Chapter
Sixteen
Callum goes completely still.
I can’t believe I said that. I just knelt beside him like I was genuflecting at a freaking altar—then basically told him to strip.
I’m so close his hip radiates heat against my knee. The only thing separating us is the echo of that saucytake off your shirt.
He looks up and locks his eyes with mine, and, oh jeez, if his eyes go down even the slightest bit, they’ll be right in line with my…me.
Donag rants in my head, words like sluttish, strumpet, brazen, and, for the win:just like your mother.
I’m close enough to hear his breathing—in and out, in and out—more rapid than normal. Heightened because he’s in pain. That’s all. Right?
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Maybe he’s waiting for me to do something. Maybe this moment isn’t actually weird. Maybe if I scoot back,that’swhat will make it weird.
Enough time passes that I tune into my own heartbeat.Thump-swish. Thump-swish.
“Uhh…” I have to say something. “I mean, you don’t have to take off yourwholeshirt. I just need to see you. Your shoulder, I mean. If I’m going to help you. I need to see it. That’s why.”
With a silent nod, Callum lifts his hands like a man at gunpoint.
“Just relax,” I say, not sure which one of us I’m talking to. I’ve already seen him shirtless, at the forge.
No big deal, I tell myself as I unlace his shirt all the way, gently tugging it from his shoulder to expose the top of his arm. Unfortunately, that also exposes his chest.
This close, I see old scars, pale and thin as spiderwebs. One crosses his collarbone. Another is at the base of his throat—a perfect slash, like a blade once split his skin and nearly didn’t stop.
I inhale sharply. My fingers twitch with the urge to trace it.
I don’t. Obviously.
Nope, my eyes are laser-focused on his bandage. Only his bandage. It’s crusted and hard. “This needed stitches.”
His shrug pulls it taut, and fresh blood weeps onto the fabric.
“Hold still.” I slide my fingers down and around his arm, relieved to find his skin cool. “I don’t think it’s infected.”
I peek down the back of his shirt. An angry welt marks the path Hamish’s blade carved along his shoulder, ending in a deep gash across the back of his arm. “If he sliced your muscle,” I mutter, “I’ll fight him myself.”
Callum chuckles. “You ferocious wee thing. I do believe you would.”
“Don’t laugh yet. I need to disinfect this thing.”
As I work on untying his bandage, I do a silent run-through of the things I could use to clean the wound. A homemade saline solution, maybe? What I really need is alcohol.
“How do you usually clean your wounds? Does Donag make, like, a poultice or something?”
“I don’t like to tell her when I’m injured. She gets angry.”
I scoff under my breath. “Now there’s a surprise.”
Callum hears, and his laugh makes me blush inexplicably.
“She’s nae so bad.”
“If you say so.” I turn back to the task at hand, the bandage knot refusing to budge. I cut him a frustrated look. “Did a child tie this?”
