"I have just the thing." Anna dug into her sack. "Tavia gave me some salve for my neck."
"Your neck?" He eyed her, wondering if Blackburn had injured her neck when he'd shoved her down years ago. "How did you hurt your neck?"
"I know not. It often pains me, but this balm is very soothing. I rub it on before I go to bed." She pulled out the small jar, opened it and set it aside. "I'll help you remove your shirt so your shoulder doesn't pain you so much."
He glanced away, aching for her to strip him bare and pretend his scars didn’t exist. He would relish her silky skin against his. But what would she think of his scars? Would she be disgusted by them? Of a certainty, all warriors possessed scars, but his were more extreme than most.
What the devil did he care? He couldn't impress her… he couldn't impress anyone. He was what he was and naught more. After unfastening his penannular brooch, letting his plaid sash fall and removing his doublet, he pulled his shirt from beneath his plaid and yanked it over his head. The sharp pain stabbed his shoulder again and he silently ground his teeth. Without looking at her, he sat before the fire-pit on the low stool.
She approached him from behind. "Where is the pain worse?"
Did she realize how soft, husky and seductive her voice was? He thought not. It slid through his senses and stroked his body to life.
With his opposite hand, he pressed his fingers around the area until he found the tender spot on his shoulder. "Here."
She smoothed the balm onto his skin and massaged it in. At first, even her light touch was painful, but he would gladly endure it because she was touching him. Finally, the pain lessened and his muscles loosened. The mint and lavender scent of the salve helped soothe away the tension. He released a breath.
Anna extended her massage down his arm, over the spot where the bone had been broken.
When his body had started healing from the torture and his many injuries, he'd pushed himself each day to regain his previous mobility until finally he was scaling mountains faster than his clansmen. Some of them had never been injured and they had no inkling what it was to be bedridden and unable to move without assistance. Neacal had hated the helplessness he'd felt then. He'd sworn to himself, if he could ever get out of bed, he would train himself and become stronger than he'd ever been before. Now, he endured the lingering aches, ignoring them as best he could, in exchange for his renewed agility and strength.
Anna gently stroked the raised area on his upper arm. Her touch held him spellbound. Tingles and excitement flowed from her fingertips, sending charges of arousal through him.
"'Tis where my arm was broken," he said.
"What happened?"
A memory of the pain flashed through his mind. Squeezing his eyes closed, he shook his head. "'Tis better that you don't know."
"They say you were tortured. Is that true?" she whispered.
"Aye." He dropped silent, focusing instead on how amazing her massaging fingers felt.
"What did they do to you?" she asked.
"Are you certain you wish to know?"
"Of course. I told you everything that happened to me."
Indeed, and he admired her courage. Still, he had reservations about revealing the extent of the torture. Why laden her mind with such evil, to add to the abuse she'd already suffered? He would give her the tame and uncomplicated version. "I was a spy for King James. My da was always his loyal subject and was knighted for his service. I wished to be like him. The king knew some of the rebellious clans were ignoring the laws and doing whatever they wished. He sent me in to see what kind of mischief they were into and report back to him. He needed to know of any who were traitors to the crown."
"I see."
"Once they discovered my clandestine activity, they tossed me in their dungeon."
"But how did your arm get broken?" Anna whispered.
He shoved back the suffocating darkness and forced himself to speak normally. "They tied me to a torture device similar to a rack that stretched out my limbs. They dislocated my shoulder and broke the same arm. My right hip and left knee were dislocated."
"Good heavens. Who did this?" she asked in a fierce whisper.
"Titus, the MacRankin chief, and his henchmen." Nausea and rage rose up within him when he pictured the bastard's face. With each question he'd asked, Neacal had told the truth, but the persecutors had not liked his responses, cutting him shallowly with a dirk each time. MacRankin hadn't wanted to kill him right away; he'd wanted Neacal to suffer.
Anna's small hands massaged the tops of both his shoulders, creating a type of sensual torture. "Why did they decide to let you go?"
"They didn't. I ken they would've eventually killed me. I had lost so much blood from the cuts, I was nearly dead already. Once my father and the clan discovered my whereabouts, they brought a small army to rescue me."
"Oh. I'm so glad they did." Her breath stirred the hair near his ear, giving him an intense and heated shiver.
