He shrugged one shoulder, then thought better of it when the movement pulled at the wound. “I dinnae mind scars.”
Her hands paused. “Dae ye have many?”
“Aye,” he said simply.
She resumed cleaning the cut, her touch careful but firm. The sting was sharp, but it was the gentleness beneath it that unsettled him more. She treated him not as a laird, nor as a weapon, but as a man whose pain mattered. It was… different.
“They are the lines of me life,” he went on after a moment. “Every one of them marks a choice, a battle, a duty I did nae turn away from. I ken where each came from.”
“And dae they trouble ye?” she asked softly.
“Nay,” he answered, surprising himself with the truth of it. “They remind me I survived.”
Her fingers brushed his skin as she cleaned the last of the blood away, her concentration absolute. “Then let this one remind ye of tonight,” she said. “And of the fact that ye need nae always endure alone.”
Duncan watched her finish the binding, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she tied it off neatly. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched, thick with things he was not accustomed to naming.
At last, he broke it.
“So,” he said, his tone carefully light as he leaned back in the chair, “ye truly mean tae take me up on the offer, then? Follow me tae Castle Grant and become our healer?”
She looked up at him, her hands stilling against his arm. There was amusement in her eyes now, softening the seriousness that had held her moments before.
“Well,” she said lightly, “since ye’ve forfeited yer room fer the night, I suppose I have little choice but tae accept.”
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “That is a dangerous sort of obligation.”
“Ye brought it upon yerself,” she replied, stepping back at last. “One should think twice before offering beds and castles so freely.”
He studied her, struck again by the ease with which she met him. She was quick-witted, unafraid, and far more composed than most women would have been in her position.
“I will hold ye tae it,” he assured her. “Once ye reach Grant lands, there will be nay easy retreat.”
Her smile lingered. “I would nae have agreed if I were seeking an easy path.”
The words struck him with quiet force. Duncan held her gaze a moment longer than was wise, suddenly aware that he had lingered far longer than he intended. He was too long in a room that smelled faintly of her, too long with his coat open and his thoughts dangerously unfocused.
He straightened at once.
“Well, then I shall leave ye tae sleep,” he told her. “We’ll begin our journey in the morning.”
She nodded, rising slightly as if to see him out. “Good night, me laird.”
“Good night, Elaina,” he replied.
He stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him, exhaling slowly once it was closed. The hallway was quiet, lit only by a few guttering lamps. It was quiet enough that he almost didn’t hear the soft scrape of wood being dragged along the floor. The innkeeper was halfway toward him, maneuvering a chair that looked far more comfortable than anything Duncan had expected to find outside a rented room.
“It’s nae much, me laird,” the man said apologetically, setting it down directly in front of Elaina’s door, “but at least it’s nae the stables.”
Duncan blinked, then smile. He clapped the innkeeper on the shoulder. “It is more than enough. Ye have me thanks.”
The man grinned, gave a brief nod, and retreated down the stairs. Duncan settled into the chair, stretching his legs carefully, testing his shoulder and finding it manageable. He leaned back, crossing his arms, positioning himself squarely before the dooras though it were the most natural place in the world for him to be.
The corridor was still. Behind the door, she slept… or would soon.
He closed his eyes at last, alert even in rest, thinking that he had guarded many things in his life: land, people, borders, duty.
This, somehow, felt different.
