“Because ye would have decided ye knew best.”
“I do ken best when yer bleeding down yer leg.”
Her eyes cut to mine, fierce even through her tears. “I need to get to Morgana.”
I recognized the name of the witch who lived in the Dark Woods on MacLeod Clan territory. I knew of Morgana only fromMunro’s wife, who had once been cursed by the witch, and from whispers on the wind. I stared at Katreine, trying to think what to ask. “Why do ye need to see the witch?”
An uneasy look flitted across her face, but it was gone so quickly that I might have believed I’d imagined it, had I not been staring at her. She took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap before answering my question. “I have a patient who I think can help me heal.”
I nodded slowly. That made sense. I’d heard enough about the witch to know she was powerful, yet I felt Katreine was holding something back. Since we were not actually going to the Dark Woods, it didn’t matter, unless she was keeping secrets that could put us in danger. Being a warrior had taught me to be cautious and thorough. “What ails yer patient?”
“’Tis personal,” Katreine responded. Something in her tone sounded evasive, but since she was sitting here in pain, I decided to address it later.
“We will speak of Morgana later,” I said.
“Nay, we will nae.”
“Aye,” I said, my voice hardening despite myself. “We will.”
She looked away.
I drew in a breath and forced myself to temper my tone. Anger would not help her. Guilt would not mend her skin. Wanting to shake her until sense rattled into her head would not make her trust me.
And may the gods help me, for some reason I could not explain, I wanted her to trust me at least in this. Mayhap, it was because I knew I had deceived her and not taken her to the Dark Woods.
“Let me get ye undressed enough to bathe,” I said. “I’ll keep yer shift on ye, and I’ll turn away where I ought.”
Her gaze snapped back to me. “I can manage.”
“Can ye?”
The stubborn answer rose to her lips. I watched it form, watched pride lift her chin, and then watched pain drag the truth across her face before she could hide it. After a long, taut silence, she gave a stiff nod.
I moved slowly then, giving her every chance to stop me. I unlaced what needed unlacing and loosened what needed loosening, keeping my eyes where they belonged as much as any man could when the woman before him was undoing something in him I had no name for. Her gown slipped from one shoulder, then the other, leaving her in her shift. Even through the plain linen, even with tears drying on her face and pain making her tremble, she struck me as beautiful in a way no woman ever had. She had an inner light that beckoned to me.
She was not polished like a noblewoman, though with the right clothes and her hair dressed, she could be. She appeared delicate, but not entirely, or she would not have been able to withstand the pain of the ride. She was alive and fierce.
Desire stirred, unwanted and immediate, but tenderness rose with it, swallowing the sharper edge. I wanted to touch her, aye, but not as I had wanted to touch women before, in simple lust. I wanted to ease the hurt from her body and shield her from further pain.
The thought came so swiftly and with such force that I nearly stepped back from it. I had no right to want such things. Not now, not yet, and definitely not from her. I was taking her to the king for my own gain. I could tell myself she would be rewarded for whatever service he required of her, and I could reason that kings did not summon healers only to punish them, but the truth sat heavy in my gut.
I had not told her where we were truly going. I was winning what I wanted by betraying this woman who was stirring something tender, something possessive, something dangerous to feel for her in me.
“James?”
Her voice pulled me back. I realized I had gone still with her sleeve in my hand. “Aye,” I said, rougher than intended. “I have ye.”
The words settled strangely between us. Her throat worked, but she said nothing. I helped her stand. She bit her lip hard, and I slipped an arm around her waist before she could sway. She stiffened at once, but she did not push me away. Her body was warm through the thin linen of her shift, and though I tried not to notice, I noticed everything. The soft hitch of her breath. The scent of road dust, woman, and faint herbs clinging to her hair. The way she fit against me too easily. I guided her to the tub, then turned my back as she stepped in. The water sloshed softly, clothing rustled, and I envisioned her removing her shift and it hitting the floor. A sigh slipped from her before she could stop it.
The sound struck me low in the chest. “Warm enough?” I asked.
“Aye,” she said, and for the first time since we had entered the room, her voice held no fight, only relief.
I stood facing the wall, hands clasped behind my back, staring at a crack in the plaster as steam curled through the room and wrapped around us both. Behind me, water moved in gentle ripples as she shifted, and I heard the faint splash as she cupped it in her hands. I should have been thinking of the road, of Edinburgh, and of how quickly we could travel once she had rested. Instead, I thought of her in the tub behind me, hurt and proud, still refusing to bend even as pain had already forced her to break.
“When did ye last have a proper bath?” I asked, needing to hear her voice and perhaps even more to know something about her that she had not offered in anger.
She was quiet for a moment. “A long while.”
