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Evan spit the cloth from his teeth. “Grandfather, sit down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, whelp.”
His eyes rolling to the ceiling, Evan strode over to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter. He came back to her, throwing the shirt and strips of linen onto the table. Keeping one strip, he doused it with whisky.
“This will sting.”
She held her upper arm out to him, looking away from the bloody tear in the sleeve of her dress. She’d nursed plenty of wounds at the Den, but she’d never been able to stomach the sight of her own blood.
Evan tore wide the rip on her sleeve and set the whisky-soaked cloth to her skin.
She gasped. Sting was an understatement.
“Sorry.” Evan glanced at her face.
“Ye got to get in there, deep, Ev. Ye ken that.” Both hands leaning against his cane, the earl’s head bobbed over Evan’s shoulder, the frown on his face setting all his wrinkles deeper than they already were.
“I ken.” Evan gave her an apologetic half-smile. “And sorry for this next part, but I need to pull the skin apart to make certain nothing is stuck in the wound.”
She nodded and looked away from him, staring at the low flames in the fireplace across the room.
Using the tips of his fingers, he pulled apart the gash and swiped the cloth deeper into the wound.
She sucked in a breath, steeling herself against the stabs of pain from his prodding.
“Good. It’s not too deep.” His fingers left her arm and then tore away the bottom part of her sleeve. “Let me wrap it.”
She exhaled her held breath, the throbbing of the wound still making her stomach curdle.
“How the hell did this happen?” With those words, the earl sounded exactly like his grandson.
Evan shook his head. “I don’t exactly know other than she walked into the wrong end of the great hall just as Gilroy let an arrow fly.” He started to wrap a clean strip of the linen around her arm.
The earl looked to her. “Why would ye do that, lass?”
She winced as the linen pulled across the wound. “I didn’t know it was the practice grounds for archery. It’s inside. A boy showed me to the door to meet with Evan.”
“Ah, well, ye cannot go poking about an old castle like this and not run afoul of some trouble, lass.” He lifted his right hand from his cane and pointed to her upper arm that was quickly disappearing beneath the many overlapping wraps of cloth. “That’ll heal fine, keep moving the arm. Ye take pain well, lass.”
With a nod to himself, Evan’s grandfather shuffled his feet in a tight circle and moved back across the room to his chair.
Her head tilted down, she looked up at the back of the earl, trying to keep the glare out of her eyes. His dismissal of an arrow going through her arm was infuriating. An arrow. Through her arm.
Hell, what did she know? Maybe this was an everyday occurrence here at Whetland.
Her glare shifted to Evan. Even if it was an everyday occurrence for them, the pain coursing through her body from the gash wasn’t an everyday occurrence for her.
Evan tied off the end of the strip of linen and looked to her. Seething an outward breath, he shook his head. “I know. I know it hurts. I know it never should have happened.”
The rage had rekindled back in his eyes now that he could see she wasn’t grievously injured. Obvious fury that was enough to ease the burden of her own rage from her shoulders.
“Stay in here.” Through gritted teeth, his words fumed. “After I go and beat my brother, I’ll be back to take you on a proper tour of the castle. Something I should have done the first morning after we arrived.”
Without waiting for an answer, Evan stormed out of the room, his fists clenched.
Uneasiness sank into the pit of her belly.
Neither Evan nor his grandfather had jumped to the thought that maybe it wasn’t an accident. That maybe Gilroy had meant to make her bleed. Meant to kill her.
