Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Domhnall shifting away, as if his attention was caught by something. She did not look up at once. She simply assumed he had gone to check the perimeter or speak with one of the guards.
A moment passed, then another. She was easing a root free when his shadow fell across the ground beside her. That was when she looked up. Domhnall stood there, with something held carefully between his fingers.
It was a single bluebell flower, pale and freshly picked. Its violet-blue head bowed slightly, resting on the curved stem. Its petals were unblemished and luminous in the sunlight. It was not one she had named or asked for.
She blinked, then smiled despite herself. “Ye ken, I believe I have enough of those.”
“This one,” he said, holding it out to her, “is nae fer healing.”
Her brows lifted.
“It’s given,” he went on, “simply because it’s beautiful.”
The words caught her entirely unprepared. Heat rushed to her cheeks. For a heartbeat she only stared at him, at the careful way he held the flower, as though aware how easily it could be crushed. Then she reached out and took it.
Their fingers brushed, just barely, but it was enough to set her pulse racing.
“Thank ye,” she said, more softly now.
He inclined his head in a small, restrained gesture that somehow felt intimate all the same. Margaret tucked the flower into her satchel atop the herbs. Although it was not given for healing, somehow, it became the most precious thing she carried.
They kept moving after that, deeper into the trees. The work resumed with an ease that felt almost dangerous in its comfort. They did not speak much. They did not need to. Every so often, she caught him looking at her in quick, unguarded glances, and when she met his eyes, he did not look away.
Sometimes he smiled. So did she.
She moved a few paces off the path and bent once more, parting the greenery to examine a low-growing plant nestled close to a fallen log.
She was so focused she nearly missed it.
There was a sudden, sharp rustle.
A hiss.
It made Margaret freeze. The snake was coiled scarcely a foot from her hand, dark and thick-bodied. It had its head lifted, while its tongue was flicking as it prepared to strike.
She did not have time to scream, and Domhnall was already moving. He seized her around the waist and hauled her back with brutal force, yanking her clear just as the snake lunged where her hand had been. She stumbled against him, her breath knocked from her chest, as he shoved her behind him without hesitation.
In doing so, he drove straight through a stand of stinging nettles, their serrated leaves whipping against his bare forearms and neck.
The snake recoiled and slid away into the undergrowth, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Margaret scarcely noticed it go. Her attention was fixed entirely on Domhnall.
His body was still poised for both defense and violence, but his skin… his skin was already reddening where the nettles had struck. Angry welts bloomed along his arms, crawling up his throat. The furious irritation was spreading visibly by the second.
“Ye…” Her voice caught. “Ye’re hurt.”
He looked down at himself, dismissive even as the rash flared. “It’ll pass.”
“Ye went straight through nettles,” she said, utterly incredulous at what she had just witnessed. “Ye didnae even look.”
“I was looking at ye.”
The words landed hard. Her heart hammered as she reached for him without thinking. Her fingers fluttered just above the inflamed skin before she stopped herself. “That rash will burn fiercely. We should nae ignore it.”
“Are ye harmed?” he asked instead.
She shook her head. “Nay. Thanks tae ye.”
Silence took hold of them both, but she knew better than to linger.
