After what was entirely too long, in Alexander’s opinion, Catriona released the young maid to the care of the older woman and made her way back down the hall toward her pallet. Head bowed. One hand to her cheek. She walked as one publicly shamed and drowning in humiliation.
Anger. Disgust. Frustration. The unmistakable ache to comfort Catriona and right the unjust wrongs he’d just witnessed. All those things pounded through him. He had to help Catriona. He didna ken how but he had to find a way.
“Catriona,” he called out in an urgent whisper, praying she’d harken to his call.
Eyes averted, she paused a moment at the foot of his bed then continued toward her pallet as though he’d not spoken.
“Catriona, please.” He had to speak with her, give her what reassurance he could, some small bit of comfort.
“Aye, Master MacCoinnich?” She stood just past the foot of his bed, her back to him, head still bowed.
“Master MacCoinnich?” Her formal address pained him no small amount. “Alexander, to ye. Always. Ye ken?”
She pulled in a deep breath, lifting her bowed head and straightening her shoulders as she did so. But she remained turned away. “Alexander, then. What do ye have need of, sir?”
“I need ye to look at me, lass. I need ye to come close and let me see with me own eyes how ye fare.”
Catriona’s chin dropped, and she stared down at the floor.
"Please, Catriona. Grant me the relief I seek by knowing ye’re well after battling with that worthless bastard.” He paused a hair's breadth. "I would see so with me own eyes, lass. Please."
“I am well, Alexander. I assure ye.”
“Then show me. Let me see for m’self.”
Catriona turned and eased her way over to the side of his bed, keeping her face turned aside. Even in the dim lighting, he could tell her eyes shone with unshed tears.
“Untie me, Catriona. I beg ye,” he said in a soft whisper he hoped would gentle her turmoil. He needed to touch her. Give her what little comfort he had the power to give.
Her mouth tightening into a quivering line, Catriona retrieved a small knife from the table beside the bed. Without a word, she cut the strips of linen away from his arms.
Sensing she was about to step away, Alexander took hold of her wrist and with a light persistent tug, pulled her closer. “I mean to punish that bastard for what he did. He had no right.” He loosened his grip, slid her hand into his and brought it to his mouth. With the most reassuring look he could manage, he pressed a kiss to the silk of her skin and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Brother or no’, he had no right.”
“I shouldha moved faster. I erred by thinking him slowed by drink. 'Twas my error.” Catriona hitched in a shuddering breath and stared across the room, focused on where the scuffle had occurred.
Alexander reached up and brushed a finger along the curve of her jaw. When she turned toward him, he cupped her face in his palm. “Ye didna err, lass, and ye should ne’er have to gauge your movements by how fast a blow might be given. No man should ever raise a hand to a woman.”
Catriona closed her eyes and swallowed hard, leaning her face into his hand like a wee kitten starved for attention. Without warning, she stiffened and drew away.
“Catriona?” Puzzlement filled him. Why had the lass reacted so? Had he imagined her accepting his touch? What had changed to offend her?
“Ye need your rest and so do I.” Catriona gave him her back then lowered herself to her pallet. “Go to sleep, Alexander, and try not to tumble off the table since ye’re no longer tied, aye?”
“Aye.” He wouldna trouble her further with words—not this night. But as he lived and breathed, he would have the woman know he would tend to her brother later and Calum Neal, chieftain or no', would ne’er lift a hand to his sister again. He’d damn well see to it.
“Alexander?” Catriona’s soft whisper rose from her pallet, surrounding him like a mist rising in the glen.
“Aye, lass?”
“I thank ye…for giving a care.”
“'Twas the least I could do for the woman who kept me from death’s door.” He tried to make it sound as though his caring was nothing more than a polite repayment of all she’d done for him. But deep in his heart he knew, 'twas a great deal more than that, and that realization troubled him no small amount. If he allowed his caring for Catriona to grow, what would become of him and all his caring when it came time to leave?
