Page 9 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
Malcolm’s voice jerked her out of her trance. Trying to push away the disturbing thoughts, she cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his eyes.
“The horse is all right,” he said, thankfully, not seeming to notice her discomfort. He brushed more water from the shoulders of his leather jerkin.
Catriona nodded and let down her hood, watching with chattering teeth while he fiddled with the door, trying to get the warped wood to close properly. The latch was rusty too, and as he resorted to brute force to get the thing to work, he suddenly inhaled sharply and jerked his hand away.
“Dammit.”
“What is it?” she asked, coming closer to see.
“Ach, ’tis naethin’. I caught me hand on the latch and cut it, ’tis all,” he replied with a dismissive gesture.
“Why, ye’re bleedin’,” Catriona said, seeing the crimson droplets falling to the ground. Her caring nature kicked in. Reaching for his hand, she said, “Let me see.”
He scoffed and retracted the injured hand. “What fer? I told ye, ’tis naught but a wee gash. Dinnae fash.”
She fixed him with a stern look, her hand extended. “Let me see,” she repeated in her firmest voice. “That latch is rusty. Ye could end up with an infection if the wound isnae cleaned properly.”
He sighed. “All right, if ye must.” He surrendered the hand for her inspection, unfurling the palm so she could see the gash. It spanned his palm and was welling with blood.
When Catriona took the large, calloused hand in hers, she at once felt a strange shock run up her arm and into her chest. Fortunately for her, a huge crash of thunder masked her jerked response, though she almost dropped his hand.
Composing herself, bent her head over the wound, examining it carefully in the dim light. All the while, she felt Malcolm’s eyes upon her, watching her every move. It made her feel very uncomfortable.
“’Tis deep,” she said in her professional voice, “but ’tis bleedin’ freely. That’s good, because it means the blood will wash out most of the dirt.”
“Grand. Nay need tae make a fuss then,” he said gruffly, starting to pull his hand away.
She held onto it firmly until he relented and let her keep hold of it. “It may seem small, but it would be very foolish tae ignore it. It needs tendin’ tae at once,” she said, extracting a clean headkerchief from the pocket of her dress and pressing it to the wound to staunch the bleeding. The fabric quickly turned red.
“I’ll see tae it,” Catriona said, grimacing at the sight.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Thank ye. The storm will slow Sinclair’s men down for a few hours, so we have a little time tae spare. But they’re nae gonna give up lookin’ fer ye. As soon as the bad weather clears, we must be on our way again. I’ll take nay risks with yer safety.”
“Aye, of course,” Catriona murmured, her attention on treating the wound. After a few moments, she added, “The gash isnae long, but it goes deeper than ye think, and there’s dirt around the edges. It needs cleanin’ right away.”
“I keep a supply of clean cloths and some salve in me saddlebag for small injuries. Ye can use them. And there’s water in the canteen,” Malcolm said.
Glad to have something to take her mind off the unwelcome effects of his proximity as well as the cold, she quickly fetched the items from the bag. “Ye might as well sit down while I dae this,” she told him, gesturing at a wooden bench set near the hearth.
She expected more protests and felt an odd twist of satisfaction inside her when he did as she suggested without complaining.At least he’s takin’ me seriously, she thought, standing close in front of him, holding his hand out over the dirt floor to wash away the blood and irrigate the wound with water from the canteen.
“Stop me if I hurt ye,” she told him, expertly rolling a corner of the cloth to a soft point, trying to ignore the weight of his handand the heat that was already penetrating her clothing. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
He gave a soft scoff, and the small, smug smile of old appeared on his lips. “Wheesht, lass, I’ve fought a lot of battles and had a lot worse than this. ’Tis a gnat’s bite.”
“Then ye should ken that it daesnae signify how big and strong ye are, a gnat’s bite can kill ye if infection sets in,” she replied tartly.
Talk ceased between them while she thoroughly cleaned the wound, the only sounds the pelting rain on the roof and the tumult of the storm raging outside. As she worked, she felt some of the tension go out of Malcolm. He lounged back against the wall, his broad shoulders relaxing.
Catriona tried to focus on what she was doing, but the heat emanating from him was distracting. Her back was cold, but her front, so near to him, was burning. It was a relief when he broke the silence.
“Ye’re skilled at this, eh?” he murmured, the impatient edge gone from his voice.
“Mmm, I’ve cleaned many such wounds,” she replied, inspecting her handiwork. Satisfying herself that the wound was as clean as she could get it for the moment, she discarded the used cloth and reached for the little pot of salve.
“Did the nuns teach ye how tae clean wounds like that?”
She smiled, carefully applying a thin layer of the salve to the gash with the cloth before putting the pot aside.
