Page 33 of Savage Kilted Highlander

“I hope ye’re right about that.”

Bane sipped at the hot tea, which he enjoyed, even if it could do nothing to ease the pain he was in. He shared out some hard bread and dried meat he had stocked up on in town between them. He could see by the way Constance looked at the simple meal, that she found it as unappetizing as ever. But she had become better acquainted with hunger during their journey and overcame her reluctance, eating it without complaint. And although he did not show it and had no reason to be, Bane once again felt proud of her. Raised as a spoilt English lady, she was now a survivor, and he admired that about her.

They ate quietly, with the fire crackling between them and the noises of the forest as it settled in for the night all around them. He noticed that Constance was not half so fearful of the noises as she once had been.

Suddenly, she burst out, “Bane, what is that? You are injured.” She looked at him angrily. “You have been hiding it from me! Why? Do you want to get an infection?” She had somehow spotted the injury he had been trying so hard to hide.

“Ach, ’tis naethin’, a mere scratch,” he muttered, annoyed with himself for letting her see it.

“It most certainly does not look like nothing,” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her skirts as she got up and hurried over to him. She crouched down next to him and lifted his arm to take a closer look at the wound. It was a long, narrow slit made by a slashing sword that had sliced through the leather of his jerkin and vest, right through to the flesh.

“You really need to see a healer,” Constance declared, standing up and looking down at him, a small line of consternation between her brows.

“Aye, good idea. I think I see one hidin’ behind that tree over there,” he replied sarcastically.

She gave him a withering smile, but her sudden pallor told him she was shocked. “Then I shall have to do it.” Constance waved vaguely at his torso. “I need you to take off your things so I can get to it properly.”

It moved him to see her suddenly so serious, especially for something he knew she must find daunting. It was the first time he had even dared to think she might care about him, and he inwardly marvelled at it as he watched her inspecting the wound. She was so adorable, he could not resist teasing her a little. “D’ye ken anythin’ about treatin’ wounds? I mean, a wee bit of knowledge in the wrong hands, it can cause disaster,” he said, feigning doubt as he looked up at her.

He watched as a constellation of emotions sped across her face before she finally admitted, “Well, no, I do not know much. I admit.” She paused, her face brightening as she straightened up. “But I know it needs cleaning… and bandaging, to keep the dirt out of it. That cannot be very hard for a novice, can it?” she asked, hands on hips, looking determined.

Bane kept up the pretence of doubt. “Well, it daes need seein’ tae, I admit, and since there’s nay alternative, I suppose I have nay choice but tae let ye have a go. It cannae be any worse,” he said in a falsely grudging tone. But he saw his words were wasted, because to Bane’s surprise, she lifted her skirt and exposed the cheap petticoat the maid at the inn had sold to her for a few pennies and used her teeth and fists to tear off a long strip off the bottom. Despite the pain in his side, he found the long, slender outline of her legs through the thin petticoat very distracting until she dropped her skirt again. When she had done that, he watched amazed as she tore the strip into smaller cloths and made a neat pile of them on the tree stump.

“Let me help you with your clothes,” she offered. He accepted, and she helped him to take off his jerkin and the padded leather vest beneath without it hurting his side too much. He was touched by how much care she took not to hurt him. It had him wondering again if she might care for him just a little bit. Even though he knew there could be nothing between them, he wanted her to care.

“Oh, dear Lord, there is such a lot of blood!” she exclaimed on seeing the crimson stains surrounding the long slit in the white cotton where the dirk had passed through his shirt. Unaccustomed as he knew she was to witness blood and violence, Bane was impressed when she did not faint or scream or run away at the gory sight. Instead, she hurriedly helped him off with his shirt.

As she stood back from him, holding the shirt against her, their eyes met and locked. Bane felt a shock go through him as some invisible energy crackled in the air between them. He could tell by the way her eyes widened that she had felt it as well. Her gaze fluttered over his naked torso before darting away, leaving her cheeks flaming pink. But she managed to remain composed when she said, “Can you lift your arm up a little higher, so I can get a better look?”

Obediently, he lifted his arm while Constance bent down and examined the wound more closely, her brows drawn together in concentration. “It urgently needs cleaning,” she announced, taking up a cloth and dipping it in the hot water. She knelt at his side and gently began dabbing at the wound with the now warm water in the pan. The water in the pan quickly turned red.

“How daes it look?” he asked, ignoring the soreness and craning his neck sideways to try to see the injury. “I cannae get a good look mesel’.”

Constance grimaced as she assessed the wound. “I cannot really say until it is cleaned properly, but it is about six inches long. I am sorry if this hurts a little,” she warned him, applying herself to the task of cleaning the wound with exquisite gentleness. Bane watched her work silently, his discomfort overwhelmed by the look of intense concentration on her face. Secretly, he revelled in her touch, thinking how beautiful she was when she was flustered, her cheeks stained bright pink. That she should apologize for hurting him was yet another sign of her sweetness.

She’s apologizin’ tae me—the man who kidnapped her!