Page 163 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
When she came to stand before him again, the room felt smaller than before. For some reason, something about her choosing to do this made her body heat up.
“Millie trusted ye with all of this?” Ciaran asked as she set the basin down.
“Millie trusted me with whatever I could be made to learn before me attention wandered,” Ava replied. “It turns out blood is quite a persuasive teacher.”
That almost coaxed a smile from him.Almost.
She moved carefully to his side and began unfastening his plaid. Even that simple act made her pulse jump.
He sat very still while she loosened the fabric and drew it back enough to expose his wound. She had seen blood before, but not this. Not likethis. The cut was red and angry, the skin around it taut and darkened.
The sight steeled her resolve becausethiswas what he had takenforher.
“How does it feel?” she asked, forcing calmness into her voice.
He glanced down once. “I have had worse.”
Of course, he has.
The answer irritated her. “That isnae an answer.”
“It is the only one ye need for a shoulder wound.”
Ava scoffed and dipped the cloth in water. Then she wrung it gently and began to clean away the dried blood around the edges. He did not flinch, though she felt him hold his breath each time the cloth passed too close to the most sensitive part of the wound.
“That is what ye get for being cocky,” she muttered.
“I have been called worse.”
“That, at least, I believe.”
He did not answer, and the silence that followed felt completely different.
She was too aware of the feel of his skin beneath her hands and the disciplined stillness with which he let her tend to him. She was also too aware of the fact that if she lifted her eyes just alittle, she would be far too near his face. So she kept them on the wound.
“That isnae what I meant about people calling ye worse than cocky.”
His voice, when it came, was lower. “Something tells me that is exactly what ye meant.”
“Nay.” Ava laid the cloth aside and reached for the salve. “I meant, how does it feel that it happened again?”
He went very still. The silence shifted at once and sharpened.
Ava pressed on, because stopping now would only make the question look like cowardice. “Me father told me about the attack at yer brother's wedding. I imagine that must have been terrible. Then to have to relive it again?—”
His hand closed around her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to stop her. Then he tugged.
Ava gave a startled breath as he drew her closer between his knees, the basin and bandages forgotten for the moment. She braced her free hand against his chest to steady herself, his nearness almost overwhelming.
“But it didnae happen again,” he said, the words leaving his mouth with fierce certainty.
She looked at him. “What?”
His grip tightened a fraction on her wrist, as though to hold the point in place between them.
“It didnae happen again.” His voice had gone flat in the way she now knew was more dangerous than anger. “Jack is dead. Ye are here.”
The force of his answer stripped the room bare.
