The question was not sharp. There was no teasing in it. It was asked as one might ask whether she had ever walked a certain road.
Her breath caught. “Nay.”
The admission surprised her with its honesty.
His eyes searched hers for what felt like a small eternity. She could see her own reflection in their depths, and it made her wonder who she was to him.
“Then ken this,” he said. “I am nae unwilling.”
Her fingers stilled.
“If ye wish tae ken,” he continued, “I am yers tae explore.”
The words settled between them, heavy with meaning and care. She didn’t hear him make a claim or a command this time. No… this was an offering.
Margaret felt heat rush to her cheeks, to her chest, to places she had no words for. She withdrew her hand slowly, as though the act itself required intention.
“I should finish tending tae ye,” she replied, but every word was torn from her lips.
A corner of his mouth curved. “Aye.”
She finished quickly after that, binding the last of the poultice and drawing her hands back as though the air between them had grown hot enough to burn.
“There,” she said, rising to her feet. “That should prevent blistering.”
He looked up at her, and it was the sort of look he gave her when he didn’t want her to know what he was thinking. It drove her mad.
“Ye are very capable,” she heard him say.
She swallowed. “Someone has tae be.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The role reversal hung between them. Now, he was the one seated and wounded, while she was standing over him, composed and in command. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
At last, she stepped back and closed her satchel. “We should return,” she urged. “Before either of us proves any further how reckless we can be.”
He did not argue. As they resumed walking, the guards falling back into position around them, Margaret was acutely aware of something. Some things, once touched, could never be unknown again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They rode back to Inveraray with the afternoon sun slanting low across the courtyard stones. Domhnall knew something was wrong the moment he laid eyes on Cameron, who was standing near the wall, rigid in a way that had nothing to do with discipline. He didn’t move to greet them the moment he saw them. That alone told Domhnall more than words ever could.
The guards peeled away as they entered, slipping back into their posts with quiet efficiency. Domhnall swung down from his horse and turned at once to Margaret, setting his hands at her waist to help her dismount. He was careful. In fact, he was far more careful than he had any right to be and did not release her until she was steady on the stones.
She glanced past him and saw Cameron. Her expression sharpened instantly.
“What is it?” she asked.
Domhnall straightened, already moving toward Cameron. “Go inside,” he said to her. “See the healer. I’ll take care of this.”
She caught his arm.
“Domhnall,” she said, low and intent. “Tell me.”
He met her gaze and saw it all there: the readiness to argue, to press, to refuse to be managed. He braced himself for it.
“Go inside, Margaret,” he repeated more firmly. “Please.”
For a heartbeat, he expected resistance. Instead, she searched his face, then nodded once.
