"Those bastards," he said quietly. "
"It's nae as bad as it looks," Mhairi tried.
His eyes met hers, burning with barely controlled fury. "Dinnae try tae minimize what they did to ye. These are deep. They're goin' to scar."
"I ken." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Something shifted in Alpin's expression. The fury was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something that looked almost like admiration.
"Let me take care of this," he said softly. "Please. Let me help ye."
Mhairi's breath caught at the gentleness in his voice. She nodded.
"Aye," she whispered. "All right."
He guided her to a chair near the fire, then moved to a cabinet in the corner. When he returned, he was carrying a basin of water and medical supplies––clean cloths, bandages, and a small jar of something that smelled faintly of herbs.
“What is that?” Mhairi asked.
"Somethin' the healer makes. It helps with inflammation and prevents infection." Alpin worked the salve into her skin with slow, circular motions. "Me maither used tae make somethin' similar. When I was a lad, I was always gettin' scraped up from trainin' or climbin' trees. She'd sit me down just like this and tend every scratch and bruise."
Alpin knelt in front of her chair.
The position put him lower than her, his broad shoulders between her knees as he reached for her hands. Mhairi's breath shortened as he dipped a cloth into the water, his fingers circling her wrist with infinite care.
The cloth was cool against her inflamed skin. He worked slowly, each touch deliberate, his eyes focused entirely on the task. But Mhairi could feel the tension in him––the barely restrained fury at what had been done to her, the gentleness he was forcing into hands built for wielding swords.
When she flinched at a particularly tender spot, he paused immediately. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, just above the worst of the damage, soothing without words. The touch sent warmth spreading up her arm that had nothing to do with the injuries.
"Better?" he murmured, his voice rough.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He continued cleaning, moving from one wrist to the other. His breath was warm against her skin. Occasionally his fingers would brush the sensitive skin of her inner arm, and each time Mhairi had to fight to keep her breathing steady.
This was the closest they'd been since the forest. Close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, could smell leather and something uniquely him. Close enough that if she leaned forward just slightly, she could––
Alpin looked up, and their eyes met.
The intensity in his gaze made her forget how to breathe. He held her stare for a long moment, his hands still cradling her wrists, his thumb moving in slow circles against her pulse point.
Then he looked down again, reaching for the jar of salve.
The paste was cool when he applied it, his fingers working it into her skin with slow, circular motions that were almost hypnotic.
He took his time, spreading the salve over every inch of damaged skin, his touch firm enough to be effective but gentle enough not to hurt.
Mhairi watched his face as he worked. Watched the concentration there, the care. The way his brow furrowedslightly when he encountered worse damage. The way his jaw stayed tight with suppressed emotion.
When he began wrapping the bandages, his movements were practiced, efficient, never rushed. Each wrap was careful, each knot tied with precision. And through it all, his fingers kept brushing against her skin in ways that made her pulse race.
Finally, he tied off the last bandage and sat back on his heels.
But he didn't let go of her hands.
They stayed like that, kneeling and sitting, hands clasped between them. The fire crackled beside them.
And neither of them moved.
