He shook his head in amusement. “Ye make me laugh, lass. I think the next few weeks will be… interestin’ to say the least.” His smile remained fixed in place, almost unnerving, sure of what he was saying.
A sudden chill ran over her arms, reminding her of the wet clothes that were still clinging to her skin. She was soaked through right down to her shift. If there had been another section in the cabin, she would have already undressed, but she refused to compromise herself and her reputation just because of a little chill. She shivered again and wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the persistent cold that lingered despite the fire.
Outside the cabin, the storm raged on with sheer, unremitting force, making the trees beyond the window sway under the force of the wind.
Callum nodded toward the only cupboard that stood at the other end of the cabin. “Fiona keeps her spark clothes in there. I am certain that ye will find something that will fit,” his voice lacked the amusement from before.
Glancing at the cupboard, Eleanor hesitated.
It would be nice to be warm again.
She quickly shook the thought off and sidled close to the fire. “I daenae need to change, the fire will warm me soon enough.” She moved her hands up and down her arm before glimpsing the puddle of water where she had been standing.
Shite.
She was wetter than she had even realized; it would take more than a few hours for the fire to dry her off.
Rolling his eyes, Callum allowed his smile to fade. “I am nae a monster, lass. Ye cannae stay in those garments.” He pushed himself up on his elbow and shifted away from her until he was facing the wall behind him. “Get dressed before ye catch yer death of a cold. Ye are nae good to any of us if ye are nae here to play yer part,” his voice was gruff and low.
Eleanor swallowed hard as she looked back at the cupboard.
It certainly would be nice to be dry again.
Against her better judgment, she unfurled her arms and hesitantly made her way toward the cupboard.
The doors creaked slightly as she opened them, making her glance over her shoulder to see if Callum was peeking.
He lay on his side as if he were sleeping. The light of the fire glinted off the muscles of his back where scars formed a map. She turned slowly back toward the inside of the cupboard.
Fiona kept her linens and clothes as neat as the rest of the cabin.
It did not take Eleanor very long to find a simple grey dress of humble fabric and a few pieces of cloth to fry herself with. She hazarded a glance back over her shoulder again before hastily beginning to undress. The fire's heat instantly warmed her skin as her sodden dress, corset, and even her shift lay in a pool at her feet.
She hurriedly dried herself off and slipped the dress over her head. She still felt naked with no undergarments, but it was the best she could do for the time being.
A wave of relief washed over her when she turned to see Callum’s back still facing her. “I am dressed now,” she said as she used the damp piece of linen to dry her hair.
His back remained rigid, and for a moment, Eleanor wondered if he had fallen asleep. He stirred slightly. “At least ye willnae get sick.” He turned with great effort, wincing from lying on his wounded side.
Feeling guilty, Leanor stooped down and gathered her discarded clothes. “Are ye still in a lot of pain?”
Callum swallowed hard and eventually lay flat on his back. “Aye…” His voice lacked any of the teasing or humor that had been there before.
Eleanor hurried toward the fire, busying herself with hanging her garments in front of the hearth. She knew she needed to help him, but she had wanted to keep as much distance between them as possible.
A soft groan came from the bed, forcing her to turn around as she saw the way he struggled to lift a cup of water to his lips.
Shite.
She swore internally again as she realized that she could no longer keep the distance between them. With her garments hanging over the railing of the fire in front of the hearth, she made her way over to the bed and placed her hands over his, feeling the warmth of his skin under hers as she helped her lift the glass to his lips. “Here, drink,” she said softly.
Callum’s eyes darted to hers with shock, but he accepted her help without protest before lying back on her bed. “Thank ye,” he managed to utter through another wince. His face seemed pained as he shut his eyes, as if he wanted to say something more, but did not know how.
Glancing to the side, she noticed the jars of oil that Fiona had left beside the bed. It would be time for more, but she had wanted Fiona to do that instead of her.
The laird groaned painfully again and moved his hand to his wounded side.
I have nay other choice.
