Page 81 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Lennan held Ceana steady while Oscar dismounted. He reached up and lifted her from the saddle. Her eyes opened as he drew her against his chest.

“Muriel?” she murmured.

“I am Oscar’s sister,” Muriel said, walking beside them. “And I will see where ye are hurt.”

Ceana studied her face through heavy eyes. “Welcome home.”

Muriel’s hands stopped on the clasp of her satchel. She gave Ceana one brief nod and opened the door to the surgery.

At the threshold, Lennan reached for Oscar’s sword belt and unbuckled it. Oscar released the leather without looking away from Ceana.

Muriel glanced at the dried blood beside his temple. “I will clean that cut.”

“See to Ceana first.”

Muriel sighed. “Alright. Then wash it before ye sleep.”

Mairi brought water and folded linen while Oscar lowered Ceana onto the narrow bed.

Muriel drew a stool closer. “Do ye want yer husband to stay here?” she asked.

Ceana looked at Oscar. “Aye. Stay.”

The muscles in his forearm flexed as he braced a hand on the bedframe.

“Where do ye hurt?” Muriel asked.

“Bryce caught her across the ribs and⁠—”

She looked up. “I asked Ceana.”

Oscar closed his mouth. He moved one step back and clasped his hands behind him.

“Me ribs ache when I breathe deeply,” Ceana replied. “Both arms. Me right wrist. The cut on me palm stings.”

Muriel turned her face toward the window and examined her eyes, then pressed two fingers to her uninjured wrist, checking her pulse. She asked Ceana to open and close each hand. When the right one moved more slowly, Muriel supported it and tested the joint with careful pressure.

“Strained,” she concluded. “But nae broken.”

She loosened Ceana’s gown enough to reach the bruised area without exposing her. Bryce’s finger marks had begun to darken along both upper arms. The sight made Oscar’s hands twitch.

That bastard.

Muriel pressed her fingers along Ceana’s ribs. Ceana sucked in a sharp breath, and Oscar took a step forward. His sister, however, raised one hand, stopping him. His hands closed around the footboard until the wood bit into his skin.

“Draw a full breath,” Muriel instructed.

Ceana obeyed. Her face tightened near the end, though her breath remained clear. Muriel checked the other side, then covered her again.

“Yer ribs are bruised, but nothin’ is displaced.”

She washed the scrape across Ceana’s palm and bound it with a narrow strip of linen. Oscar watched her fingers pass over every mark he had been unable to prevent.

“Warmth, water, and rest,” Muriel advised. “Food when ye can bear it. If ye keep swoonin’ after sleep, send someone for me immediately.” She looked from Ceana to Oscar. “She will recover.”

“Ye are certain?”

“Aye. I wouldnae say it otherwise.”