“This will sting,” she warned Amelia solemnly as she grabbed a cloth from the tray and dipped it into the mixture.
“I’ve survived worse,” Amelia replied, pulling up her gown to expose the wounds.
Hazel stepped closer to watch over Isla as she pressed the cloth against the worst of Amelia’s wounds. Despite how gentle thetouch was, Amelia still flinched away. It was partially because of the sting but also because of the reverence with which the girl worked.
Isla paused immediately, looking back at Amelia’s expression. “Too sore?”
“Nay,” Amelia said quickly, taking a deep breath as she prepared for the girl to continue. “Just… unexpected.”
“Slower now, Isla,” Hazel instructed, giving Amelia a soft smile, her kindness disarming.
Isla nodded, resuming her task with even more care. As she worked, she murmured, “Mama says wounds get angry when they start healin’.”
“That sounds inconvenient,” Amelia replied through gritted teeth.
“It means ye’re gettin’ better,” Isla insisted before falling quiet.
As she applied the Laudanum to each wound, the room became comfortably silent. Laughter floated in through the window from outside, and boots crossed the stone below. Life carried on in a way that felt fundamentally wrong to Amelia.
Isla shifted her attention to the last laceration, murmuring, “Were ye a knight?”
Amelia huffed out a quiet laugh, finally used to the pain. “Do I look like one to ye?”
Hazel chuckled, then quickly collected herself. Her face flushed red at the breach of professionalism. That only made Amelia smile more. She preferred the informal behavior.
“Did ye fight monsters?” Isla asked, frowning at the women’s laughter.
“I…” Amelia began, hesitating as images of darkness, chains, and voices she refused to remember flashed through her mind. Finally, she said, “Aye. I did. And I won.”
Chapter Six
Darragh sat at the head table in the great hall, his back straight as he watched Amelia’s approach. Jinny greeted each person that they passed, but Amelia wasn’t listening. Her gaze darted around the room, her heart thudding with each voice that became just a little too loud as she walked by.
“Ye’ll sit here with the Laird,” Jinny said when they got to the table, moving to pull out a chair for Amelia. “He’ll watch over ye and keep ye safe.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed, shifting between the seat and Darragh and the people watching them. When she focused on his face, the chaos seemed to fade into the background. Slowly, she settled in, folding her hands in her lap.
As she sat with her shoulders back, she kept her chin held high. Her presence was a spectacle. Even Darragh’s gaze was heavy on her, seeming to pick apart every detail of her appearance.
“Eat what ye like,” he said after a beat, pushing a platter piled with bannocks toward her. “And I’ve got some treats for ye.”
Instead of speaking, she began serving herself, shoveling bits of each dish onto her plate. When it couldn’t fit anything else, she picked up her fork, the handle on it dainty even as she bent over the plate. Her restraint was thin after she shoveled the first bite into her mouth, but she was still in polite company.
She stopped every few bites to dab away crumbs and juice from the corners of her mouth. Carefully, she put aside her salad fork and picked up the dinner fork. Darragh observed each movement, and her cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny, though she tried to conceal it.
“Jinny,” he said, his voice incredibly close as he turned to the maid, who was standing dutifully behind them. “Would ye grab the pickled fruit? The ones that were imported last week.”
“Aye,” she said, scurrying away with an excited spring in her step.
“Pickled fruit?” Amelia said, her mouth still full. She swallowed the food as her entire body brightened. “Ye have pickled fruit?”
“That’s right,” he said, leaning back and watching as Jinny burst out of the kitchen with the jar and more utensils. “I thought ye may enjoy a bit of a treat.”
“Are those mangoes?” she asked, her eyes widening as Jinny struggled to turn the lid. “Aye, they are.”
It had been years since she’d last had something like this. Truthfully, she didn’t think that she’d ever get this kind of luxury again. She felt like a child on her birthday when Laird Fraser dropped a few slices onto a small plate for her.
“I used to love mangoes,” she declared, already popping one in her mouth. The tangy-sweet flavor flooded her tongue, and she nearly made an involuntary sound of delight. Before she swallowed, she was already reaching for another.
