Chapter 22
“Fill the lady’s tub. Hot water, now. Move,” Neil ordered, his voice low and hard.
“Aye, me Laird,” a maid answered, and two more hurried off with buckets that knocked against their knees.
His hand remained on the small of Kristen’s back, and each time she faltered, he slowed, letting her find her balance.
The corridor felt too quiet as he opened the door to her chamber and guided her inside. The fire in the grate spat heat into the room while steam rose as the first kettle was emptied into the copper tub.
“Sit,” he murmured.
She lowered herself onto the chair by the fire. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, and a smear of blood marked her cheek like red paint.
Neil set his cloak aside, rolled up his sleeves, and crossed to the washstand. The bucket there was half full, but he dipped a cloth in it anyway. He wrung it once, then went back and dropped to his knees before her.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
Her gaze rose to his, slow as if moving through mud. She trembled, then stilled.
He lifted the cloth and wiped the blood from her cheek in patient circles. The line came away in faint pink swirls that bled into the water when he rinsed the cloth and wrung it again.
“Any pain?” he asked.
She shook her head. The motion was small, but a strand of hair had stuck to her jaw. He freed it with his thumb, and she shivered at the touch. However, she did not pull back.
He took her hands. Blood lay thin across her knuckles and the back of her fingers. Not hers. Not this time.
He turned her palm up. “May I?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
He cleaned each finger, careful as a man handling glass. Dirt from the road disappeared slowly. He ran his thumb along the base of her fingers to chase what was left.
She watched him work as if through fog. The tub behind him filled in soft rushes, and steam rose to the ceiling.
He rinsed the cloth, wrung it again, then folded it and rubbed it over her delicate wrist. He could feel the slight throb of her pulse under his touch.
She wasn’t scared. At least, he couldn’t see fear in her eyes. She was only shaken. Distraught. Like someone who had just survived their first battle with an enemy clan.
He kept his palm beneath her hand anyway so she would not feel the cool air after the warm water.
“Ye’re shivering,” he noted.
“I am trying nae to,” she mumbled.
“Daenae worry, I am almost finished.”
He cleaned the last trace of blood from her thumb and set her hand down in her lap. His own hand lingered a moment longer than it should, then withdrew.
He rinsed the cloth again and worked a narrow line from her throat, just where a spray of blood had hit her when he had swung his sword. She swallowed.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
“I am,” she said. “I think.”
He wiped her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth, where a fleck had dried. Her lips parted. He withdrew the cloth at once and rinsed it clean.
Water sloshed into the tub as another maid came and went. The room grew warmer.
Neil reached for her hands again, turned them palm up, and checked each nail. Nothing left. No stain she would find later and break all over again.
He set the cloth aside and fetched a towel to dry her skin. All the while, she watched him as if she had never seen him before.
“Drink,” he said, holding a cup to her mouth.
She sipped and coughed once. He kept the cup there until she took more. Eventually, color returned to her lips.
He set the cup down, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the splash of water into the tub. The maids had left, and the door was closed. There was only the fire, and the air between them, and the quiet drip from the cloth he had wrung too tightly.
Her eyes fell to her clean hands. “I hoped,” she whispered, “I wouldnae face violence again. Nae after… everything that happened.”
Neil reached for the cloth and wrung it once more. Red tinted the drip. He watched it fall into the bucket and fade.
He knew the speeches men gave at times like this. He had heard them in halls, at funerals, and at bedsides. However, he had never believed them.
“Violence is part of life,” he muttered.
She lifted her gaze. It was clear and steady, though her lashes were still damp. “It doesnae have to be.”
He opened his mouth, set to answer out of habit. To tell her a hard thing that would keep her safe, or keep him from feeling. But nothing came out.
He looked at her, and at the hands he had just cleaned, and at the steaming tub by the fire.
For once, he had no response.
Kristen stepped out of the tub, steam curling behind her, then grabbed another towel and wrapped it tightly around her body.
The heat had chased the tremor from her limbs, yet the heaviness in her chest stayed. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, her toes pressed into the cold floor.
Neil moved around the chamber with quiet purpose, setting the damp cloths aside, stoking the fire, and then brought her a fresh square of linen.
“Me faither wasnae a good man,” she said, her voice even but small in the quiet room.
He went still, the cloth clutched in his hand. He did not sit. He did not speak. He didn’t do anything that would stop her from talking.
“He drank too much ale for most of the day. He shouted. He broke things… Broke people.” She used a corner of the towel to wipe her forearm, as if the motion could make the words gentler.
“I did what I could to shield me younger sister. I told her stories. I hid her whenever he came home in a rage. I wanted a different life for her, ye see. Later, I realized I could want a different life for meself as well. A caring family. A home that didnae frighten anyone.”
The word caring hung in the space between them.
Neil stepped closer and held out his hand. She extended her left one without thinking. He took it and began to dry her fingers, slow and careful.
His touch was steady, and his head was bent. She watched him as if she might find an answer in the set of his mouth.
“I cannae promise ye that kind of life.” His tone was soft, almost apologetic. “But I can keep ye safe. That much I swear.”
She nodded once. Gratitude rose and met disappointment in the same breath. Safety was not nothing. But it was not everything her heart wanted at this point.
He took her other hand and ran the towel over each knuckle, then pressed the cloth to each nail to blot the last of the dampness.
The work was exact. The care was real. The distance, however, did not dissipate.
“Thank ye,” she murmured.
He folded the towel and set it aside.
She stood up and pulled a clean sheet from the chest, wrapped it around her, and tucked the corner tight. Her hair fell loose down her back. Droplets slid down her skin and caught the candlelight, before falling away.
She was half-naked, yet she did not feel cold.
“Is that why ye daenae want children? Because of the men who captured ye?”
Neil shot her a confused look. “What?”
Kristen exhaled. “I suppose what I am asking is that when ye find the last bandit, will ye want a child then? Once they are gone, will ye finally want one?”
His jaw clenched. “Probably nae.”
She went still. Something small and bright folded in on itself. Neil did not see it.
He continued, his voice flat, “I want to focus on the clan. I have an heir. Finn already gives the people something to rally behind. I daenae want to sire another child and make them choose.”
Kristen felt the ache rise and schooled her features. She kept her chin up and smoothed the sheet at her hip. “I see,” she whispered.
Neil took a step toward her, his hand hovering mid-air. She took a step back, and his hand fell to his side.
The fire popped. Water dripped down the rim of the tub and made a small ring that widened and then vanished.
“Thank ye,” she croaked. “For taking care of me tonight.”
The words were simple. They were also the closing of a door.
She lifted her chin a little higher and held his eyes.
“Ye daenae need to sleep here,” she added, her voice too quiet for the gravity of her words.
Neil blinked. “What?”
“Ye daenae want to sire an heir, Neil. That means ye daenae plan to claim me.”