Euna spun with a shriek from the bed, a massive four poster with a purple brocade canopy that his spendthrift brother, Malcolm, had paid much coin to have imported from France.
And there hunched in the middle, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face as white as the nightgown she wore, sat Magdalene.
Her eyes widened just to see him again, tears coursing down her cheeks that struck him to the core.
He had sworn he would never hurt her—and yet look at her now! His blustery entrance only making matters worse. Did it surprise him then, when Magdalene let out a shrill, plaintive wail that made the hair prickle at the back of his neck?
“Donella told me that my wife has bruises—”
“Aye, Laird, when we undressed her for a bath,” Euna cut in, backing away as if not quite certain what Gabriel intended to do. “My sister and I thought the healer might have a poultice for her ribs, and her poor feet.”
Gabriel drew in a great ragged breath, telling himself that the first thing he needed to do was calm himself. As he drew closer to the bed, Magdalene scooted backward until she could go no further, her back pressed against the carved headboard and her eyes grown all the wider.
“Magdalene, I’m not here tae hurt you,” he murmured, doing his best to keep his voice calm, steady. “I came tae see what I can do tae help you.”
“No…not consummate. Not consummate,” she whispered, frantically glancing to the left and right as if looking for a way to escape.
“Easy, Maggie…please, let me help you.”
* * *
Magdalene could scarcely breathefor choking sobs that weren’t feigned in that moment at all—Gabriel had startled her so, bursting so wildly into the room.
Surely he hadn’t come here to claim his marital rights as her husband—God in heaven, no, please help her!
She had felt like a sacrificial lamb to be stripped of her clothing and plunked into a copper tub filled with hot water, her hair washed, her skin scrubbed, though not roughly, much to her relief. The two women, whose names she’d learned were Euna and Donella, had clucked their tongues with disapproval upon seeing her ugly bruises—aye, Magdalene had known from the pain that they were there!
Oh, and how her feet had stung from the sudsy water scented with lavender, making her cry out. Every time they had stopped to rest the horses after her escape attempt, she had been made to walk barefoot into the trees, Gabriel showing no concern at all in spite of his fine words not to hurt her!
She didn’t believe him for a moment, so distraught by the drastic turn her life had taken, the long journey, her bruises, her stinging feet, that she wept inconsolably while Gabriel stared at her as if he didn’t know what to do.
She could back away from him no farther, her back pressed painfully against the headboard. Euna, wringing her hands, stood to one side of the bed while Donella entered the room suddenly with a strange-looking man in tow and ran to the other side.
“Shall we grab her arms for you, Laird? Draw her closer?”
“By God, no, leave her be!”
Gabriel’s emphatic command made Magdalene weep all the harder as she glanced desperately from one face to another. The women had frozen in place, though she was certain through her tear-blurred eyes that Gabriel had moved a little closer.
“Clovis, make a poultice for her feet. Euna, Donella, you said she has bruises around her ribs—”
“Nothing I can do for her there, Laird,” interjected the healer calmly as he went to a side table and drew out bandages and assorted earthen jars from the basket slung over his arm. “Time will heal the bruises, though I can examine her—”
“No!” Magdalene blurted, pulling her sore feet further beneath her nightgown. She would fight them all if anyone tried to strip her for the healer! Hadn’t she suffered enough not to be poked and prodded by that man who looked more a scrawny bird?
“Tomorrow, mayhap,” came Gabriel’s voice in a gentle tone much like he had used with his daughters. Magdalene stared at him in surprise and hiccoughed, her sobs quieting almost in spite of herself. Before she could blink, he sat down on the bed with surprising agility for so strapping a man and reached out to draw one of her feet toward him…his touch just as gentle.
“Clovis?”
“Almost ready, Laird,” the healer said quietly, stirring some strange-smelling contents in a small wooden bowl.
Mint and sage. Magdalene felt dizzy from crying and she couldn’t decipher the rest of the varied scents as the healer handed the bowl containing what looked like a thick paste to Gabriel.
To her amazement, she saw such dismay on his face as he surveyed her foot—the cuts on the sole and her stubbed toes swollen from nearly tripping over a fallen tree limb—that she fell altogether quiet as Gabriel smoothed the paste upon her skin.
At once she felt a soothing warmth, but what struck her the most was the sensation of his fingers lightly massaging her while his handsome features were knit in concentration as he focused upon his task.
A task that she would never have thought in a thousand years a fearsome Scots warrior like Gabriel MacLachlan would do for anyone…least of all her, after everything she’d done to defy him.
