He detected the note of concern in her voice, and it made him frown. “He’s fine.” He paused. “Are you not curious about Duncan as well?”
Her gaze leveled on his. “Why would I need to ask you about Duncan, when I can just open the door and ask him myself?”
He shrugged unapologetically, seeing her annoyance. “He needed something to do until his shoulder has healed.”
“And spying on me was the only thing you could think of? I thought we had an agreement.”
“We do. Duncan is my assurance that you don’t forget it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your hands?”
The swift change of subject caught him off guard. “Nothing.”
She stood and walked toward him, that stubborn chin set in a line that he didn’t like. “Let me see.”
He was about to tell her it was none of her damned business when one of her hands circled around his wrist. Christ, her fingers were soft. And so damned small. They could barely close halfway around. His mind immediately went to another part of his body, thinking of those fingers wrapped around something thick and throbbing.
Heat flared inside him and instead of pulling away, he allowed her to turn over his hand, revealing his bloody, shredded palms.
The gasp made him wish he hadn’t—as did the outraged look on her face. “How did this happen?”
He shrugged off her concern. “The ropes. It’s nothing. It happens all the time.” He liked the connection with the sail and didn’t wear gauntlets.
“It looks horrible. Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Nay,” he replied automatically.
Her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess: tall, overly muscular pirates don’t feel pain?”
He grinned for the first time since entering the longhouse. “Overly muscular? I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I’m not blind,” she huffed. Her eyes flashed in the flickering firelight. He’d thought they were brown, but standing so close he could see flecks of green and gold. Unusual and quite pretty. Then she had to ruin the effect by adding, “I’d notice a peacock preening his feathers and strutting around, too.”
Erik was shocked into rare silence. For once a quick response did not slip from his tongue. Had she just compared him to a bloody peacock? First a dog, now a bird? He was one of the most feared warriors in the Highlands, personal guardsman to a king, henchman and kinsman to one of the most powerful leaders in the Western Isles, and chieftain of an ancient clan.
That prickle of irritation grew to a full-fledged stab.
“Nor am I impressed by your masculine bravado,” she said. “And don’t try to distract me.”
He was thinking of a couple of ways to do just that. The heat from the fire, and that faint hint of lavender that had grown stronger as she drew near, were doing strange things to him.
Innocent maids were not his usual fare. He might enjoy flirting, but he was always discerning in his bed partners. He preferred experienced lasses who understood lust and wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were in love. But his body didn’t seem to be listening.
She examined his hand, tracing the pad of her finger over the raw edges. He stood perfectly still, giving no indication that her poking and prodding hurt like hell.
“You still have sand in here,” she accused. “And fibers of rope.” She gazed up at him as if he were an incorrigible child and not a man a foot taller than she and roughly twice her weight. “Don’t you know that this can become infected?”
“I’ll see to it later.”
“I’llsee to it now.” She lifted her chin to his. “You aren’t leaving here until I put something on these.”
He shook his head. There she went, ordering him around again. It was becoming a bad habit—and one he was going to have to break her of. Right after she let go of his hand.
“I didn’t know you cared,” he teased.
She ignored him—something she did far too easily—and dragged him toward the chair. “Sit,” she ordered.
He’d have to work on that tone as well. But, after a few minutes of her fussing over him, he decided he might let her boss him around a little more. He could get used to this. And she was far more aware of him than she wanted him to know.
