Roderick stood, feet braced apart, on the other side of the fire talking with one of his men. Siena noticed that they had been to the stream to wash off their war paint, so they didn’t look as scary as earlier.
There was something about his name that sounded familiar, but again, she couldn’t place it. She knew she’d never seen him before because no one would forget meeting a man so large and powerful … and handsome. Aye, he was very handsome.
“Agatha, do you know the name of his holding?”
“Nay, I’ve not heard him say,” she replied as she unpacked food, which she’d stored in one of the baskets. “You must be hungry, milady.” She handed Siena a piece of chicken and a chunk of cheese.
The smell of chicken reminded Siena that she hadn’t eaten since the day before. She tried not to tear into the chicken, but nibbled, remembering she was a lady, however, her swollen lip hurt when she opened her mouth, so she had to eat slow. Her arm still needed mending, but it would have to wait until she had something to eat.
“We have food if you’re hungry,” Siena called to the men who were now gathering around the campfire that Gareth had built. They seemed hesitant until Roderick accepted a chicken leg. The men followed his lead and fetched pieces of chicken and cheese. In turn, they handed the ladies a flask of whisky to wash down their meal. Siena noticed how the men’s mood seemed lighter as they ate and talked among themselves. At least, no one was frowning at the moment, and without those frowns, they didn’t look so fierce, and they were not glaring at her with hatred.
Roderick sat down near her, but he remained quiet as he ate. Siena thought he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, even if he did have a ferocious look about him. He had long, dark, brown hair that was overly long and framed his face perfectly. There wasn’t much about him that wasn’t perfect. He seemed a true warrior and so much larger than her brother’s men. His deeply tanned skin and broad shoulders proved that he attended to his training well. She felt very small sitting beside him, yet she was unafraid and that puzzled her. Siena wondered what he was thinking. She couldn’t tell because there wasn’t any emotion in his eyes, just a cold, hard stare. He glanced over and caught her looking at him, causing her to blush that she’d been caught in the act.
When Roderick had finished his chicken, he said, “We need to look at yer arm, lass. I had little time to examine it before we left Berwick.” Siena nodded and carefully held her arm out, wincing from the pain. Roderick pulled the dirk from his boot and carefully cut the bandage with the sharp blade, so he could easily unwrap the cloth. He turned her arm as he examined it, causing her to flinch again. Evidently the man didn’t know his own strength. “Och, this cut is deep, lass. Needs stitching.”
“Agatha, did you bring my medicine kit?” Siena croaked.
“Aye.” Agatha fumbled in the brown cloth sack until she found a small wooden box, which she handed it to Siena. “But you cannot stitch yourself, milady.”
“Nay, I cannot, but you can.”
Agatha started shaking her head. “I’m afraid that I would surely swoon after the first stitch, but I can thread the needle.” However, after searching through the box she said, “We have no thread.”
Siena looked up at Roderick. “Can you sew?”
“Probably not as well as you,” he admitted then turned to one of his men. “Fergus, do ye huv yer thread and needle?”
Fergus had red hair; a bushy red beard and merry, blue eyes, though he still appeared a fierce warrior … only more inviting than the rest. She questioned that he would be doing the sewing with such big hands. Yet, she knew something had to be done.
“Aye, sire.”
“Fetch it.”
“But—” Agatha stopped abruptly when Roderick stared at her.
“If we dinna tend the wound, it will become infected and fester,” Roderick said, cutting Agatha off. “You said ye couldna stitch the wound, but someone has to.” He handed Siena a whisky flask. “Drink some of this, lass. It will help with the pain.”
“Nay. You’ll need that, as well.” She nodded toward the flask. “We must pour it over the wound. The dried blood will have to be cleaned off before you can sew up my arm.”
“Ye’ve done this in the past?”
“I’m not usually the patient.” Siena smiled. “I’m the one doing the sewing.” She found she liked Roderick’s Scottish burr. Sometimes it was thicker than other times, but it was different from her proper English. “I’ll try not to scream,” she paused then blurted out, “Second thought, you had better give me some whisky.”
Both men chuckled.
Roderick positioned himself so that he was leaning against a tree. He spread his legs, then motioned for her to come to him. “Sit and lean against me. I’ll support yer arm while Fergus does the sewing. Ye need not be scairt. He is the best I have with a needle and has stitched me more times than I care to remember.”
Once Siena had settled herself against him, Roderick found an overwhelming need to protect her. Something he’d not felt in a long, long time. He believed there was something special about Siena. She seemed so small, and her bruises told him she hadn’t had a pleasant life.
He also noticed the one eye he could see clearly was a silvery blue, much like a cold winter’s lake. He wondered what she would look like once the swelling and bruises went away. She felt comfortable in his arms, he admitted, and her head fit just under his chin.
He watched Fergus thread the needle with horsehair. To Siena’s credit, she didn’t flinch, showing she had gumption. He liked that.
“This will sting a wee bit, lass,” Fergus warned.
“I know,” Siena whispered with an attempt at a smile. However, her face hurt from the bruises, so she wasn’t certain she’d managed one. “I have been through much this day. I believe I can take a little more pain.”
“I could knock ye out, lass,” Fergus said with a laugh.
