Besides, this was not how their father would have handled the capture of his enemy. Her brother was making a mockery of the reign their father had brought to this clan.
It was all the more critical for Ainslee to stay out of her brother’s way, or she would be next. She wanted to stop this. Even though the laird was their enemy, he was still a man. If this continued, he would be a dead man before the evening was complete.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, her brother held up his hand, stumbling as he laughed.
“Enough!” he called out. “We shall save the laird for another night.”
The guards stepped forward and loosened the chains that had been holding the laird upright, laughing as he fell hard against the stone floor. She winced as they dragged the laird from the great hall and hurried after them, grateful to see that they were heading in the direction of the room she had procured for him, and not the dungeon again.
Ainslee stayed to the shadows as they dumped the laird into the room, only revealing herself when they started to close the door.
One of the guards jumped back as she approached them, grabbing the arm of the other. “’Tis the healer,” he said, his jaw slack.
“Move away, filthy vermin!” she shouted at them, waving her hands until they disappeared down the corridor in haste. Since she was not seen frequently, many of the clan was frightened of her and what she could do to them. Her “magic” was to be revered and afraid of, which was just fine with Ainslee.
At least it kept the lurkers at bay.
She stole into the room and shut the door behind her, wishing she could rip off the disguise and breathe. The dress was heavy due to the excess weight that was upon her body. Ainslee longed to wipe the dirt from her face and hands so she could feel clean again.
But as long as she was in this keep, she was not safe, even in her disguise. One slip of her voice, her mannerisms, her words, and Liam would reveal her identity and take her life.
Turning her attention to the laird, she found him crumpled on the bed. Her heart went out to him as she reached for her cloth, dipping it into the basin of water before turning to work on his face.
Not once had the laird uttered a sound. Ainslee imagined it had taken some restraint not to cry out on his part. A lesser man would have. Carefully, she lifted the cloth to his face, determined to wipe away the blood.
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could touch his face, squeezing the delicate bones until she cried out.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why are ye here?”
Ainslee calmed herself, finding her raspy voice. “I’m here tae take care of ye.”
“So that yer laird can do it all over again tomorrow? Or the next day?”
“He’s not mah laird,” Ainslee stated firmly. “Nor do I agree with what he has done tae ye this evening.”
The laird stilled at her declaration then released her wrist, letting his hand fall back to the bed.
She forced her hand to move and carefully wiped the blood from the cut on his forehead first, then another that was bleeding on his cheek. Not once did the laird flinch. She was starting to wonder if maybe he was the one with the magic.
“Ye should be frightened of me.”
His words were soft and without malice. “Why?” she asked, dipping the cloth in the basin, and pressed it to his face, hoping to reduce the swelling. If she didn’t, the laird would be lucky to see out of his own eyes in the morning.
“I’m yer enemy,” he bit out, grabbing his ribs as he did so.
Ainslee swore under her breath, grasping at the edge of his tunic. She had wondered if the shots to his torso would cause any issues with his ribs; clearly, it had.
“Take this off.”
He didn’t argue, and soon she was staring at his broad chest. It was a chest she had seen before. Well, she had seen his entire form before, but the blush still came to her cheeks, nevertheless.
Even with his various wounds and now the blooming bruises on his torso, the laird was a handsome Scot. Ainslee had not been immune to his strong jaw or how his muscles had contracted when he had been unconscious.
More than once, he had uttered names she had not recognized, the pure torture in his voice breaking her heart. It seemed the laird had experienced a significant loss in his life. Ainslee wondered if it had to do with the rumors of how her brother and his men had slain the rest of the warriors that had been with Mcaiwn when they were ambushed.
Bringing herself back to the present, she reached for her pouch. “Lie back.”
He grunted. “Just leave me be.”
