"Some, but books, mostly. Me mother taught me the basics before she died, but after..." She trailed off. "I read everythin’ I could find. Medical texts, herbals, anythin’ that might help me understand how tae heal."
"Tell me again why ye want tae dae this?"
She glanced sharply as him. "Like I said, there's too much sufferin’ that could be prevented."
"Nay. I mean why the urgency? Why dedicate yerself tae learnin’ somethin’ most noblewomen consider beneath them?"
She was quiet for a long moment, her wrist still caught in his loose grip. "Because when I watched me mother die, I experienced the pain of there being nay hope, and I never wanted tae feel that helpless again."
The raw honesty in her voice struck him somewhere in the vulnerable parts of his heart. "Liliane."
"The paste will need tae be reapplied tomorrow mornin’." She stood quickly. "Try nae tae put too much weight on it taenight."
"Thank ye." The words felt inadequate. "Fer this. Fer carin’ enough tae prepare it."
"Dinnae read too much intae it. Ye're me husband."
"Is that the only reason?"
Her cheeks colored. "Daes there need tae be another?"
"Were ye nae even slightly worried about me?" He couldn't resist teasing her, watching the way her blush deepened.
Ye are so bonnie with all that color on ye cheeks, I feel like kissin’ ye right now.
"Dinnae be ridiculous," she snapped.
"So ye spent all that time watchin’ me trainin’, noticed the exact moment I got injured, and immediately prepared medicine purely out of... what? Boredom?" Tòrr tisked.
"Civic duty."
"Hmmm. Civic duty." He arched a brow. "That's what we're callin’ it?"
"What else would it be?"
"Concern. Care. The beginnin’s of actually givin’ a damn whether I live or die."
"Dinnae flatter yerself, MacDonald." But she wouldn't meet his eyes.
He studied her, noting the defensive set of her shoulders, the way she'd put distance between them, the lingering flush on her face. Something had shifted during their ride that morning, and her tending his injury, her obvious agitation, only confirmed it.
"Have ye changed yer mind?" he asked quietly.
"About what?"
"About leavin’. About this marriage. About whether ye can find somethin’ bearable here."
Her defiance returned instantly, her chin lifting. Her voice was hard and dry when she spoke. "If I had the chance, I'd still try tae flee. Naethin's changed."
The admission shouldn't have stung as much as it did. "Naethin’?"
"Naethin’ that matters."
"Hmm. Naethin’ that matters?" He leaned forward despite the protest from his ankle. "Because from where I sit, somethin's definitely changed."
"Ye're imaginin’ things."
"Am I? Then why are ye blushin’?"
