Chapter 6 #2
The odor of whisky stung her nose, and the blood trickling from the wound flavored the air with the stink of copper. Her stomach churned anew.
The second stitch to the other side of the open wound was just as bad, as was pulling the catgut taut over the injury so that it closed.
The next, however, was easier. Somewhat.
And in a matter of time, heavy with careful concentration, she was finally done stitching the front entry and back exit of the wound.
Her jaw ached from gritting her back teeth, and her fingers ached from the effort to push the needle through.
She withdrew a roll of linen from her bag, provided to her by Alec.
Before she could unravel a strip of the binding, William sat forward, and his blazing brown eyes met hers. “It canna be all that difficult.”
Her mouth fell open with incredulity. “Have ye ever tended to an arrow wound and stitched it up yerself?”
“I mean the man from the tavern.”
And they were back to that. She’d meant to divert William from the topic, but it had been she who had become distracted.
“It canna be all that difficult to describe who he is.” William’s jaw clenched, and she knew he was enraged.
Could she blame him?
His men were dead because of her. So was Fib.
It was the latter that finally made her speak. “He’s my brother.”
“Yer brother.” His expression was unreadable.
“He works for an English earl on the border.” She looked down at the loosely rolled linen in her bloody hands. Guilt burned its way up from her heart. “I knew about the weapon,” she whispered. “He told me. He wasn’t supposed to tell me, but he did it because he wanted to protect me.”
“Why dinna ye tell me?” A muscle worked in Sir William’s sharp jaw.
“He’s an honorable man, the most chivalrous I’ve ever known.
” She hated how paltry her excuse sounded.
“This slight break in his morality was the only one I’ve ever seen in the entire lifetime that I’ve known him.
And he did it for me. If word ever got out that he had told me, it would destroy his hard-won reputation. ”
“Then maybe he shouldna have told ye at all,” William said.
“I wished he hadn’t as soon as he did.” The confession was bitter on Kinsey’s tongue. “I didn’t want to lie to ye. And I didn’t want the men getting hurt.”
Tension filled the silence between them, replacing impassioned words with the small pops and crackles of the fire. Kinsey slowly withdrew her hand from his and began to unravel the linen once more.
She’d expected anger, but it was not rage simmering in Sir William’s dark gaze when they locked eyes once more. It was interest. “Would he do it again?”
“Nay,” said with finality.
“Mayhap if ye went to him—”
“Nay.” She refused to discuss the possibility. “Even if it means I’m dismissed from yer army.”
William put a hand up in quiet surrender. “Ye willna be dismissed. Ye’re too valuable as an archer.”
His words eased some of the tension from her shoulders.
“I need to apply yer bandage.” She held up the rolled linen. “Ye’ll need to stand.”
He did as she asked, his mouth tightening with pain slightly as he did so.
Kinsey put a thick fold of cloth over his injuries and wrapped a length of linen around his waist several times to ensure it would stay in place.
His gaze remained fixed on her as she worked. “I would have gone through with the attack anyway. Even if I’d known about the weapon.”
Kinsey wound the linen around him, holding one end gently with her fingertips. “Would ye have?” Once done, she cut the bandage with her blade and secured one end of it by tucking it against the firmly coiled linen.
“Aye.” He bent one leg up and rested his forearm on his knee. “’Twas a rare and tempting opportunity for the castle to have so few guards. The fault doesna lie with ye.”
As kind as it was of him to say, Kinsey couldn’t believe her decision to keep Drake’s information had nothing to do with so much death. She gazed down at the remainder of the rolled linen in her palm.
William lifted her face, so she looked at him once more. “It wasna yer fault.”
She searched his eyes, a rich, velvety brown, fringed with dark, thick lashes.
He hadn’t shaved in several days, and a fresh shadow of whiskers covered his sharp jaw.
His lips were full, soft compared to the hard lines of his handsome face, and she found herself wondering what they would feel like against her own.
His hand moved over her cheek, caressing it with his rough fingertips.
He looked like a nobleman with his costly clothes and ornate sword.
But right now, in a dreary cave on the English side of the border, as both mourned the loss of their fellow warriors, each shouldering the blame, he was more attractive to her than ever before.
His thumb trailed down to her chin, and his lashes lowered as he watched his finger. Gentle as a whisper, he swept his touch over her lower lip, sending a small flutter through her pulse.
She liked his touch. She didn’t want to admit it, but the tender brush of his skin to hers made her crave more. Her eyes closed as she gave way to the sensation. She wanted to tilt her face toward him but thought that might be too much of an invitation and resisted the urge.
“Beautiful Kinsey.” His voice was intimate and low, sending goose bumps dancing over her skin.
Her lips were suddenly dry. She flicked her tongue between them, and he caressed her with his fingertip once more. It made her want to draw his finger into her mouth, to suckle the tip delicately.
He was overwhelming.
His undeniable attractiveness, the innate goodness in him that tried to assume the guilt, the pleasing stroke of his skin over hers, it was too much. And yet not enough.
Part of her wanted to lose herself in him, to replace the grief with something far more enjoyable.
As soon as she had the thought, it was replaced with the way the tavern wenches had swarmed around him. He was too charismatic to have discouraged them for long. She’d seen his type in the village far too many times before. Handsome. Charming. Sought after.
She would be another woman in a long line of those showing interest. Hadn’t she brought enough shame to her house by leaving without warning? She would not also become a slattern.
Her eyes flew open, and she leaned away from his touch.
His brows flinched with confusion and then hurt before it was shoved behind a confident half-smile. “Reid?”
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Because ye are drawn to Reid.”
Confusion addled her for a moment as she tried to figure out what he was referring to. Suddenly she remembered how she had initially discouraged his affection is by claiming to have an attraction to Reid.
“Aye,” she replied. “Of course.”
The little smile on his lips widened. “Ye lied to me about him, dinna ye?”
Heat touched her cheeks, and suddenly she felt like Clara again with her blushes. The thought of her sister immediately made her picture home and her Mum. A flash of regret pierced her heart.
Were they worried about her? Would they try to find her? What would Drake tell them?
No doubt, her mother would be heartbroken.
“Ye’re right,” she said at last. “I’m not interested in anyone. I’m a warrior, and I’m here to fight for Scotland.” She pushed angrily up to her feet. “Not to become some man’s leman.”
Before he could protest, before she could be lured by the temptation to stay and indulge her curiosity, she left the cave and didn’t bother to look back.