And knowing he could never give her the explanation she craved simply made it worse.
He washed at the stream to get most of the dried blood off his skin. The fabric of the shirt was stuck in the deep gash of his side, so he took some time and eased it loose. The bleeding began once more as he walked back to his dwelling. Mayhap if she was still awake, he would ask her to stanch the bleeding and bandage it for him.
It would matter not how close she stood to him or how her gentle caresses stirred him, for he vowed that he would not repeat the liberties he’d taken the last time.
He might be exhausted from lack of sleep and the tumultuous journey and battle, light-headed from the loss of blood and lack of food and even resistant to the fact that she could never be his—but—his honour demanded that he not press his affections on her.
So, Brodie entered the cave filled with complete and utter determination that he would not kiss her.
* * *
Although she’d helped the healer at Achnacarry Castle since her mother had passed, nothing in her life had prepared her for this day’s work. Mixing a concoction, mayhap. Applying a bandage for certain. But, sewing muscle and skin back together? Never.
And yet, Arabella had.
As she stood in the cave now, she glanced down at her hands. Traces of blood remained under her nails and the length of the gown she wore was stained in it.
Margaret had praised her work, said that Magnus lived because of her abilities and skill with a needle. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was appreciated for something other than her God-given beauty. A laugh bubbled out of her then, inappropriate considering how many had died or had suffered grievously but she let it out.
If her father saw her now he would be horrified by her appearance and condition! Covered in blood and sweat and who knew what else, her hair a tangled mess down her back and a borrowed gown that did not fit. The Cameron heiress looked more like a serving woman than a noble bride.
He’d been very precise about how she should behave and appear in public since she was his heiress. Though her brother would eventually sit in the chief’s seat, she would inherit a good part of her father’s, and mother’s, wealth and so be a bargaining tool for his use. Once her mother had died, he’d lost the benefit of her tempering and his will had become iron. His goal was to make the Cameron Clan the strongest and always to come from a position of strength. To do that, infractions were punished, rules were enforced and his children learned his ways.
So, the graciousness and false smile became her best defence and were always in place. She and Malcolm had been careful not to let their small rebellions be seen. Only Aunt Gillie ever saw her as she was.
Today felt like the biggest rebellion of all.
And it felt wonderful.
She had saved a life today. She had helped others. Her actions were meaningful and not gracious or frivolous. It had taken being kidnapped and held against her will to feel this freedom.
Now, she waited for Brodie to return. Many questions plagued her about what she’d overheard between the two men and from the pain-filled murmurings of the man they’d treated. Even worse, she’d heard men talking as they walked by Margaret’s tent, about the fighting that had happened. More tales that revealed Caelan’s two faces—the one he had shown to her and the one seen by those who lived here or questioned him.
Margaret’s own words had been the worst to hear and the hardest to accept, but the woman had no reason to lie to her. Indeed, she owed the woman much for being the one who understood Arabella’s place and still spoke to her about the truth.
Margaret had urged caution on their walk back here. Emotions flared all day, from anguish and pain, to anger and hot-headedness. The worst time to deal with her father was when his anger was high.
Though she did not know all of the details about what had happened at Drumlui, what she did know was upsetting, even to her. Men Brodie knew and counted as friends had died. From some of the talk, she’d learned that innocent villagers had been caught in the middle and had perished, too.
Letting out a breath and feeling the bone-deep exhaustion seeping in, Arabella decided to wait before asking him everything she wanted to know. She would still be here on the morrow and there would be time. Searching the chamber, she did not see water for washing. And she had no brush or comb to use on her tangled hair. She took the empty jug to the entry and asked one of the guards there if he could fill it for her.
Arabella sat on a stool and lifted the length of her hair over her shoulder, using her fingers to ease out the knots. She needed to wash it. She needed a bath. She needed a good night’s rest. She needed to sort through this situation and figure out how this was going to end. Only when a soft indrawn breath drew her attention did she look up to see Brodie there.
Watching her wordlessly. Intensely. Her mouth went dry from the way he gazed at her.
He wore no shirt, instead he held it in his hand and pressed it to his side. His long hair, made darker by the wetness of it, dripped rivulets of water down over his shoulders and chest. It was not the bare-chested part that shocked her, for she’d watched him fight like this all those months ago. It was the nearness of him and the size of him and the intimacy of being able to hear his breathing and see his muscles move.
She might have been able to look away but he stared at her mouth as if he remembered the kisses they’d shared. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her very dry lips and he groaned and closed his eyes. His hand dropped from his side, exposing the deep slash there that bled freely now.
‘Your wound. No one saw to it?’ she asked, moving towards him. He took a half step away before stopping.
‘Nay. I washed it, then.’ He turned and walked to the large chest where he kept garments.
‘It will keep bleeding. Here—’ she pointed to the stool that she’d used ‘—sit. Let me see if I can stop the bleeding.’
He followed her instructions without arguing which told her that the wound did pain him. She needed better light to see the gash more clearly, so she sought out a few candles and a lamp and set them around him. It took only a few minutes to gather what she needed and then she was ready.
Nay, not ready. All she did was look at him there and her hands began to shake. Her legs trembled as she walked closer to him. As much as she tried to convince herself it was just the exhaustion taking over, Arabella knew the true reason for the way she felt—the man before her. The thought of touching his skin, feeling the heat she knew his strong body produced...
