The taste of bitter herbs filled his mouth, but he kept on drinking, downing every bitter sip until the glass was empty. If it had been any other woman, he would have refused, but he trusted Fiona MacRae with his life.
“Good.” She nodded and placed the glass beside his bed. Her icy blue eyes drifted over his torso, and Callum suddenly became aware of the fact that his shirt and breeches had been removed. A simple hide lay across his waist, covering his body from the hips down.
The healer had cleaned and dressed his wound. Even his hair had been washed and braided as the damp rope hung down his chest.
“I kent that wound the moment I saw it.”
Callum looked up and into the eyes of the healer, feeling her cold scrutiny on his ribs. Reaching down, he ran the tips of his fingers over the scar that had shaped the man he had become.
Fiona continued without lifting her gaze from his. “They brought ye to me many years ago. They said it was yer first battle. I stitched ye meself, thought ye might have died, but ye pulled through. And ye have done ever since.” Her eyes held years of wisdom as if she had been following his every movement since that day. But then again, there were not many people in the highlands who did not know who he was.
He lay still, not knowing what to say to her Or even what to ask. It had been two weeks since he had escaped, and his mind was still a mess from exhaustion.
The healer nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a knowing smile as she turned from him and walked away from the bed.
Taking the opportunity to familiarize himself with the surroundings, he shifted his position on the bed while the clean bandages pulled at his wounds.
A large table of herbs stood beside a wooden pillar in the center of the room, where herbs had been hung to dry. A simple wooden perch stood beside the bolted door where a raven sat quietly, puffed and asleep in the comforting heat.
Waking up, the bird shook his head and glanced at Callum before taking flight and landing on the foot of the bed, where hecould be closer to the fire. He puffed his feathers again and shut his eyes, reminding Callum of his loyal hound, Bran, who would have been at his side.
A pang of longing suddenly filled his chest as he realized that he had not seen his dog since that fateful day.
There will be hell to pay if he is dead.
He gritted his teeth tightly as a sharp pain shot through his chest and arm, making him groan and turn to the side. His brow furrowed into a frown when his eyes suddenly landed on a young woman beside the hearth. He had not seen her before when his vision had been blurry, but there she was, quiet and unassuming like a dream.
Her long curls hung loosely down her back, damp and clean like his. There was something familiar about her figure and the gentle curve of her hips as she moved, working a mortar and pestle to crush dried herbs.
Did she roll me here?
His body stirred beneath the hide over his legs, making him slightly uncomfortable as he took a deep breath. Was she working for his enemies, or just someone who had happened upon him? She was beautiful, breathtakingly so, with graceful movements and fair skin. She was almost too beautiful to be in a healer’s cabin in the middle of the woods.
“Ye may bring the salve now,” Fiona called from across the room, drawing his attention as she beckoned the girl.
Something deep within his chest stirred as she turned to him. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of brilliant green, and her features were fine, yet it was the defiance and determination in her eyes that held him captive.
“It is just finished,” she said in a thick accent that matched his own.
She is Scottish.
The thought struck him as odd. He had half-expected her to be English, with her fine clothing and the way she kept her spine straight. She was more like a lady than a Scottish-born lass.
Her movements were just as fluid and graceful as she moved toward him, carrying the mortar and pestle in the crook of her arm.
The rich smell of herbs and salve instantly filled his nostrils as she placed the mixture beside the bed and dipped the tips of her slender fingers into it. She worked her palms together in slow, rhythmic motions, and Callum could not help but observe the gentle curve of her neck. She was not just beautiful, she was breathtaking, with just the right amount of curves when she bent forward.
The scent of her hair made him close his eyes for just a moment as he inhaled the deep aromas of lavender oil.
Shite, but she is bonnie.
He swore internally and shifted his head to the side, settling on the window beside his bed. Her nearness had unsettled him in ways that he could not explain.
The tips of her fingers touched his shoulders first before her palms gently pressed against his skin. The pleasure almost made him groan as he shut his eyes. It was the most relaxed he had felt in weeks as her palms glided over his chest, neck, and upper torso.
Everything about her, from her presence, the way she moved, to the lightness of her touch, and even her scent, sent him into a daze.
“That is enough, lass,” Fiona commanded from across the room, breaking the spell that had suddenly overcome him.
