He rinsed the cloth, wrung it again, then folded it and rubbed it over her delicate wrist. He could feel the slight throb of her pulse under his touch.
She wasn’t scared. At least, he couldn’t see fear in her eyes. She was only shaken.Distraught.Like someone who had just survived their first battle with an enemy clan.
He kept his palm beneath her hand anyway so she would not feel the cool air after the warm water.
“Ye’re shivering,” he noted.
“I am trying nae to,” she mumbled.
“Daenae worry, I am almost finished.”
He cleaned the last trace of blood from her thumb and set her hand down in her lap. His own hand lingered a moment longer than it should, then withdrew.
He rinsed the cloth again and worked a narrow line from her throat, just where a spray of blood had hit her when he had swung his sword. She swallowed.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
“I am,” she said. “I think.”
He wiped her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth, where a fleck had dried. Her lips parted. He withdrew the cloth at once and rinsed it clean.
Water sloshed into the tub as another maid came and went. The room grew warmer.
Neil reached for her hands again, turned them palm up, and checked each nail. Nothing left. No stain she would find later and break all over again.
He set the cloth aside and fetched a towel to dry her skin. All the while, she watched him as if she had never seen him before.
“Drink,” he said, holding a cup to her mouth.
She sipped and coughed once. He kept the cup there until she took more. Eventually, color returned to her lips.
He set the cup down, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the splash of water intothe tub. The maids had left, and the door was closed. There was only the fire, and the air between them, and the quiet drip from the cloth he had wrung too tightly.
Her eyes fell to her clean hands. “I hoped,” she whispered, “I wouldnae face violence again. Nae after… everything that happened.”
Neil reached for the cloth and wrung it once more. Red tinted the drip. He watched it fall into the bucket and fade.
He knew the speeches men gave at times like this. He had heard them in halls, at funerals, and at bedsides. However, he had never believed them.
“Violence is part of life,” he muttered.
She lifted her gaze. It was clear and steady, though her lashes were still damp. “It doesnae have to be.”
He opened his mouth, set to answer out of habit. To tell her a hard thing that would keep her safe, or keep him fromfeeling. But nothing came out.
He looked at her, and at the hands he had just cleaned, and at the steaming tub by the fire.
For once, he had no response.
Kristen stepped out of the tub, steam curling behind her, then grabbed another towel and wrapped it tightly around her body.
The heat had chased the tremor from her limbs, yet the heaviness in her chest stayed. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, her toes pressed into the cold floor.
Neil moved around the chamber with quiet purpose, setting the damp cloths aside, stoking the fire, and then brought her a fresh square of linen.
“Me faither wasnae a good man,” she said, her voice even but small in the quiet room.
He went still, the cloth clutched in his hand. He did not sit. He did not speak. He didn’t do anything that would stop her from talking.
