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“Like a baby,” he replied, sounding surprised. “I am feeling much better, and the pain is beginning tae ease.”
“That is good news!” Greta said happily, smiling. “Soon ye will be up an’ about again.”
He stared at her for a moment. “And what will I do then?” he asked pointedly.
Greta frowned. “Why are ye askin’ me? This is none o’ my concern.”
“Yes it is.” His voice was cold, and he wore a heavy frown as he looked at her. “Ye could take my horse an’ leave me here. Ye could be miles away by nightfall. Why do ye no’ just go?”
Greta realized that leaving would be the best thing to do. She had no wish to be sucked into Finn’s life of crime, and anyway, her conscience would not allow it. As well as that, she had come to care for him, and she had no wish to lose that regard for him. Yes, it would be much better if she went back to what was left of Shieldaig and the farm, then tried to start again.
Then why could she not do it? Why was it that she felt the need to be with him all the time? She had acknowledged to herself that she cared for him, but surely not to the extent of sacrificing her freedom?
“What are ye thinking?” Finn asked suddenly.
Greta blinked, startled. She had been daydreaming and was sitting now gazing into the fire, unaware that the object of her ruminations was staring at her.
She laughed. “Absolutely nothin’!” she lied. “But now we are goin’ tae have tae get that injury o’ yers sorted out before ye go on. I want tae have a look at it tae make sure it is healin’ right.”
“Ye are good at everythin’!” he laughed.
“I cannae sing,” she replied, smiling.
All of a sudden, she heard a deep male voice breaking into a Scottish folk song that she knew very well. She had never heard it sung in a man’s voice before, and as Greta looked up, the expression on Finn’s face and the look in his eyes sent a thrill straight to her core. He was without a doubt the most desirable man she had ever seen, and his voice! It was deeper than the biggest drum she had ever heard, and it thrummed and rumbled from his body like the purring of a giant cat.
Presently, he stopped singing, and she smiled at him. “Ye have a lovely voice,” she observed.
“Thank ye,” he replied, and she noticed that he was blushing. “They used tae get me tae sing around the campfire at night, but I would never sing the dirty songs, an’ they all made fun o’ me.” He laughed, shaking his head.
Greta smiled, then busied herself unwrapping the bandages again so that she did not have to meet his eyes. The cut was healing nicely, and there did not seem to be any signs of infection, so she allowed it to lie open to the air for a while.
As she prepared breakfast from the remains of the food they had eaten the previous night, Finn was trying to inspect the wound, even though it was at a very awkward angle from his eyeline.
“It is quite clean,” Greta assured him. “It seems tae be healin’ well.”
“How many stitches are there?” he asked anxiously.
“Six,” Greta replied, smiling at him. “Ye will have a scar, as I told ye, but I think ye will live.”
As Greta worked, he studied her. Her hands were sure and capable, their touch as light as a feather. She wrapped his wound in the last strip of the altar cloth and sat back to dust off her hands. He laughed softly.
“What is so funny?” she asked, frowning.
“Yer hands are so soft,” he replied. “And I am no’ used tae bein’ fussed over by a woman. The lads would be laughin’ at me, but they would be green wi’ envy as well.”
“Fussed over?” Greta’s voice was almost a squeak. “Fussed over? If ye call cookin’ for ye, tendin’ tae your wounds, makin’ camp, an’ helpin’ ye ontae yer horse ‘fussin’ over ye,’ ye have a funny way o’ lookin’ at things.”
She stood up and walked into the trees, then came out a few moments later and began to heap the food into the bowl for him. “Eat,” she ordered. “We will have tae hunt for somethin’ else soon.”
He ate silently while she folded up blankets and put away their meager supplies in the saddlebags, then she took the bowl from him and ate her own portion.
“Are ye angry with me?” he asked, puzzled.
“Aye!” she snapped. “I have done the best I can for ye, and ye are laughin’ at me.”
“I am sorry,” Finn said, shrugging. “I did no’ mean that I did not appreciate everythin’ ye did for me, Greta.”
“Maybe I am a wee bit too touchy.” She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we goin’?”
