Page 87 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Let me see."

"Maighread—"

"Let. Me. See." She reached for his hand before he could protest further, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Dinnae be stubborn about this."

Tavish sighed but offered his hand. She turned it over, her touch gentle despite her stern tone. Her fingers probed the swollen area carefully, testing for breaks or serious damage.

"Daes this hurt?" She pressed lightly on the muscle.

"A bit."

"And this?"

"Aye."

She made a disapproving sound. "Ye've strained it badly. What were ye thinking, gripping so hard?"

"I wasnae thinking. That's the problem."

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "Clearly. Come. I'm going tae wrap this before it swells worse."

"Ye dinnae need tae⁠—"

"I ken I dinnae need tae. I'm choosing tae She tugged on his wrist, pulling him toward the castle. "Now stop arguing and come with me."

Tavish followed, aware of the curious looks from the other warriors. Greg caught his eye from across the yard, smirking openly. Tavish ignored him.

Maighread led him through the keep to a small chamber off the main hall. Clearly a healing room of sorts, judging by the shelves lined with bandages and ointments. She gestured to a stool near the window.

"Sit."

He sat.

She moved around the room with practiced efficiency, gathering supplies. Clean linen for bandaging. A pot of salve that smelled faintly of mint. A basin of water.

"This is becoming a habit," Tavish observed. "Ye tending me injuries."

"Then perhaps ye should stop getting injured." She pulled a second stool close, settling in front of him. "Give me yer hand."

He extended his arm. She cradled his hand in both of hers, examining the swelling again with careful attention. Her fingers were warm against his skin, gentle but sure.

"Ye pushed too hard during training," she said, dipping a cloth in the water. "Why?"

"Needed tae work through some restlessness."

"By straining yer sword hand?" She pressed the damp cloth against the swollen muscle, her touch soothing. "That's nae restlessness. That's recklessness."

"Is there a difference?"

"Aye. One is understandable. The other is foolish." She set the cloth aside and reached for the salve. "And ye're too clever tae be foolish, which means something is bothering ye."

Tavish watched as she scooped out a generous amount of ointment, warming it between her palms. The motion was almost hypnotic. Soothing in a way that had nothing to do with the salve itself.

"Maybe I'm nae as clever as ye think," he said.

"Dinnae deflect." She began working the ointment into his hand, her fingers firm but careful. "Tell me what's bothering ye."

How could he explain? That sitting beside her in the solar the night before had felt more intimate than any physical touch? That teaching her how to test a blade's edge this morning had made him want things he had no right to want yet? That every moment spent near her without being able to truly touch her was slowly driving him to madness?