“Hold on, Magret,” Tam warned.
“A ride behind a young soldier, nae every day this happens,” Magret smiled at Laura before being whisked off down the street.
Laura could not find the humor to return the smile; she was too worried. She flung the door open wider and beckoned Erskine inside. The moment the door shut, she reached out toward him, just as he did too. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight into his chest. She circled her own arms around his waist, clinging tightly to him. For a minute, neither of them said anything. They just held onto each other.
“I was so worried about you,” Laura said eventually, stepping back and analyzing his wounds. She lifted a hand to his cheek, noticing he winced at the simple touch. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Daenae be,” he said softly. “I’ll heal, Laura. I’ll be all right.”
“Come, let’s see to that cut.” She took his hand tightly in her own and dragged him through the house, steering him toward the kitchen she had just left, where they kept more of Magret’s supplies in the pantry. “Sit down. You look exhausted.”
“I feel it,” he sighed, sitting back and stretching out his long legs. He took off his belt holding his weapons, with the pistol and the sword, and placed it on the table.
“What happened, Erskine?” she asked as she hurried into the pantry, gathering everything she needed to see to his cuts and bandage the wound.
“Brigands attacked two villages, stole the local farmers’ cattle, took what money they could find, food too, then they set fire to the lot of it.”
“Fire?” Laura repeated in shock, nearly dropping the turpentine bottle as she returned to the table. She looked at the soot marks on his clothes again, realizing just how close he had come to death.
“Bloodthirsty bastards,” Erskine shook his head. “To want to cause such death after ye have already destroyed their livelihoods? Evil.”
“Are many dead?” Laura feared the question as she cracked open some eggs, separating them out to prepare a clean liquid of egg whites.
“Nay, thank god,” Erskine breathed a sigh of relief, tipping his head back and looking to the sky as though that was exactly who he really wanted to thank. “But many are injured. Magret will do some good, but she will be spread thinly between them.” Laura saw his eyes rest down on her as she began to mix the egg whites with the honey and turpentine. “Ye seem to ken what ye’re doin’.”
“Magret has taught me well,” Laura smiled then turned to him. The mixture for his deep cut was now prepared, but she bit her lip, realizing exactly what she was going to have to ask. “Erskine, I need you to remove your shirt, so I can get to the wound.” It was too high up on his arm to possibly be accessed by rolling up his sleeve.
“Ah,” he sighed again, “and I had hoped the first time ye saw me without me shirt would be for somethin’ much more fun than this.” His jest pulled a smile from her.
“I hoped for as much too,” she pushed the mixture away across the table for a minute and leaned toward him. “Tell me truthfully, are you all right?”
“I…” he paused, biting his lip. Laura had brought the two of them close together. She rested her hands on his thighs, staring into his eyes with their lips inches apart. She was lost in his green gaze for a minute, thinking of the pain that swam behind that stare. “There is much I want to say to ye, Laura. I just daenae ken how to say it.”
“Then, for now, let us stick with this,” she leaned toward him and placed a kiss on his lips. It was the gentlest kiss they had shared, just a press of lips together, though Erskine held it all the same, elongating the moment between them. As Laura pulled back, she offered Erskine a smile, remembering what Lennox had said of trying to cheer each other up and being optimistic. She could see the good sense in such a thought. It was what she wanted to do now — she would do anything to bring comfort to Erskine and make him smile. “Come on, you take off your shirt, and I’ll find you something to drink.”
“Ale would do.”
“How about whisky?”
“Can I say both?” Erskine said, offering the briefest smile.
“You certainly can,” Laura returned that smile and stood to her feet, hurrying about her work.
As she gathered the drinks, she prepared some bandages too. She tried to keep her gaze averted from him, but it was impossible in the end. Her gaze kept being drawn back to Erskine as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid it down his shoulders, placing it on a chair nearby. Next came the shirt. He pulled it free of his trews and over his head before leaving it with the waistcoat.
Laura’s eyes were fixed to him. No matter how loudly her mind shouted to her that she should not be staring so openly, she could not help it. Her eyes were tracing the strong muscle across his chest, down to a stomach that was sculpted with rigid muscle. Beneath his stomach, just above his trews, there was the top of a v shape just visible, the creases alluring and tormenting her with seductive thoughts. She lifted her gaze up a little, marveling at how broad his shoulders were and the muscle that stretched across them too. She rather thought it was as though an artist had sculpted him out of marble stone.
Her mouth went dry as her eyes returned to his. He was watching her, a trace of humor on his face.
“Well, that was certainly everythin’ I had hoped for,” he pointed to her face, and she blushed, looking away.
“You didn’t need to point out what I did!” she complained as she picked up the mixture in the bowl again and passed the ale toward him.
“Why nae?” he said as he sipped the ale. “It made me very happy indeed.”
“This may sting a little,” she quickly changed the subject, turning with a small brush dipped in the mixture to the gash on his arm. As she dabbed the wound, he flinched, hissing between his teeth.
“Aye, ye could say that stings,” he breathed deeply.
