“Okay. Well, let’s see…” She was quiet for a few seconds as she gently parted strands of his hair. “You’re Scottish—or so I’m assuming—so there’s a possibility your surname could be Mac-something. So, what if I call you Mac, for now? Is that okay?”
Mac.’Twas as good as any, he supposed. “Aye. ’Twill do just fine.” He smiled, surprised how much better he felt having a name, even if ’twas no’ the one he was born to.
“Well, Mac,” she dropped her hands to his shoulders. “Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be as deep as I’d feared, but it definitely needs to be closed somehow. I don’t think we dare leave it until you can see a doctor. I’m a little concerned that butterfly strips won’t be enough, but that’s all I have. I don’t know…maybe with some Superglue?”
She released a frustrated sigh and stepped around to face him. “Your hair is so matted with blood, it’s hard to know what to do, until I can see it better. I’m sure you’re anxious to get in the shower, but I want to wash your hair and try to fix the wound first. Is that okay, Mac?”
“Uhh…” He’d only understood about half of what she’d been saying, but he did understand the washing his hair part. “Aye. Wash it first.”
“Good. We’ll do it in the kitchen sink, so I can work through your hair kind of slow and easy. I’m concerned that once we get the dried stuff off, it might start bleeding, again.” She surveyed his muddy attire. “While I gather what I need, why don’t you strip down to your waist. That will get rid of the upper layer of muck, at least, and make things easier for both of us.”
“Aye, then.”Such a bossy, lass,he grinned, watching her walk down a short hall. By the time she’d reached the door at the end, she’d begun peeling off her own spattered shirt, revealing a glimpse of bare shoulders.
Make that abonny, bossy lass.
He surveyed the wide, high-beamed central room of the cabin as he removed the brooch from his left shoulder and let the tail of his belted-plaid fall behind him. The view of dense forest pines from the wide bank of windows was breathtaking. Beautiful, he thought, peeling off his jacket, but difficult to defend.
A shiver skittered up his spine.Where had that thought come from?
He concentrated, trying to recapture the notion, to see what else he could draw from it, but ’twas no use. He’d only managed to make his headache worse.
By the time he’d tugged his longshirt free and pulled it over his head, he felt chilled. No wonder, he thought, noticing there was naught but smoldering coals in the broad fireplace. Tending to his needs had taken Brie from her warm home, leaving her fire to die.
At least the meager stack of wood nearby was dry. He’d replenish the pile for her as soon as he could. As he started toward the fireplace, he noticed the new, fresh trail of muddy footprints belonging to him, overlapping a half-dried line of other, smaller tracks, going from the door to the hall and back. Otherwise, the dark, narrow-planked floor was spotless, broken up here and there by colorful,cleanrugs.
Gus blinked at him from a wadded blanket on the floor. His muddy prints had left their own guilty story.
“ ’Twould seem we’re both a peck o’trouble tae the lass, boy.” Mac dropped onto the bench, pulled off his boots and set them outside, beside Brie’s.
Shivering, he added several pieces of pungent pine to the coals, just as Brie emerged from the hallway wearing loose, plaid trousers, and an oversized sweater. She’d washed her face and brushed the mud from her hair. The honeyed curls fell almost to her elbows. Lost in the big sweater, she seemed smaller, more vulnerable. Her arms were loaded with towels, a square bag of some kind, and he couldna tell what else.
“Ready?” she asked. “Come into the kitchen and we’ll get started.” She moved to the broad, open space with built-in sideboards and a big worktable where she dumped her load and plucked two towels from the pile. “Thanks for building up the fire. I should have done that before I went to change my clothes, but I was anxious to get out of those filthy things. I’ll feel even better after I shower,” she smiled. “But you and Gus are going first.” She eyed the dog with a warning look, then smiled when Gus whined in response and laid his chin on his paws.
When Mac came around the worktable, Brie gasped, her eyes fixed on his bare torso. Surprised, he looked down to see what had caught her attention. A wide, ragged scar marred the space just under his left ribcage. Her shocked gaze flew to his, but quickly returned to the disfigurement. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that…” she shook her head. “That must have been a horrific injury.”
Aye, it must have, he thought, flooded by a strange melancholy as his fingers skimmed the puckered lines. And what of the other, smaller scar near the middle of his chest? Were they somehow connected? Seeing evidence of the wounds, especially the smaller one, triggered a sudden surge of pure hatred, but for what, or whom? Even though he dinna ken how he’d received them, he knew with absolute surety, it had been violent. Shocked by the revelation and the intensity of the emotions attached, he swayed a little and reached for the worktable to steady himself.
“Are you all right?” Brie asked, placing a hand on either side of his waist to support him. Concern darkened her eyes. “Do you need to sit down a minute? I don’t want you to pass out and bang your head all over again.”
“Nae, lass. ’Twas but a momentary…”
What?Memory? Vision? He dinna understand it, so how could he explain it?
“…bit of dizziness. But I’m feeling fine, now.”
Brie searched his face, mayhap for a sign that he wasna completely truthful. To banish the unsettling, lingering emotions the scars had triggered, he focused on the warmth of Brie’s hands on his skin, and her lovely eyes, full of concern. A hint of her soft scent drifted to him and he stepped back to keep from reaching out to touch her hair, or the smoothness of her cheek.
’Twas no’ his place, he reminded himself. “How shall we go about it? The washing of my hair? What would ye have me do tae make it easiest for ye?”
She blinked and took a step away, herself. “Yes, your hair. We should get that done,” she muttered, fussing again, with the towels. “Just bend over the edge of the sink, with your head down so I can reach you. I’m sorry. I know lowering your head like that will probably make your headache worse. I’ll try to hurry.”
He looked at her in surprise. She’d kenned all along that his head throbbed. He hadna fooled her a’tall.
She handed him a small square cloth. “You may want to put this over your face to keep the water out of your eyes and nose. I’ll try to be careful, but it may hurt a little. I want to be sure to get all the mud and blood washed out.”
“Dinna fash, lass. I’m grateful tae ye for yer trouble.” He leaned over the edge of the sink as directed and steeled himself for the cold water he knew was coming. The lass hadna heated any, but he wouldna ask her to. He’d caused her trouble enough.
He heard water running from somewhere and felt her chest press against his shoulder as she leaned over him.
