“Breathe,” he said quietly.
She pulled in the air. It caught and stumbled. She tried again. The second breath reached her chest. The third settled.
He dipped the cloth again and ran it along the side of her throat, then over her collar, where a stray branch must have hit her on the way back.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” she said.
He reached for a small pot of salve from the tray. He lifted the lid, checked the scent, rubbed a bit on his wrist, then rubbed it on the red mark on her shoulder. It stung and then cooled.
Outside, steps moved along the passageway, sure and even. The sound matched the order she had seen in the yard, and it helped.A lot.
Alex set the wet cloth aside and put the clean one in her lap, in case she wanted to finish. He turned to the window and checked the sill twice, then glanced along the frame. He looked at the trunk by the wall and eased the lid up and down, then left it closed.
Watching him do all of this kept her mind busy, and Erica was grateful for it.
She sipped water again. Her mouth felt dry and then less so. “Will they really try to breach the castle?” she asked. “I am afraid that I have made meself a target.”
“If they do, they will be seen,” he said. “And they will be met.”
She nodded and felt the words settle in her chest, plain and heavy. Color had come back to her cheeks, and her fingers had steadied on the rim of the cup.
“Eat a little,” Alex urged.
Erica took a small bite of the bread. It softened on her tongue. She swallowed and took another. She did not want more. It was enough.
Alex lifted the jug and refilled her cup. He then set it close, not forcing her to take it. He moved the basin nearer the fireplace so the next cloth was warm.
“Breathe,” he said once more, softer than before.
She did.
Slowly, the panic loosened its grip on her.
The silence between them was so thick that it might as well be deafening. As Alex rose to check on the windowsill and the door once again, Erica did all she could to avoid laughing.
Was this what it looked like when Laird MacMillan grew restless? How long would he keep this up?
Alex moved once again to the fireplace and readjusted the logs, making the flames dance higher.
Erica watched him from the chair. Her hands had stopped shaking. The cup sat empty by her elbow. The heat from the low fire reached her skin in a thin line, enough to remind her that she was here and not on the road, here and not in the market. The calmness she had struggled to find a few minutes ago was now solid in the room.
For the first time, she could relax properly. Gratitude pressed at her throat, and with it a pressure she could not name without feeling foolish.
“Ye should rest,” Alex said at last. His voice was quiet, even.
“I will in a minute,” she said.
He nodded and moved to the table. He set the lid firmly on the soup pot, wiped a small drop from the rim with the clean edge of a cloth, and squared the tray.
“Why?” she heard herself ask the minute she realized she could not watch him do this any longer.
He turned to her. “Why what?”
“Why are ye doing this? Ye could very well let Leah take care of me, so why are ye doing it?”
He stilled at once, and his hand rested flat on the table. “I daenae ken. I just wanted to do it. Would ye rather have Leah? I could send for her and?—”
