Page 6 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
“It has,” she agreed. Both of her thumbs slid along the inside of his wrist and she bent closer. “When did ye say the splint came off, milord?”
He swallowed, trying to focus on her words instead of what her touch was doing to him. “A fortnight ago—nay, longer. I’ve been careful with it, dinnae fash. And I’m nae laird.”
To his surprise, she stiffened, her gaze locking on her hands, rather than flitting across his skin, looking for injury. “Ye are no’?” It sounded forced.
Gently, he tugged his arm out from under her hands. “Surely, I would remember that, aye? I’d be a puir leader if a wee knock on the head could make me forget a clan I lead.”
She shrugged and turned away, but her shoulders still seemed stiff as she dug into one of her satchels. “A head wound can make one forget many things.”
With a snort, he raised himself on his elbows, drawing up one knee under the blankets in order to hide the growing bulge in his groin. “I cannae even remember my clan, healer. They brought me here wearing the King’s colors.”
When she turned back to him, she held a cloth, damp with something sweet-smelling. “Mayhap ye were on a mission from the King. Roll over, so I might check yer head wound.”
With a wry smile, he did as she commanded, lying back down and positioning himself on his side. “A mission from the King, eh? Ye spin tales as well as a bard.”
“My sister is a musician,” she murmured, one set of fingers probing at the crown of his head. “She can make up songs and rhymes which keep us laughing.”
“That stern-faced beauty who stood beside ye earlier—she can sing?”
He felt her pause, her fingers still for a moment, before she exhaled on what might have been a laugh. “Nay, that was Coira, my elder sister. She’s gone already, returned home. I have four younger sisters as well. Robena is the singer.”
Her touch felt fookinggood. He closed his eye and allowed himself to focus on the place where her fingernails scratched against his scalp, swallowing down the moan of pleasure at her ministrations.
But why did the thought of sisters—of siblings?—send a piercing pain through his temples, far from the place where she stroked? Mayhap something to do with the past he couldn’t recall. Better to think on her words.
Coira, Robena, and… “Nicola.” Mother Superior had introduced her yesterday as merelyLady Nicola, our new healer.
“Aye. And ye’re Ramsay.” She pressed the cool cloth to the spot on his scalp where the lump had long since faded, leaving only soreness. “Sister Mary Titania said that’s all ye remember.”
“When I try to remember aught else, I get shooting pains in my head. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Stop trying,” she blurted, a little too quickly. “I mean, pushing yerself could result in damage. Relax, Ramsay. Let it come naturally.”
Unable to help himself, he rolled, grasping for her wrist. “Will it, milady? Will it return to me?” God’s wounds, he hated how desperate he sounded.
She’d tried to pull back when he’d reached for her, but now she stilled, staring down at him, the cloth trapped in her hand—her hand, which was held by him. Her gaze flitted across his face, never staying in one place for too long.
Odd…she didn’t flinch away from the sight of the leather patch over his missing eye. He had no idea what had happened to take half his vision, but ‘twas surely related to the old white scar which curved across his cheek and brow. But she didn’t shy away from looking at either.
Instead, her gaze traveled from his one good eye to his lips. And stayed there.
Her tongue darted out, licking her own lower lip, and he hoped he managed to swallow down his groan.
“’Twill come back to ye, Ramsay,” she finally whispered, still staring at his mouth. “God willing.”
“God willing,” he repeated with a snort, and reluctantly eased his hold on her. “And if it doesnae?”
She didn’t meet his gaze, but he saw her swallow. Did he make her uncomfortable, or was she always this nervous? Nay, she wasn’t nervous; her hands still moved efficiently, full of certainty. And he’d seen the way she’d examined poor Lady Helen before she’d drawn the curtains for privacy.
Aye, she wasn’t a nervous lass, but one certain in her own skills. So why could he see her pulse fluttering in the hollow at the base of her neck?
Mayhap she was as aware of him as he was of her.
Suddenly he released her wrist, as if her skin were a brand against his palm. Mayhap itwas.
Still, she lingered a moment, bent over him, her gaze on his lips, before she seemed to realize she was free and shot upright so fast ‘twas a miracle she didn’t overbalance and stumble backward.
“If it doesnae…” She inhaled, her nostrils flaring, then shook her head and looked away. “Ye’ll be fine.”
