“Ye must stop.” She shook her head, crossing to him.
“Stop?” he repeated.
“Aye. Ye have been chopping wood like a man possessed for hours now.”
Hewasa man possessed.
“And your palm is bleeding.” She pointed to the axe in his hands.
Oh.
Looking down, he could see the smear of blood on the wooden handle. He lifted his right hand, staring at the burst blister on his palm.
He hadn’t felt a thing.
His palms sported callouses on the pads from years of fencing and horse riding. But a blister had taken root, nonetheless.
A glance up at the sky showed the time to be at least past noon.
He looked back to his wife.
She regarded him with concerned eyes, as if he were a wild beast on a leash.
Or . . . a man who had taken unwelcome liberties with her person hours earlier.
“Come.” She took the axe and leaned it against the chopping block. “Let me clean and bind the blister for you.”
Tristan nodded.
How like her. To offer him care when he had neglected to do the same.
She turned toward the small pool of spring water, beckoning him. Ducking inside the house for a moment, she returned immediately with the bottle of whisky and a strip of clean linen.
With competent hands, she lifted his injured palm, cupping it in her own. Dipping the handkerchief into the water, she gently dabbed at the blood, wiping it from his skin.
Her gaze darted to his bare chest as she worked, surely noting the gooseflesh there. Not due to the cold, of course, but the sparking electricity of her touch.
Once his hand was clean, she lifted the bottle of whisky in salute.
“I thought you would give me a swallowbeforetending to my injury,” he said.
“Ye hardly be hurt tae that degree.” She shook her head. “Lord Lockheade is a close family friend, as I suppose ye know. However, ye may not know that his lordship is a fully trained medical doctor. He recommends using whisky tae clean a wound, as it will prevent infection.”
She poured a small amount of the fiery liquid onto his hand. Tristan winced at the sting.
Blotting the wound dry, she wrapped his palm with the length of cotton, tying it in a small knot on the back of his hand.
“There,” she nodded and looked up at him, still cradling his hand in hers.
The sunlight danced across her cheeks, highlighting those freckles he adored and catching her blue eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, unable to remove his gaze from her face but equally unable to decipher her expression. “You always seem to be saving me from myself.”
“Och, it’s not as one-sided as that. Ye did carry me up to bed and then serve as my personal bed warmer all night.”
Right.
He owed her an apology.
