Chapter Eleven
This was a side of the Laird that Isla would not have imagined existed the first day she was brought to the MacThomas keep.
She would never have thought he would allow her to wander below the oaks and the hawthorns in search of healing items. She would not have been able to envisage him offering her the bottle of wine or asking her about her childhood. He had certainly softened towards her; it was apparent now.
But why?
She had caught him looking at her, and his gaze had held the lusty glaze of a man appreciating a woman's body. There was something else there as well. He looked confused, baffled, as though he was trying to piece together a mystery he had not yet clued her in on yet.
"Suppose I should thank ye properly," she said. "For savin' my life from those awful men. Who knows what they would have done if they’d had their way?"
"'Twas only the right thing tae do," the Laird said. "Though I dinnae feel right about slayin' a drunk man, it was the only option. If I had not, they could have surrounded us with their numbers, and we all would have lost our lives."
"Still," Isla said. "I am verra grateful; I cannae say I thought that our outcome would have been favorable. I was really and truly afraid."
It was true; she had been entirely grateful when the bandits had taken off. There were simply too many of them, and though she knew she was a fighter, there was no way she would have stood a chance against them. She felt badly that she had not told the Laird how grateful she was.
"Suppose that yer makin' up for it now," Iain said, gesturing at the rest of the poultice still in the bowl. "Ye said that ye suggest teachin' our men healin'?"
"Aye," she replied. "Dinnae ye think it would have been much easier if ye could have done this yerself? What if I had not been here tae help ye? Ye'd have been in a terrible situation then."
A laugh rumbled out of his chest, low and almost inaudible, but she picked it up. "A terrible situation, would it have been?" he asked. "Aye, 'n I suppose that it would have been. This wound is in an unlucky spot; every bend of my arm would have reopened the damn thing. That poultice, though... That certainly put a quick stop tae it."
She looked up at him, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face. She had been helpful to him and was surprised that the thought pleased her. She found she wanted to do more to help him, so strong was the feeling of satisfaction she received. Even with her limited knowledge about healing, she was able to cease the flow of blood that had previously been pooling up at his sleeve.
"I'm glad tae help," she said, and she meant it. "And I will again if ye or yer men have need of it. I really appreciate what ye've done for me."
The Laird looked up at her, surprise coloring his expression now.
"What I've done for ye?" he echoed. "I cannae say I've done much. Ye were tossed in a dungeon, named a liar, and as ye said, nearly starved ye tae death apparently."
He said the last line with a half curve of a smile, his eyes flicking up to hers. It seemed as though he was trying to make light of the situation, perhaps even inching towards apologizing.
Inside Isla were two warring feelings. She was ever so grateful he was beginning to warm to her. However, did that mean she should stop being suspicious of him, that she should trust him right away? He had, after all, still threatened her life.
But hadn't he protected her also? Hadn't he stepped in when he could have let her be taken away by bandits just as easily? She would have been out of his life completely then; it would have been easier to be rid of her.
Instead, he had risked his life for her.
He was looking at her now as though he was suffering through a conflict within himself as well. His eyes were large and expressive; thick brows tucked up on his head as though he were waiting on her reply.
"Ye were just tryin' tae protect your clan," she offered. "I cannae hold it against ye. If I was Laird of a huge castle and had a clan tae look after, I would do everythin' that I could tae protect them as well."
He let out a breath; she saw his shoulders sag with what looked like relief.
Was he truly sorry for how he had previously treated her?
It certainly seemed like it, though he had not yet voiced the apology. She suspected that he would not, at least not until he knew for certain that she was telling the truth. She reassured herself once again that he would believe her completely once they reached the village. He had seemed to loosen much of his suspicion of her even now.
"I was," he said. "An' I still am. Ye must forgive me if I still cannae trust ye completely. I have tae... I want tae tell ye somethin', a sort of secret that I have only told one other person, my mother. If ye'll listen."
Isla's chin jerked up to search his face. That had not been what she had been expecting to hear at all.
What is he talkin' about? A secret? How many secrets is a lass supposed to be able to hole up inside herself?
"Alright then," was all she could think to say.
The man took a deep breath, his head turning to glance back at his men. He looked at them for a long moment before turning back to her, seemingly satisfied that they were fast asleep and would not hear a word. The men were too far away, asleep beneath the giant oak. The fire was well enough away that they would hear nothing that transpired between them.
