Page 11 of A Fierce Archer

Ewan could barely stand up straight. The idea of any kind of lovemaking made him cringe. “Although it’s a tempting offer, I must refrain.”

He turned away, but the woman was persistent, her hand on his arm. “Ye do not have to do anything,” she purred, a curve to her lips.

“He said no.” Catriona appeared at the end of the corridor. “Go see about yer tasks,” she snapped and glared at the maid, who’s eyes widened and cheeks flushed with consternation. “Yes, Miss.”

As the maid scurried away, Catriona frowned up at Ewan. “Ye must learn to be firmer. If ye are not interested, make it clear.”

“Thank ye for coming to my rescue,” Ewan said. “Do ye know if the healer is about?”

Immediately, she pinned him with a direct look. “If ye are hurting, it is because ye have not remained abed as the healer insisted. Come, I will help ye to lay down and then see about fetching the healer.”

Catriona walked with him into his bedroom, and Ewan almost chuckled at the thought that he’d turned down one lass, and now another, much lovelier and not at all with any intentions in mind, walked beside him.

“Give me a moment,” Ewan said, standing next to the bed. “I have to prepare myself to lower to it.” It would not do to embarrass himself by crying out in pain when lowering to the bed.

“I’ll help.” Catriona neared and untied the strings at his throat. Then she helped him remove the tunic. It was painstakingly slow, and he had to keep blowing out breaths, his midsection sending streaks of pain up and down his torso.

If not for reeling from the aching, he would have enjoyed her proximity and the act of removing his clothing.

“I think I need to...sit,” Ewan stuttered, barely able to get his breath.

“Ah!” he exclaimed when Catriona lifted his left arm and pulled the tunic off. “Ye should have stayed in bed and not put on a tunic. What exactly are ye trying to prove?”

Now he felt like a lad being lectured by his mother. Things could not get any worse. If it continued, she’d never be attracted to him as a man. Ewan glared up at her. “I need the healer to make me a poultice, as well as some of that vile tonic to take away the pain.”

“What ye need is...” Catriona stopped talking when he fell sideways onto the bed. “Are ye about to pass out?”

He opened his eyes and gave her a droll look. “I’m trying to lie down.”

“Oh,” she frowned down at him. “I am not sure how to help.”

“I hate to ask,” Ewan began, “but can ye remove my boots?”

Catriona made quick time of removing his boots and then, slowly, they managed to slide him up until his head was on the pillow.

At this point, he blew out breaths, fighting the urge to moan out loud.

“Ewan,” Catriona said in a low voice.

“Aye.”

“I am going to have to take the bandage off and inspect the wound. It will hurt.”

With only the bandage around his midsection, he already felt naked in front of her. When she barely acted as if it were a strange occurrence, he dared to speak.

“Ye helped treat the many wounded after the Clan Mackenzie attack, did ye not?”

“I did,” she replied, cutting away the bandage. “I will not bother the healer. I can clean yer wound and make a tonic for ye.”

She looked him over. “Other than having someone tie ye to the bed, that is all that can be done for ye to heal properly. If ye insist on getting up and about tomorrow, the same result will occur.”

Properly chastised and barely able to breathe through the waves of pain, Ewan did not reply. Instead, he concentrated on the ceiling, counting planks of wood.

“Here, drink this.” Catriona lifted his head and helped him drink a murky liquid. It was not as vile as the one he’d had before but, within moments, the pain began to lessen.

From under half-closed eyes, he watched as a maid brought hot water. Together, the women cut strips of cloth. Then after the maid mixed a poultice, Catriona spread it over his midsection.

“It’s only one cut. Why do ye put so much on there?” Ewan asked.