He’d been about to crumple when Fiona appeared like an angel of mercy on his doorstep.
Never had he been so glad to see anyone.
Now he felt cold and shivery in the aftermath, shock setting in. His head throbbed. And as Fiona moved close, pouring some vinegar into the bowl of hot water, he found it difficult to focus.
She was right. The knocks he’d taken to the skull had affected him. He needed rest.
However, as she moved closer still—stepping up between his spread thighs and dipping a strip of linen into the water—her nearness made his belly tighten.
She was lovely tonight. Her golden hair was unbound. Her cheeks flushed.
He ached to draw her close, to wrap his arms around her. But, of course, he did no such thing. Instead, he stilled, his breathing growing shallow as she dabbed at his lip with the cloth.
He winced. “Ouch.”
“Hold still,” she said sternly, a groove etching between her brows.
“He holds off five brutes with a poker,” Eithne said, amused as she laid more cloths beside the bowl, “but whimpers when a woman dabs at his lip.”
“Aye, it’s always the way with men,” Fiona replied.
Eithne studied him, her brow furrowing. “Yer father should hear of this.”
“I’ll let him know,” Ailean assured her, even as his belly clenched.
Part of him didn’t want Rae learning about the attack. It had happened, and he’d handled it. And he knew in his gut those MacDonalds wouldn’t return. They’d overreached. They’d underestimated him and would move on and stir up trouble elsewhere. Nonetheless, the Chieftain of Dounarwyse had to be kept informed.
Ailean owed him that.
Fiona shot him a questioning look, as she’d marked the wariness in his voice.
Their gazes met then, and he wondered why no one at Ardnacross had learned about their scandal. He’d expected news to leak, for the men who worked with him sometimes to say they’d heard. But none of them had changed in their manner toward him. And with the passing of days and weeks, he’d begun to hope news wouldn’t reach Ardnacross, after all.
Fiona must have been relieved as well.
“Ye look like a man in need of an ale,” Eithne said then, moving to where a jug and cup sat. She poured him a drink and handed it over. “And if ye’re not, ye soon will be. Ye’ll require something to take the edge off when Fiona stitches yer temple.” Then she turned to the lass in question. “There’s a bone needle and catgut on the bench behind ye, Fi.”
Fiona nodded. “Thank ye.”
“Ye’ve done this before, I hope?” Ailean asked, nervousness fluttering. He didn’t like needles. It reminded him of that rough surgeon on the battlefield a couple of years earlier who’d taken pleasure in causing him agony as he sewed up a gash on his arm. He’d wanted to punch the man’s teeth down his throat.
She favored him with an arch look. “My father’s a carpenter. He did himself a few injuries over the years. And I’m not just skilled at weaving … but good with needle and thread too.”
“Sounds like ye’re in safe hands,” Eithne teased. She cut a quick look between them.
Aknowinglook.
It made Ailean stiffen. Had Fiona told her about them?
“I’ll return to my bed before Ewan comes looking for me,” Eithne said, moving away. “Make up a bed in the annex. Ailean should sleep there tonight.”
“I will,” Fiona said.
“Thank ye, Eithne,” he murmured.
Nodding to him, Eithne departed, her slippered feet padding across the floor. And as soon as she was gone, Fiona became all business. Her movements were brisk, bordering on sharp, as she reached for a cloth and dipped it in the vinegar water.
He didn’t blame her. This was likely the last thing she wanted to be doing.
