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“You’re sure I’m not hurting you?”
“I’m sure. I was just… remembering.”
He tilted his head the way he had before, but once again he refrained from comment, returning to her ankle. He very carefully worked off her tennis shoe, then dipped a piece of the papery bark in the larger wooden bowl.
“What’s that?”
“Just rain water. I want to clean your foot and ankle before I bandage it.”
She started to point out that it would get dirty again as soon as she started walking, then decided to let it go. When he feathered the wet bark over the underside of her foot she jerked, then gave him a quick smile.
“Sorry. My feet are ticklish.”
“I’ve heard of such a thing, although I’ve never experienced it myself.”
His skin certainly had a different texture than her open, slightly rough and almost bark-like in some places whereas other places gleamed slightly, even in the low light, looking more like polished wood.
“Your skin isn’t sensitive?”
He looked up again, his eyes fastened on her face. They were glowing again but with an unexpected warmth this time.
“My skin is very sensitive, just not to that particular sensation.”
His thumb stroked back and forth across her foot as he spoke, a surprisingly sensual gesture, and she felt the heat rushing to her cheeks. Was she simply reacting to the long absence of a kind touch? Time seemed to stop for a moment, then he abruptly cleared his throat and focused on her ankle once more.
Once he was satisfied that it was clean, he removed the cork from the bottle and poured a small quantity of oil into his palm before very carefully massaging it into her ankle. The oil also had an herbal smell but this one was sharp, almost citrusy, with an underlying sweetness. The coolness of the oil seeped into her hot skin, easing the throbbing pain and leaving a pleasant tingling sensation.
“That feels much better.”
Another of those brief smiles flashed across his face and then he returned to his work, his head bowed. Once the oil covered her skin, he wrapped it tightly in more of the soft bark, using a sticky substance from the smaller wooden bowl to hold it in place.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “Can you help -”
She broke off as he suddenly tensed, looking back over his shoulder.
“What is it?” she whispered, not sure why she had lowered her voice.
“Intruders.”
Oh, God. It had to be Harold. He must have managed to persuade or bully some of his cronies into searching for her. Was this tangle of branches enough to conceal her, to conceal both of them? They were the kind of men who would hurt Marsh if they found him, not only because he’d helped but because he was different. She shivered at the thought of his massive body being overcome by men who weren’t afraid to use violence.
“You need to hide,” she said urgently.
“Hide?” he asked as he stood, as huge and intimidating as he’d appeared when she’d first seen him. “This is my swamp. I have no need to hide.”
“You don’t understand. If it’s who I think it is, they’re very dangerous men.”
Huge he might be, but size alone wouldn’t stop bullets. Instead of reacting to her warning, he focused on her.
“Are they dangerous to you, Aurora?”
She bit her lip, not sure how to answer him. She was pretty sure she was useful enough to Harold that he wanted her alive - although undamaged was another matter. Then again, he might decide she was too much of a risk after what she’d seen.
Before she could decide how to answer, a flash of light caught her eye. Not moonlight, but the light from an electric torch. It was still some distance away but they were running out of time.
“You have to go.”
“And what of you?”
