Page 74 of Claimed By a Ruthless Scot
He cupped her face gently but firmly, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he tilted her head slightly. His eyes were watching her more closely now, her skin, her jaw and the line of her throat, searching for bruises, for blood, for anything he might have missed in those first frantic seconds.
“Elaina…” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
She stilled beneath his touch. For a moment, the world narrowed to just her and the fact that she was here, safe and sound.
Only then did the tension in his chest ease, if only slightly. His hand lingered for a fraction longer before he forced himself to pull it away, as he stepped back into himself, back into control.
Before he could say anything else, Elaina’s gaze moved to his arm. Her expression changed instantly.
“Duncan,” she stepped closer, her voice threaded with concern. “Yer arm.”
He glanced down, as if only just remembering. The wound was deep enough to bleed freely, and the fabric of his sleeve was already darkened where the blade had caught him in the struggle. He had not felt it, not truly. Not while she had been in danger.
“I am fine,” he said, waving his other hand dismissively.
“Ye are nae,” she replied, already reaching for him. “Let me see.”
Her hands hovered near his arm, careful but insistent, and he noticed how her healer’s instincts were taking over without hesitation. “Ye need tae let me look at it.”
Duncan’s expression hardened slightly not at her, but at the situation, because there was still chaos unfolding around them.
“We are leaving,” he said firmly. “Now.”
Elaina frowned, glancing past him at the smoke, at the people still shouting and moving in confusion. “There are others who might be hurt,” she insisted. “I can help?—”
Duncan shook his head, and his voice left no room for argument. “It is nae safe fer ye.”
Her gaze snapped back to his. “It is nae safe fer ye either.”
His chest tightened at that. Even now, even after what had just happened, her concern was not for herself, but for him and for others. He looked at her for a brief moment, fighting the urge to envelop her into his arms and inhale her scent until everything around them disappeared.
“I ken,” he said more quietly, bringing himself back to the present moment.
And he did. He admired the strength in her, the instinct to help, to heal, even when she herself had been moments from being taken. But admiration did not outweigh risk, not today, when he had nearly lost her. He refused to even consider the thought.
“It is being handled,” he continued, his tone steady but firm. “Me men will see tae the injured. The fire will be contained.”
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice slightly, though the intensity in it did not lessen. “Ye are nae staying here.”
He expected resistance. He expected her to argue, to insist, to push back, to challenge him as she always did when she believed she was right.
“If ye’re staying, I’m staying. If ye’re going back home, then I’m going back home.”
Duncan blinked once, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he simply looked at her. There was no fear in her expression now and no hesitation.
Stubborn lass.
Despite the fire, the chaos and the blood still on his hands, he felt the faintest pull of a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.
Of course, she would say that. Of course, she would not yield easily.
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he studied her.
“But I am the laird,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet challenge.
Her lips curved. “The healer is supposed tae be where the laird is.”
Duncan said nothing. He was looking for some flaw in her reasoning, some angle he could use to argue, to insist, to maintain control of the situation as he always did. He found none, because, in her own way, she was right.
