Putting some body wash on a sponge, I attempt to look innocent, which given her slit-eyed stare, is not convincing. “This is not sexual, wife. I’m just taking care of you tonight. So relax. I dinna intend to take advantage of your virtue when you’re all banged up like this.”
“How bad does it look?”
“With your long, wild hair and those high cheekbones? You look like a seductive Viking, here to ravage the countryside.” When I skim the sponge along another scrape, I admit, “A Viking that’s been in a fistfight and possibly lost.”
“Very flattering, thank you.” She’s too tired to sound caustic and she’s almost asleep by the time I finish washing her hair and letting out the dirty water. Her arm sleepily flails against my shoulder, trying to hold on when I lift her from the tub and put her on a towel I’ve laid out on the bed. After drying every inch of her smooth skin and enjoying it more than I should because she’s hurt and I’m a sick fuck, I wrap my wife in a robe and help her into bed.
“The doctor should be here in an hour at the most,” I say, checking my watch, “why don’t you try to rest for a minute?”
“Dougal?”
“Aye?”
“Thank you.” Her eyes are closed and she’s half asleep before it registers that this is the first time Isla’s ever spoken my name. And not spitting it out like a mouthful of Ipecac, the way she’s uttered ‘MacTavish.’
My good mood lasts for five minutes until my phone buzzes angrily. It’s the Imperial Theme from Star Wars, so it’s Cormac.
“Two of our clubs in Glasgow just burned to the ground,” he rasps.
“What the bloody hell?” I growl, “Who did it? Did we lose anyone?”
“I got a text as I was going through what’s left of Club Vixen,” he says. “One sentence. ‘Send her home.’”
“Blackwood,” I hiss. “You already sent him the message about our marriage and that she was safe the night I took her.”
“Well, I guess this is his message back,” Cormac says. “He’s willing to go to war when we have his daughter? You two are married, for feck’s sake. He must be insane.”
“Unless he doesn’t believe it,” I muse. “He’ll pay for those fecking clubs and with a lavish apology.”
“Move fast,” he warns.
Bessie - Scottish slang for a bad-tempered woman
Cludgie - Scottish slang for toilet
Chapter Fifteen
In which Isla is deals with arson, an enraged husband and a furious father.
Isla…
“...Lass… wake up now....”
“Five more minutes,” I moan, but the gentle hand keeps smoothing back my hair until I open my eyes.
Dougal is hovering over me and behind him is a slightly amused-looking woman with a doctor’s bag. “There you are. Dr. MacTavish is here to check on you.”
Of course. A doctor in the family, how convenient for all those pesky gunshot and stab wounds,I think.
“Doctor, nice to meet you.” I awkwardly haul myself to an upright position as Dougal smugly fluffs some pillows and puts them behind my back.
“The same, Mrs. MacTavish. Congratulations on your wedding, of course.” She’s got silvered hair and a warm smile, which fades as I narrow my eyes.
“I’m thinkin’ you didn’t get the full details, Doc.”
Dougal leans closer, his lips almost touching my ear. “Be a good girl now. She’s here to care for you, she’s not gonna bust you out of here.”
Doctor MacTavish is fighting another smile as she pulls on some sterile gloves. “Dougal, I’ll need you to leave now so that I can examine my patient in private.”
