“I’m fine,” the countess said to the girl, trying to calm her. She sat up and started to brush the dirt off her clothes, but then winced. She turned her palms over just enough for him to see the dirt and rocks embedded in the tender skin. Keeping her hands hidden from the girl, she smiled. “Just a few scrapes, that’s all.”
To prove it, she stood up. With his help. He couldn’t seem to let her go. He kept his hands on her upper arms as she steadied herself. Thus, he felt her stiffen and shift her weight back to her left side.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, silently begging him not to say anything.
He frowned. God knows, he didn’t know anything about children, but Mary Bruce seemed old enough to be told that her nighttime escapade had resulted in what he suspected was a twisted ankle, but which could have been a whole hell of a lot worse.
The countess walked over to the loch with what he assumed was considerable pain, smiling the whole time. “I’m going to clean up a little. Could you see that Mary gets back to the tent?”
The girl looked torn, looking back and forth between them. It was clear she wanted to stay, but it was equally clear she wanted to go with him. His eyes narrowed, wondering what the chit was up to.
“I’ll wait,” the girl decided.
Bella shook her head. “You need to get your rest. I won’t be long.”
“The countess is right,” Lachlan said. “We have a long day tomorrow. I’ll see that the countess makes it back all right.”
Bella’s eyes widened. “That’s not—”
“I insist,” he said, cutting her off in a voice that dared her to challenge him. She wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. Not until he took a look at that ankle.
“Thank you, my lady,” the girl said, looking like she was about to cry. “Thank you for what you did.”
The countess had saved her, heedless to the danger to herself. It didn’t surprise him.
“It was no more than anyone would do,” she said, as if she actually believed it. But she was wrong. His wife would never have done something like that. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” she said with a kind of gentleness that made his chest tug strangely. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
If he noticed Mary’s furtive looks at him under her lashes as they walked back, he pretended not to. It didn’t take him long to realize why she wanted to be alone with him. Christ, this was all he needed: to be dodging the attentions of a girl young enough to be his daughter. He’d be three-and-thirty on his next saint’s day.
Why had he signed up for this? He had to keep reminding himself: two more years and his debts would be paid. Two more years and he’d have the independence and solitude he craved.
By the time he’d returned Mary to her tent and roused Gordon to keep watch, Lachlan was reconsidering his eagerness to be rid of the chit. He knew the countess didn’t want the lass to see her injuries, but being alone with Bella MacDuff wasn’t a good idea.
He should have sent Gordon.
But he didn’t want to send Gordon, damn it.
He stomped through the trees, making his way back to the loch, almost hoping someone would leap out and attack him. He could use a good fight.
He was acting like an idiot. He wanted her. So what? He’d wanted a lot of women in his life. There was nothing special about—
He stopped mid-step as the edge of the loch came into view.
His mouth went dry. Everything went dry. It felt as if his insides had drained in a rush of heat to the floor.Not again.
She was sitting at the edge of the loch on a rock with her gown raised to her knees to dip her hurt ankle in the cold water. Smart, but he wasn’t thinking about that right now. All he could think about was the creamy perfection of two very shapely legs. Every inch of that smooth, satiny skin was emblazoned in his memory.
Damn it. He marched forward with determination and a very clenched jaw. He could do this.
If it was any consolation—which it wasn’t—she didn’t look very comfortable either. Nor was it any consolation to know that he wasn’t the only one feeling this tension. She was attracted to him, though clearly the thought of being attracted to a notorious bastard who lived by the sword didn’t sit well with her. He was everything she disdained. A mercenary who didn’t believe in anything to her fiercely loyal patriot.
“Is Mary all right?”
“The child is fine.” He knelt beside her. “How is your ankle?”
“A little sore.”
He arched a brow. “A little?” She stared at him defiantly. “Is it broken?”
