Page 99 of The Laird's Masked Passion

No, what chilled him was the sight of her exposed before so many eyes. They could see her side, the curve beneath her arm and the tender skin his mouth had not yet touched and his enemies had dared mark. Every man in the room vanished from the category of ally and entered, for one unforgiving second, the category of threat.

“Out.” The word was quiet.

No one moved quickly enough. Colin turned. Every man in the room understood then.

Breac, who stood nearest the door, lifted both hands and began backing out at once. “Aye. Out, all of ye. Yer laird has developed a fondness for privacy and murder.”

Murdoch seized the messenger by the shoulder and shoved him into the corridor. The guards followed so swiftly one nearly struck the doorframe. Even Fionn’s young assistants hesitated until Colin’s eyes cut toward them.

“Women stay,” he ordered. “Men out.”

Fionn cleared his throat. Colin looked at him.

“I am required,” the healer said, with admirable courage and insufficient concern for his life.

“Aye.”

Fionn nodded once and wisely bent to the wound. The door shut behind the last soldier.

Only then did Elspeth speak, her voice low and full of mortification. “Ye cannae threaten the entire castle because me ribs exist.”

“I can.”

Skye made a small sound as if she approved but did not wish to be noticed doing so.

Elspeth looked at Colin, and beneath the embarrassment in her face, something softer flickered. “They werenae looking.”

“They had eyes.”

The healer paused for half a breath, then very deliberately returned to cleaning the cut.

Elspeth’s lips pressed together, but the corner of her mouth trembled. Pain or amusement, Colin could not tell. Perhaps both. He stood close enough that his good hand rested on the table beside her hip, though he did not touch her. If he touched her, he feared he might begin shaking.

Fionn washed the wound with wine. Elspeth hissed and stiffened.

Colin’s hand closed into a fist. “Careful.”

The healer did not look up. “It will sting whether I am careful or nae, me laird.”

“Make it sting less.”

“If me laird has discovered a method, I would welcome instruction.”

Skye gave the healer a warning look, but Elspeth laughed once beneath her breath, then winced because laughing hurt.

The sound nearly undid Colin. A laugh, after the arrow, after the blood. After the man who had tried to cut her open… she wasalive.She was alive enough to laugh at him.

Fionn inspected the slice with clean fingers, pressed along the edge, and nodded. “Shallow. Long, but shallow. Nay broken rib. It needs cleaning, binding, and rest.”

“I told ye,” Elspeth smirked.

Colin ignored her because ignoring her was the only alternative to kissing her before a healer and her maid.

Fionn packed the wound with a salve that smelled of honey, yarrow, and bitter herbs, then bound linen around her ribs. Elspeth sat very still while he worked, though the color left herface twice. Colin saw each time. He counted each breath. He had always thought himself patient. Battle had taught him stillness. Strategy had taught him waiting.

This was different. This was torment dressed as care.

When at last Fionn tied the bandage securely and lowered the torn fabric as best he could, Colin released a breath he had not known he was holding.