Page 75 of Claimed By a Ruthless Scot
A quiet breath left him, something between resignation and reluctant acceptance.
“Ye make that difficult,” he muttered, though there was no real frustration behind it.
If anything, there was something dangerously close to admiration.
Duncan straightened slightly, the laird in him settling back into place as he turned away from her. He called over two of his men, issuing quick, precise orders.
“The fire is tae be contained before it spreads further. Anyone injured is tae be seen tae immediately. Double the watch on the square. Nay one leaves without being questioned.”
“Aye, me laird.”
He held their gaze a moment longer, ensuring they understood the weight of it. “Everything is tae be reported tae me by nightfall.”
They nodded and moved without delay. Only then did Duncan turn back to her. The tension in him had not fully eased, but it had lessened.
“Fine,” he told her.
His eyes met hers.
“Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The ride back to the castle passed in a blur for Elaina.
Though she was riding before him, though she could feel the steady strength of Duncan behind her and the warmth of his presence grounding in a way she did not yet understand, her thoughts refused to settle. The echo of the market still clung to her, sharp and unsettling.
The hands that had seized her, the laughter, the certainty that, had he not come…
She pushed the thought away. Her fingers tightened slightly around the reins, though she barely remembered guiding the horse at all.
Duncan had found her. That was all that mattered.
Once they arrived, Duncan moved to dismount first. His movements were as controlled as ever, as if nothing hadhappened, as if he had not bled for her. Then, a moment later, his hands found her waist with ease as he helped her down from the horse.
“Alright,” he said, stepping back, already distancing himself. “I brought ye home safe and sound. Now I have tae go back.”
The words struck sharper than she expected. Before she could think, before she could temper the instinct, she reached for him. Her fingers closed around his hand.
“Nae before I look at yer arm.”
Duncan stilled. He looked down at where she held him, then back at her. A quiet breath left him, almost a sigh, though there was no real frustration in it.
“Ye willnae let this go, will ye?” he asked.
“Nay.”
He watched her in silence, as though weighing the effort of arguing against the inevitability of her resolve. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he agreed.
“Very well.”
They reached her chamber together, walking in silence. They passed through the door, which she closed behind them. Then,she guided him toward the bed, her hand still lightly at his wrist, as if she feared that if she let go too soon, he might leave before she was finished.
“Sit,” she said softly.
Duncan obeyed without protest. She gathered what she needed with practiced efficiency, though her awareness of him did not lessen, not even as she turned back, stepped closer and sat down beside him.
She glanced at his arm, then frowned. “Ye need tae take off yer shirt,” she told him. “I need tae see yer wound properly.”
