Page 47 of Hold Fast

He grit his teeth. “I have certainly been inlesspain.”

“Fenella tells me she cannae remember a week when one of you didnae require stitches.”

Ewan chuckled, but the laugh turned into a groan as a bolt of pain lanced through him. He shifted on the bed. “Aye. Why do you think I sought to steal a healer?”

Una leaned over the wound to examine it more closely. “You didnae steal me. You asked me quite politely, in fact. Though you did use a heavy hand with the guilt.”

“I didnae steal you,” he agreed, his teeth clenched against the pain. “But I would have, if I’d had to.”

She looked at his face, her mouth a hard, concerned line, and even through the pain-fueled waves of nausea, there were butterflies in his stomach. She placed a clean piece of linen against the wound, applying pressure, and just like that, the butterflies were gone.

“Fuck!” he cursed

“I am sorry,” she said, “but I must slow the bleeding enough that I can check for any debris in the wound.”

She pushed the cloth into a different spot, and he groaned between his teeth, the sound rising to a near squeak.

“Are you wounded anywhere else?”

“Besides my pride?”

She smiled. “I believe your confidence is strong enough to survive such a paltry thing as wounded pride, m’laird.”

Damn her. She was baiting him. Here he was, writhing in agony, and she wasteasinghim. There was a ghost of a smirk at the corner of her mouth, and she seemed softer than usual, more at ease. He was unaccustomed to seeing her without a frown at best, a scowl at worst. But now, her mouth was relaxed, her eyes focused on the task before her. He couldn’t help but stare.

“You’re beautiful, Una,” he said.

She ducked her head, but he reached out with a hand that was shaky from blood loss and exhaustion and placed his fingers under her chin, coaxing her to look at him.

“You are.”

She looked away again, back to his wound.

“Andyouare lucky it was a sharp sickle and nae a pitchfork,” she said, using a damp piece of cloth to clean around the edges of the wound.

It hurt, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re right about that. Better a gash than to be skewered.”

“It makes my job much easier.”

She leaned to the side and reached for a dark bottle on the side table. When she pulled the stopper, he smelled vinegar. She poured it into the wound, and he nearly flew off the bed from the way it burned.

“God’s bones, Una! Do you really hate me so much?”

“Shhh. This part will be done soon,” she said, pouring another splash of vinegar and wiping it away, her brows knit tightly together in concentration. After a while, she said, “And I dinnae hate you.”

“You fooled me,” he groaned.

She placed her free hand in the center of his chest and applied gentle pressure. His heart beat fast beneath her palm. She pressed another linen square hard against his wound. She was bent over him now, one hand on his chest, the other wedged between her body and his as she leaned firmly into his side.

He felt a stirring beneath the sheet.Dear God, not now. Not now, I beg of you.

But it was too late. The sheet rose away from his body. He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice, but he should have known better. Una noticedeverything. She kept her eyes locked on his wound but he saw her cheeks turn red as roses.

“Christ,” he said through clenched teeth. “Strike me dead now.”

“And ruin all my hard work?” she said in a tone that was impossible to decipher as jab or jest.