She should be grateful that he had no idea how jealous he’d made her, but for some reason his utter lack of understanding annoyed her.
He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I’ll take care of it.” Janet pursed her lips. “I know you think I’m incapable of rational thought, but I do know what I’m doing.”
He frowned. “I don’t think that.”
She made a sharp sound. “That’s why every other word out of your mouth is about how stupid and foolish I am—”
He reached out and took her by the arm. “I never said you were stupid or foolish. I said you didn’t understand the danger.”
“But I do. Just in the same way you do, and yet still choose to do what you do.”
His frown deepened. “It’s not the same.”
Suddenly, Janet felt tired. Too tired to try to make him understand. Too tired of banging her head against a stone wall—no matter how impressively built.
She stared down at him. He still had his hand on her arm, but he let it drop. “Are you going to let me help or not?”
He hesitated.
“What’s wrong?”
His gaze shifted uncomfortably. “It isn’t…” His cheeks darkened. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
Janet gaped at him. My God, he was blushing! “Youare modest?”
A flash of annoyance cleared away the blush. “Of course not. I was merely thinking of you.”
She tried not to laugh, but she feared the smile showed behind her pursed lips. “I’ve been pretending to be a nurse for quite a while. I think I can manage not to faint with maidenly shock.”
She did. But just barely. It was one thing to tend old men and women, and another to stand inches away from a man who made your heart skip, even when he wasn’t sliding his breeches—and then his wet braies—down his hip.
He managed to keep himself covered except for the top of his outer thigh, but good gracious, she felt like she was jumping out of her skin. How was she going to touch him so intimately and not think about…
Her gaze flew from the big bulge (where to her horror she’d been looking), and heat flamed her cheeks. Only the sight of the wound prevented her from thrusting the ointment into his hand, babbling some excuse, and racing back to the cave.
But the angry mass of torn flesh brought her back to reality. She gasped in half-horror and half-outrage. Though the dip in the freezing loch had washed most of the blood away, it was still a red, angry mess. The crusted black flesh where the original wound had been burned closed had been ripped open again—shredded, actually—and blood was seeping out. Instead of the small hole she’d hoped to see, the seared wound was nearly two inches long and jagged in shape, as if someone had just pulled the arrow out without thought or care.
Her eyes met his with accusation. “How could you let it get like this and say nothing?”
“It isn’t that bad,” he said defensively.
She gave him a glare, not bothering to deign that with a response, and went to work.
But even her anger couldn’t completely mask the effects of touching him, and her hands shook as she started to apply the ointment.
Thinking to keep her mind on her task, she asked, “Who pulled the arrow out? I assume it wasn’t Helen?”
He bit out a harsh laugh. “Hardly. She was furious that I didn’t wait for her.”
She should have known. “You should have. You made a mess of it.”
He shrugged unapologetically. “There wasn’t time. I was in the middle of a battle and it was getting in my way. It was deeper than I thought. It hit the bone and stopped.”
“You could have bled to death.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “It wasn’t that bad. It looks much worse now since it’s been opened up a few more times.”
“Did you ever think to let it heal?” He shrugged and started to say something, but she stopped him. “Let me guess: there wasn’t time, and you were fighting.”
