Inside their chamber, the fire glowed pleasantly. A basin of warm water already waited on the table beside the bed. Davina had sent word ahead through Ailis, and for once she was grateful for her own foresight.
“Sit,” she said, guiding him toward the bed.
He let out a sigh and sat. The mattress shifted under his weight. Davina dipped the clean cloth in the warm water, wrung it out carefully, and stepped before him.
“Davina,” he muttered as she pressed the cloth gently to his brow, “ye dinnae need tae fuss over me like this.”
“I’m nae fussing,” she replied, adjusting the cloth so it brushed the line of dried sweat near his temple. “I’m tending. There’s a difference.”
“A very small one.”
“Only tae someone stubborn.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, which was more air than sound. “Ye’ve called me stubborn too many times in the last hour.”
“Because ye’ve earned it.”
He glanced at her, his eyes half-lidded in the firelight. “If I’m stubborn, ye’re… what’s the word… ah, relentless.”
She raised a brow. “Is that an insult?”
“A compliment… mostly.”
Her lips twitched. “Good. Because I meant mine as compliments, too.”
Davina’s breath caught. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. But she didn’t take it back either. She dipped the cloth again, brushing his cheekbone this time, then along the side of his neck where the tension deepened.
“Ye scared me today,” she said softly.
“Aye, well.” He swallowed as her fingers skimmed his skin. “Ye scared me, too.”
Her hand stilled. He didn’t look away this time. He didn’t hide behind duty or command or cold distance. For once, his honesty stood bare between them.
She resumed dabbing the cloth gently, feeling him relax under her touch. “Next time,” she murmured, “try nae tae get yerself sliced open.”
“Next time,” he returned just as softly, “try nae tae fall off yer horse.”
She tried to glare at him. It failed miserably. He smirked at her and it lit up the entire room.
“Ye win,” she said, shaking her head exasperatedly.
“I usually dae.”
Davina set the cloth aside and drew in a careful breath. He looked tired… more than tired. He looked worn in a way that made her fret for him.
“It’s late,” she murmured. “We should retire tae bed.”
His brow lifted faintly. “Should we?”
“Aye,” she insisted, trying for firmness despite the flutter in her stomach. “I promised the healer I would make ye rest.”
He huffed. “Some promises cannae be kept.”
“Mine are tae be kept,” she corrected, stepping closer, and settling her hands on his shoulders without quite meaning to. “Especially when they concern yer health. So, ye will sleep.”
“Will I?” he murmured, and there was that hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.
“Ye will,” she said firmly. “Because I will nae have ye tearing yer stitches or worsening that injury simply because ye insist on being…”
