rhona protested, though his words still sent a warm flush through her chest.
“Perhaps they should be.”
The comment struck her deeply, loaded with implications that made her pulse quicken. Before she could formulate a fitting response, Ian continued.
“I’ve been watchin’ ye work with them, and I saw something I didnae expect.”
