Marian nodded slowly, her cheeks warming despite herself.
Lachlan’s hands moved to the laces at the side of her dress—what remained of them, anyway. The fabric was already torn, hanging loose around her shoulders.
“May I?” he asked, his fingers hovering.
She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He worked carefully, easing the fabric down just enough to expose her side. His touch was light, but she felt its warmth spread through her like a mild fire.
When his fingers pressed gently against her ribs, she hissed in pain.
“There,” he said grimly. “Bruised, at least. Maybe cracked.”
“It’s not that bad,” Marian assured. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and it had nothing to do with the pain.
Lachlan’s eyes met hers, and the look in them made her breath catch. It was fear. Not for himself, but for her.
“Ye could have died, Mairi,” he rasped. “Do ye understand that? If I’d arrived even a moment later?—”
“But you didn’t,” she interrupted. “You arrived exactly when I needed you to.”
His hand was still pressed against her ribs, warm and solid. Her body was still exposed. Slowly, carefully, he drew the fabric back up over her side, covering her again.
Marian’s eyes drifted to the dark stain on his trews, and her brow furrowed slightly.
“Your wound… It’s bleeding,” she said, her voice sharper than she had intended.
Lachlan glanced down as though he’d forgotten about the wound entirely. “’Tis nae,” he uttered dismissively. “’Tis only the stain from before.”
“Lachlan…” She sat up slowly in bed, moving to pick up the damp cloth he’d used on her.
“Marian.” His hand found hers, squeezing gently. “I’m fine. Ye need to rest.”
“But I am not tired,” she lied.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ye’re a terrible liar,Sassenach.”
She lay back in bed, releasing a breath. “Perhaps,” she relented, looking at him again. “But I do not want to sleep yet.”
She hoped that her fear would not show in her voice—that if she slept, she would dream of all the unpleasant moments she’d faced.
Lachlan seemed to understand. He shifted, settling himself more comfortably on the edge of the bed.
“Then I’ll stay with ye,” he said, as though there were no other choice. “Until ye’re ready.”
Marian’s eyes stung. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears away. She’d cried enough today. But one escaped anyway, trailing down her cheek.
Lachlan caught it with his thumb, gently brushing it away.
“Ye’re safe now, Marian,” he murmured. “I promise ye that.”
She reached up, her hand finding his where it rested against her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
They stayed like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s souls until a knock sounded at the door, breaking the spell.
Lachlan exhaled and cleared his throat. “It must be Mrs. Campbell.”
