"Unless ye're too tired?"
She wasn't tired.
In fact, she was the opposite of tired, every nerve in her body suddenly alert and aware.
"Nay. I'd like that." She tried to keep her voice casual. "Practice would be good."
"Me chamber, then. I have better light there, and more supplies."
They walked through the corridors side by side, close enough that their hands occasionally brushed. When they reached Alpin's door, he pushed it open and gestured for her to enter first.
The room was warm from the fire burning in the hearth. Someone had been in to tidy, the bed was made with fresh linens, fresh candles burned on every surface, casting a golden glow.
Alpin closed the door behind them.
The soft click of the latch seemed very loud in the quiet room.
"Sit," Mhairi said, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the sudden awareness of being alone with him in his bedchamber. "I'll get the supplies."
He settled into the chair by the fire while she gathered cloth strips and the jar of salve from the cabinet. When she returned, kneeling beside his chair, he'd already rolled up his sleeve to expose his forearm.
"Start with something simple," he suggested. "A basic wrap, like ye were practicin' this mornin'."
Mhairi picked up a strip of cloth, trying to remember everything Donnach had taught her. She began wrappingcarefully, concentrating on keeping the pressure even, the angle consistent.
Alpin watched her work, his gaze intense. She adjusted the tension slightly. "How daes this feel?"
"Good. Even pressure, nae too tight."
She continued wrapping, her fingers brushing against his skin with each pass of the cloth.
His forearm was solid beneath her hands, marked with small scars that told stories of old injuries. She found herself tracing one with her thumb without meaning to.
"What's this from?" she asked.
"Trainin' accident when I was sixteen. Took a practice blade across the arm." His voice had gone deeper. "Bled like mad but wasnae serious."
"And this one?" Her fingers moved to another scar.
"Nae sure. I have so many I cannae remember where they all came from."
Mhairi finished the wrap and tied it off, then immediately began unwrapping it to try again. But this time, as she worked, she let her fingers linger. Let herself explore the landscape of his arm—the scars, the muscle, the warmth of his skin.
"Mhairi." Her name came out rough.
She looked up and found his eyes dark with desire. "Aye?"
"The bindings are fine. Ye can stop now."
"What if I dinnae want tae stop?"
His breath caught. "What dae ye want?"
His hands settled on her waist, slow and deliberate, his thumbs brushing the dip just above her hips.
The touch was light, but it burned through the fabric of her dress, sending a shiver down her spine.
Mhairi exhaled sharply, her pulse quickening as his fingers tightened, pulling her back against him. A flush spread across her chest, her nipples tightening beneath her chemise.
