She stepped closer to him. “You can’t properly clean and bandage the burns yourself. Not when they’re on your neck and back.” She kept her tone brisk, matter-of-fact. “Go change, then come to the kitchen. I’ll take care of it.”
Surprise flickered across his face, followed by a flash of something harder to define. “You don’t need to bother yourself. It won’t be pretty.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure it won’t. But I’ve plenty of experience with such. Back home, I often tended injuries for our staff. Burns from the kitchen fires, cuts from a slipped knife or broken glass. I can clean and bandage as well as a doctor.” In truth, she always liked being helpful in that way. Making hurting people feel better.
Enoch regarded her for a long moment. His shoulders had stiffened, and for a second, he looked like he would argue. At last, he gave a slow dip of his chin. “Fine.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway to his chamber.
A small victory, but a vital one. Those burns wouldn’t wait on stubborn pride.
Mandie hurried to her room to change out of her sodden, sooty dress and clean the worst of the grime from her face and hands. By the time she reached the kitchen, Enoch was already seated at the table, his head cradled in his uninjured hand.
At her entrance, he looked up, and she nearly stumbled to a halt.
He was shirtless, the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest bare except for a blanket draped over his uninjured side.The lamplight played over the ridges and planes of his muscled shoulder and chest, highlighting both the power of his form and the vulnerability of his current state.
He met her gaze with weary blue eyes. “Figured you couldn’t tend the shoulder if I put a clean shirt on.” His voice still rasped with pain and exhaustion. Likely smoke too.
She swallowed and forced herself to nod, then move past the table to the stove behind him. Of course she’d seen a man’s bare chest before—she’d been married to Nicholas for three years. But he’d been slender and finely built, his frame honed by a life of privilege and ease.
Enoch Balfour was another creature entirely, all rugged strength and coiled intensity.
She forced her focus onto her work. She was here to provide medical care, not gawk like a schoolgirl. The kettle of water she’d been warming for tea still sat on the stove, so she poured some into a clean basin, tempering it with cool water until the liquid was warm but not scalding.
She had seen a basket on the shelf containing clean cloths, bandages, and a jar of healing salve. Mandie pulled it down and grabbed a towel, then carried it all to the table beside Enoch.
Once more, she was faced with his bare skin and hulking frame, yet standing behind him, she could see the ring of soot around his neck and the burn marks on his shoulder. They didn’t look to be open wounds, so hopefully they would heal without trouble.
Dipping the cloth in the warm water, she started on the unburned skin of his neck and shoulder. He tensed at the first touch but didn’t flinch away.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she murmured.
“S’all right,” he ground out. “Do what needs doing.”
Working in gentle strokes, she removed the layers of soot and grime, then assessed the damage. The burn on his shoulderwasn’t too deep, but the one on his scalp looked far more serious, the skin raw and blistered. “I’m going to need to cut your hair. To treat the burn.”
“Fine.” The word was little more than a pained exhale.
Mandie took a deep breath to steady her hands, then replaced the cloth in the water and retrieved the scissors from the basket. She fingered a section of longer locks that hung over his neck. His hair was thick and wavy, the rich brown color glinting with hints of auburn in the lamplight. She let herself enjoy the sensation of those silken strands sliding between her fingers.
She had to work though.
With careful strokes, she trimmed away the singed and matted hair around the burn, letting the dark strands fall to the floor. She’d never cut a man’s hair before. Never expected the act to feel so intimate.
The hair had to be trimmed everywhere so it would lie evenly, so she moved to his right side to work. Her fingers wove through his thick locks, brushing against his scalp.
Enoch sat completely still beneath her ministrations. Was that because of pain? Or did he feel the connection in this simple act?
This close, with the heat of him radiating against her skin, she was far too aware of Enoch as a man. Not just a patient, not just someone who had extended kindness to her and was in need of aid, but a flesh-and-blood male with all that strong, masculine power.
Bit by bit, the dark waves fell away, leaving his hair cropped close to his head. The shorter layers outlined his strong features, making something flip in her middle. He looked somehow younger, more vulnerable. Only his beard still covered him like armor.
At last, she set the shears aside and reached for the salve. As she smoothed the ointment over the burned patch of scalp, the muscles in his shoulders bunched and twitched.
Her chest tightened and she kept her strokes as light as possible. If only there was a way to take his pain away completely.
She finished his scalp, then moved down to dab the balm over the lesser burns on his shoulder. “Is there anywhere else that hurts?” She kept her voice soft, but it sounded loud in the stillness of the room.
He shook his head. “Just there.”
