Wilkie continued to watch me, and I detected in him, as I had in Kade, a sense that he respected not only my honesty, but also my point of view. It occurred to me that I had surprised these brothers, that they might not have expected me to admit to my bold and traitorous reactions to Ogilvie; I also got the sense that they felt my actions entirely justified. I didn’t feel as though Ineededthis assurance, but I was grateful for it nonetheless.
Wilkie followed a line of thought, speaking it aloud. “’Tis true that Ogilvie is well known for his fondness for keeping numerous mistresses. So much so that he’s never taken a wife. Not a particularly stout plan for the future of the Ogilvie clan, if he produces no legitimate heirs.”
“Nay,” I agreed, hoping to change the subject away from the man who had been all but my nemesis for several years. “Your wound is healing well, warrior.”
It was. The edges of the cut were already beginning to knit together. I walked over to the basin and filled a bowl with the still-warm water. I used a clean cloth to wash the area around the wound, taking care to be gentle with him.
“Your potent healing paste recipe may have saved my life, according to Effie,” Wilkie said. “That, along with your sewing skills.”
“I could share the recipe with her if she’d like. I’ve made it often for Ismay.”
“Write it down and she can add it to her book.”
“I— Well, I don’t know how to write. But I can dictate it to her.”
“Is that so?” he asked, and there was astonishment inhis voice, and maybe a thread of pity. “Were you never taught to write, lass?”
“Nay,” I said quietly.
“Can you read?”
“My mother started teaching me once, but there was too much other work to be done. We never had enough time for the lessons.”
He touched a fingertip to my chin and tipped my face up to him. “Well, that, sweet Roses, is something we could remedy.”
I couldn’t help smiling at him. “You’re going to teach me to read, warrior?”
“Aye,” he said smugly, as though he’d found a new mission in life. “That I am.”
I felt overjoyed at the thought of Wilkie teaching me, making an effort for me, and spending his time with me in any capacity at all. If his intention was to teach me to read: that would requiretime. My future, at least for the short term, might not be daunting and unknowable; it could be charmed, if Wilkie was near. “I would very much like that.”
Once Wilkie’s wound was cleaned, I smeared the healing salve across it with the lightest touch so I wouldn’t pain him.
“Your touch,” he said softly. “’Tis so light, yet so sure.” The husk to his voice and the words themselves fed a curious sensation into my lower stomach, not one of lack of food but of longing.
And I was beginning to understand what my body was craving.
“If I bring the basin to this bedside table, can you lean over it?” I said.
“Aye.”
With some effort, both with the weight of it and the fullness of it, especially with my still-sore arm, I carried the basin to his bedside. He adjusted his position, so he could lean over the large bowl. I held his head and unwound his braids, then I used a smaller bowl to wet his long hair, savoring the feel of its thick, silky texture. I used some soap to scrub his hair, and I massaged his head gently, which caused him to sigh.
“Your hair is so lovely, warrior. Thick and soft.”
“Is it, now? How should I take that? A warrior with lovely hair.”
“’Tis so very black. Why is your hair so black?” I teased him, mimicking his earlier question.
“I don’t know. The loch, perhaps,” he mused, smiling. “’Tis inky black, and I’ve taken a swim in it almost every morning of my life.”
“Isn’t it cold?”
“Invigorating,” he corrected. “Good for the constitution, according to my father, who may also have had something to do with the color of my hair. His was equally black.”
I wanted to ask him about his father, but I knew the former Laird Mackenzie had been killed a year earlier in the ongoing battle between the Campbell clan and the occupiers of Ossian Lochs, the king’s expansive Highland estate; this had been discussed regularly by Ogilvie and his men. I didn’t want to upset Wilkie or to stir up sad memories. I was touching my warrior, holding his head, running my hands through his hair, and I preferred to relish the moment. There would be time for that discussion—I hoped—another day.
I rinsed, making sure to wash him clean of all the slippery soap. Finding a cloth, I dried his hair andcombed it with my fingers, and braided the two small braids at his temples.
