Page 40 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

The infirmary was empty when she led him inside. Pale, reluctant morning light seeped through the narrow windows, illuminating shelves packed with linen, clay jars, and bunches of dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

Roy stopped beside the nearest table.

“I can bind it myself.”

Donaldina closed the door behind them. “Nae.”

He looked at her.

She found a basin upon the shelf and poured water into it from the pitcher. “Ye refused me three times when I asked ye tae teach me tae defend meself. I have therefore concluded that refusal is merely how ye begin every reasonable conversation.”

“This is different.”

“Aye. I wasnae bleeding through me clothing.”

Roy looked down at the dark stain spreading on his side, his expression implying that the blood had betrayed him by revealing itself.

Donaldina set the basin upon the table. “Sit.”

He did not move.

She turned toward him. “Must every instruction become a battle?”

“Only those delivered as commands.”

“Then consider it a request spoken with unusual clarity.”

The corner of his mouth shifted, though pain tightened the rest of his face before the expression could become amusement.

“Sit down, Roy.”

This time he obeyed. He lowered himself onto a stool beside the table, moving with greater care than he had shown in the courtyard. Had she not seen the blood, he would have continued carrying timber until his body denied him the choice. Men called such conduct endurance. Donaldina increasingly suspected that it was merely pride wearing a more respectable name.

She gathered clean linen, a needle and the small jar of spirits Elspeth kept for wounds. When she returned, Roy had begun unfastening the leather guard at his wrist.

“Where is the healer?” he asked.

“Helping in the village.”

His gaze settled upon her hands. “Have ye stitched a wound before?”

“Many. Lachlan possessed an unfortunate belief that every wall, horse and fishing blade in Dun Ard had entered intae a private conspiracy against him.”

Roy looked down. The mention of her brother placed a silence between them, but it was no longer the hostile silence that followed Roy through the gates. Grief remained there, deep and unaltered, yet it had begun to share its space with understanding.

Donaldina poured the spirits into a shallow cup.

“Remove yer tunic.”

Roy’s eyes lifted to hers. For reasons she refused to examine, warmth crept beneath her collar.

“I cannae reach the wound through wool,” she said.

He exhaled through his nose and reached for the fastening at his shoulder. The movement pulled at his side. His mouth tightened, and his hand stopped. Donaldina crossed the distance before she considered whether she ought.

“Let me.”

His fingers lingered on the fastening a moment longer before he lowered his hand. Donaldina stood between his knees.