She relented, sighed. “My shoulder.”
“May I? I am not a physician, but I served as something of a medic in the Crimea when helping hands were needed,” His fingers rested lightly on her shoulder, traced, pressed gently, cupped. Something elemental tumbled inside of her, surging and wonderful.
As he asked what she felt here, there, she answered, her gaze following his long, supple fingers as he withdrew down her arm and then took her wrist to turn it gently.
“All right here?”
“All right,” she whispered. Whatever ached seemed to lessen when he touched her. Feeling her cheeks heat like the crackling fire, feeling a sensation long suppressed spin in her core, she watched the grace of his hands moving over her.
“Nothing seems broken or twisted. Just bruised, with luck. What else hurts?”
“My… head,” she whispered. “And my…” She could hardly mention that her hip and bottom felt bruised. “My… ankle.”
“I have a sister and female cousins. I’ve tended to twisted ankles without scandal, I assure you.” He held out his hand.
She extended her foot, and he took it, pushing her skirts just above her ankle. Slipping his fingers around her ankle, he flexed it gently. Shivers cascaded through her. She caught her breath.
“Those wee slippers,” he murmured, “are not suited to a medieval staircase.”
“So I discovered,” she answered, setting her foot down.
“The ankle seems sound. It may be bruised though. Your head hurts as well?”
She nodded, and he spread his hand to cap the side of her head, probing very gently. She nearly groaned with the sweet pleasure of it. His elbow brushed over her bodice and her breasts tingled, tightened.
“I can feel a lump on your head, but if you feel well enough, it should be fine. Though I am no doctor. If you feel worse tomorrow, we can call one here.”
“Oh no,” she breathed. “I would hate the fuss of it.”
“Nonetheless, it bears watching. You may find some bruises.” He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, lifted away.
The simplest touch of his hand stirred a craving in her, a ready rush of desire. She had not felt like that in a long time. His warm hands, the rhythm of his breathing so near, the masculine smell of leather and spice and smoke, all of it tapped a wellspring of need in her. Sucking in her breath, she leaned away from him, away from feelings that radiated from her lonely, aching, foolish heart.
She began to stand again. “I really must go. Thank you, sir.”
He rose beside her. “You will need to rest quietly tomorrow and use some soothing packs on those aches, I think. I will ask Mrs. Gunn to prepare something for you.”
She shook her head. “Please, no. I am here to work. I must go out to the hillside in the morning with my brother. We are to take notes and return as soon as we can.”
“Stubborn lass. You might have broken your neck on those stairs in the dark, in those cumbersome skirts and wee silly slippers. What was so important that you took the stairs alone at this hour?”
“I could not sleep, so I thought to look for something in the library about the local history and geography to prepare for examining the stone you found. I am sorry to be any trouble, sir. Thank you again.” She stepped past him, wincing and stiff, feeling embarrassed and regretful, too. She did not want to leave him. There was something about him that drew her in, something she could not quite define.
Standing directly in front of the fireplace, she glanced up, gasped, and froze.
The painting was there, over the mantel. She had not noticed it until now. Heart pounding, she gazed up at her own image.
She had forgotten what a masterwork Stephen had created, exquisitely rendered, a lush passion in brushwork and detail, luminous color, sensuous shapes, poignant and powerful. Lamplight and shadows heightened its astonishing dark grace.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “You do have it.”
He stood behind her. “I do. You haven’t changed.”
So he had recognized her. She turned to stare at him. “I had heard it might be here. Stephen told me he had sold it to the MacBrides of Dundrennan. But it was years ago.”
“Stephen Blackburn was your kinsman?”
“My late husband,” she said quietly.
