Page 40 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
“Stop foolin’ about, ye donkey,” she scolded him. “Nae everythin’ is a joke.”
He sighed but did as she asked. Once he had his tunic off, he tossed it away, between the cut and the blood, it was ruined anyway. Isolde’s gaze traveled the roadmap of scars across his back, the brutal honesty of his body sending a heat low in her belly. She knew she should focus on tending the wound, but instead Isolde stood there, her mouth dry, her fingers tingling with the urge to trace the ridges of old battles Struan had overcome and now proudly displayed.
She pulled a few strips of cloth out of her bag then dipped them in the river. Slowly and carefully, she wiped away the blood that had already dried and crusted around the wound, removing as much dirt as she could. The last thing he needed was to let him take an infection. She had learned much about healing, but her skills had their limits.
“Ye’re lucky the wound is nae deep,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I dinnae feel lucky at the moment.”
“It could be worse,” she said as she began brushing away the debris around his wound, making him flinch and draw in a sharp breath.
“Aye. It can always be worse,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Dinnae be such a bairn.”
He laughed and let her continue her ministrations with minimal complaint. With his wound cleaned, she pulled a couple pots of ointment from her pack and scooped some onto her fingers. She leaned forward but hesitated.
“All right, this is goin’ tae sting a bit,” she warned. “So, prepare yerself.”
His jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. She laid a hand on one of his shoulders and leaned close to him, relishing the feeling of his thick, corded muscles beneath her fingertips. Isolde leaned forward, pressing her body against his back as she dabbed the ointment into his wound, drawing a sharp hiss from him. He flinched slightly but bore the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. Isolde packed the wound with the herbal ointment—thankfully with minimal fussing from Struan. That done, she wrapped a clean bandage around the wound. Once she was finished, she packed her ointments back into the pack and wiped off her hands on a spare rag.
“I think ye’re goin’ tae live,” she said.
“Thanks tae ye.”
She scoffed. “Yer wound wasnae all that serious, thankfully. I did naethin’ but clean it.”
“Well… thank ye all the same.”
Isolde’s cheeks flushed. “Ye’re welcome.” She then proceeded to check, clean and bandage the cut above his hip, that was smaller and had luckily stopped bleeding.
She stood up and retrieved a fresh tunic from the saddlebags then brought it over, handing it to him while studiously trying to stop looking at his body. She was not a woman who normally ogled men’s bodies but there was something about him she found magnetic. She found that she could not stop herself from stealing glances at him. And even worse than that was when she did, she never failed to feel a heat form in her belly and spread through her body, particularly towards her intimate parts.
It was embarrassing. And she most certainly had never felt the way she did when she saw him. Isolde didn’t understand it. She knew the sort of lecherous thoughts that cascaded through her mind when she thought about Struan were inappropriate. And she couldn’t reconcile the physical sensations that gripped her body with her normal, proper, and entirely appropriate demeanor. It was entirely unlike her. And yet, she couldn’t seem to control herself.
Once he had his tunic on, she turned to him. “Thank ye.”
“Fer what?”
“Fer comin’ fer me,” she replied softly. “Fer savin’ me.”
“’Twas naethin’.”
“It definitely was nae naethin’. Ye almost died tryin’ tae save me.”
A soft smile touched his lips. “Ye said ‘twas nae a serious wound.”
Isolde rolled her eyes. “Ye ken what I mean.”
“If ye say so.”
She paused for a moment and wrung her hands together. “Why’d ye dae it? Why’d ye come fer me?” she asked. “Why’d ye put yerself in harm’s way tae save me from Dougal’s men?”
“Why wouldnae I have?”
“Because I’m Murdoch Mackintosh’s daughter,” she replied. “And given what he’s done tae ye and tae yer family… nobody would have blamed ye fer leavin’ me behind and goin’ on yer way. I probably wouldnae have blamed ye either.”
“Ye answered yer own question.”
