"I'm sorry it took me so long to find my needle, m'lady."
"'Tis all right." She followed the healer into the room, finding Cyrus wearing only his belted plaid. Suddenly, the air became sweltering. She averted her gaze, ashamed to stare openly at his shockingly bare chest. Saints! She'd severely underestimated the appeal of his partially-nude form.
Mistress Almsly curtsied, then, being so much shorter than Cyrus, stared upward at his shoulder. "Oh, good heavens, m'laird. 'Tis a frightful gash."
He grunted. "'Tis not so bad, I'm thinking."
"Would you mind sitting, so I can reach it?"
Cyrus pulled out one of the chairs and dropped into it.
While the healer spread out her supplies on the table, Elspeth took another wee peek at him. The prominent muscles of his broad chest were furred with a wedge of dark hair. It tapered down his abdomen to disappear beneath his plaid, reminding her of a dark arrow tip.
She noticed some startling battle scars on his ribs and arms, the older scars white puckered strips, while the more recent ones were still pinkish. She wanted to ask about them but forced herself to focus on his present injury as she strode toward him. Though the laceration was bloody, it appeared to be a shallow flesh wound, thank the saints.
"What do you think? Will I live?" His deep voice rumbled the words while he observed her, his midnight eyes intense.
Being so close to him, breathing in his scent—a heady combination of leather, male musk and a hint of lingering lavender soap—she found that her throat became as dry as oat flour and her tongue refused to cooperate for a long moment. "I believe you will." She forced the words out. "But I'm not a healer."
"Pour a wee bit of whisky on it." Cyrus lifted the bottle from the table and handed it to Fraser, then held his shirt in a bundle beneath his elbow to catch the stray drops.
"Ah, you give me leave to hurt you. I'll savor this."
"Don't be silly. 'Twill not hurt," Cyrus muttered.
When Fraser held the bottle over Cyrus's brawny shoulder and allowed a trickle of whisky to drench it, Elspeth could not stop herself from staring. Surely, 'twould burn like fire. But Cyrus didn't flinch. His jaw was set hard and his face remained impassive as he watched his brother's actions.
Finding her eyes fixed upon him, he lifted a brow. She quickly turned away and brought another pewter candlestick from the mantel, placed it on the table and lit it.
"'Tis as bright as midday in here already." Cyrus's dry words surprised her.
She detected a hint of amusement in his eyes. Was he teasing her?
Heated awareness suffused her. "I want Mistress Almsly to be able to see well."
After examining the wound, the healer decided it should be stitched. It was not as shallow as it first appeared. During the process, Cyrus only flinched one time… that Elspeth noticed. Indeed, he was an expert at showing a strong façade and hiding his feelings. What else did he pretend? He seemed a very complex man, and she hated to admit that he intrigued her far more than she wished. What would it be like to share a bed with such a man?
Saints, what madness possessed her? She did not even want to contemplate that scandalous thought. Relations with both the baron and the earl had been loathsome to her. Each association had been a business arrangement, and she'd held no attraction to either man. She had performed her duties and that was all.
Naturally, she had assumed she would always feel disinterested in any man, but that was not the case when she beheld Cyrus's naked upper body… or when his potent gaze ensnared hers. The simmering heat she caught a glimpse of in his eyes was mirrored in her chest. It made no sense, but some instinct within her proclaimed any involvement with him would be dangerous, for he could rip her life to shreds if he chose. She could never give up control to a man again, especially one so powerful.
"I appreciate the use of your healer." Cyrus's voice came from behind her.
She started and turned, not realizing she'd been staring into the fire. He had put on his shirt again, and she was uncertain whether she was relieved or disappointed in that development. "I'm glad she was able to stitch you up. One of the maids might find a clean shirt for you to wear."
"I have an extra one in my pack. The men and I always carry a spare set of clothing because we usually run into rain as we're traveling."
"I'll ask the maids to wash and repair that one, then."
"A good night to you both." Mistress Almsly bobbed a stiff curtsy. "Let me know if you need anything further this night."
"Much obliged." Cyrus gave a nod of gratitude.
The healer quit the room.
Finding his midnight eyes fixed upon her, Elspeth did not want to take her leave as of yet. "How is your pain?"
"A slight stinging, but naught a dram of whisky won't cure."
