Chapter 21
Ceana watched as the goat nosed at something she couldn’t see on the floor.
“Ness wouldnae eat while ye were gone,” Tommy insisted, his hand wrapped around two of her fingers.
She was propped against the pillows so that her bruised ribs did not pull beneath her own weight. Paisley sat at her other side with the folded blanket spread across their legs, and Ness lay near the foot of the bed, raising her head whenever Ceana shifted.
“She ate half a turnip yesterday,” Paisley pointed out.
“That was different,” Tommy argued. “She wouldnae touch proper food. She paced from the fireplace to the door, then bleated whenever anyone crossed the courtyard. Last night, she slept outside me chamber and kept wakin’ me.”
Ceana stroked her thumb across his knuckles. “Perhaps she feared losing the one person in this castle willin’ to sneak her apples.”
“I give her apples.”
“Aye, but ye make her perform tricks first. I respect her dignity.”
Tommy began explaining that Ness enjoyed standing on overturned buckets, and Ceana smiled until a deeper breath made her wince.
Paisley’s gaze sharpened. “Are ye truly well?”
“Muriel found nothin’ broken.” Ceana adjusted the blanket with her free hand. “I will hurt for a while. Tomorrow should be easier, and the day after that easier still. I am tired, though.”
Paisley watched her for another moment before accepting the answer.
“Ye must be happy to have yer aunt back, are ye nae?”
Before Paisley could respond, Oscar appeared in the doorway.
A line of dried blood covered one side of his shirt, and dirt streaked the skin above his collar.
He didn’t look terrible, though, and at that moment, that was quite a relief.
Even the cut on his brow had clotted beneath a dark strand of hair.
His attention moved from the pillows supporting Ceana to Tommy’s grip and Paisley’s careful position beside her, his hand curling at his side. Ceana met his gaze.
He crossed to the bed and stopped within reach. “How badly does it hurt?”
“Every part of me has raised a complaint.”
Tommy looked concerned. “Even yer toes?”
“Me toes have been remarkably brave.”
Oscar touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. The brief contact seemed to satisfy the children more than her answer had. Tommy’s shoulders lowered, and Paisley slackened her grip on the blanket.
“Ceana needs a bath, warmth, and sleep,” he said.
“I can be quiet,” Tommy declared at once.
Ness raised her head at the protest.
Paisley looked from Oscar to Ceana. “Will ye stay with her?”
“Aye.”
Oscar lowered himself beside the bed until he was level with the children. “Ye both did well to keep her company. Ye may come back at first light if she is awake.”
Tommy tightened his grip. “How will ye ken she will still be here?”
“Because I will be here.”
Ceana saw the promise in Oscar’s gaze and the careful distance he kept from the bruises on her arms. It was clear he had given the children the answer he needed for himself.
That thought made her skin prickle a little.
Paisley climbed out of bed first. She drew a night rail from beneath the blanket and placed it on the stool beside the fireplace.
“Mairi warmed it,” she said. “I thought ye might be cold after the bath.”
“That was wisely done.” Ceana touched her hand. “Thank ye.”
A small smile curved Paisley’s mouth before she collected Ness’s lead.
Tommy bent over Ceana’s uninjured hand and pressed his cheek against her knuckles. “Ye will be here when I return?”
“Aye.”
Oscar placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “She will.”
Paisley led Ness out of the room. Tommy followed, looking back before pulling the door shut. Their footsteps lingered outside, then retreated down the corridor.
Oscar remained where they had left him.
“Do ye still want the bath Muriel recommended?” he asked.
“Aye. I can smell smoke in me hair.”
At his call, servants carried in the portable tub and set it behind the screen near the fireplace.
Ceana remained covered while they brought buckets of steaming water and clean linen.
Oscar tested the water with the inside of his wrist, added cooler water, then placed a low stool beside the tub.
He arranged the towels and comb within reach before dismissing everyone.
Once again, the door closed.
Oscar looked toward Ceana. “Can ye stand?”
“With yer arm.”
He offered his forearm and allowed her to set the pace. The first step pulled sharply beneath her ribs. Her breath hitched, and he stopped before she could attempt another step.
“Back to the bed?”
“Carry me to the stool.”
His gaze searched her face. Once she raised her arms as far as the bruises allowed, he slid one hand beneath her knees and supported her back with the other. He kept clear of her upper arms as he lifted her.
Ceana rested her cheek against his chest. The smell of blood and smoke clung to his clothes, and his heart pounded hard beneath her ear. He set her on the stool without lingering.
“Will ye help me with the fastenings?” she asked.
“Aye,” he responded and kneeled behind her, slowly loosening her gown. Each lace passed slowly through his fingers. When the sleeve caught around her strained right wrist, he stopped.
“Turn me hand inward,” she murmured.
Oscar followed her directions, supporting the joint until the sleeve slipped free.
For some odd reason, his restraint at that moment made her acutely aware of her exposed shoulders and his breath near the back of her neck.
“Did Muriel examine that?” Ceana asked, glancing at the cut near his hairline.
“It is shallow.”
“Shallow cuts still require cleanin’.”
“Ye may inspect it later. For now, ye need a bath.”
He helped her into the tub, supporting her left side while she lowered herself. The warm water stung the smaller scrapes along her legs.
“Bearable?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He folded dry linen beneath her bound palm and settled it on the rim. After removing the remaining pins from her hair, he slowly poured water over the strands. His palm shielded her eyes while smoke and dust ran into the bath.
Ceana closed them as his fingertips worked soap into her scalp. The pressure remained gentle, each movement steady until the tension at the back of her neck eased. He rinsed her hair and washed her shoulders, then paused with the cloth above her ribs.
“Here?”
“Lower. The left side is less sore.”
Oscar moved his hand lower. He washed her back before moving to her legs, lifting each one only far enough to pass the cloth beneath it.
“Thank ye for goin’ to Morrag,” Ceana said. “For savin’ me parents and the clansfolk.”
His hand stopped around her ankle. “Yer life isnae a debt ye owe me, Ceana.”
“Morrag isnae yer clan.”
Oscar sighed. “It is yers. That means it is mine as well.” He then set her foot into the water and reached for a clean cloth. “May I see yer arms?”
Ceana raised the left one carefully. Bryce’s finger marks had darkened across her skin. Oscar’s hand stopped before touching them. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he examined the edges with the lightest pressure.
“That part is tender,” she said, and he withdrew his fingers at once. She laid her uninjured hand over his wrist. “Bryce cannae touch me again.”
He looked at her face. His shoulders remained rigid, though his next breath came more evenly. He rinsed the soap from her skin and folded the cloth beside the tub.
“Now, kneel where I can reach ye,” she said.
“The cut has stopped bleedin’.”
“I cannae keep starin’ at it without doin’ nothin’, me Laird,” she responded, her voice a bit sharper than she had intended. “Someone needs to tend to it, and I ken it isnae goin’ to be ye.”
Oscar moved between the tub and the fireplace, then lowered himself to one knee.
Ceana wet a clean strip of linen in the tub and then wiped the dried blood from his brow, holding his temple steady with her thumb. His eyes closed briefly. Beneath the grime, she saw the deep shadows left by battle and two hard days in the saddle.
She cleaned a streak from his cheek and examined the small cut. “It has stopped bleedin’.”
Oscar did not move.
“See, that wasnae so hard now, was it?” she asked.
“I told ye it wasnae a problem.”
“Well, now it wouldnae be,” she whispered.
For a minute, there was nothing but silence between them. Ceana didn’t know what to feel, and a part of her needed to make that clear.
“Ye can go to meet yer people now, me Laird. As ye can see, I am alive.”
His gaze dropped to the bruises on her arms. “I ken ye are alive. I saw ye speak. I have heard ye breathe.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I need to make certain ye’re alive, Ceana. I need to calm somethin’ inside me.”
Ceana cocked her head, then held out her uninjured hand. “Then help me out of the bath. I can show ye properly.”
“What are ye sayin’?” Oscar asked, his voice rough.
He remained on one knee, close enough for her to see the pulse beneath the dirt at his throat.
“I want ye to lift me out of the bath and lay me on the bed.” She ran her thumb across his cheek. “Then I want yer mouth on me.”
His breathing stopped for one beat. “Ye want me to… even after what just happened to ye?”
“Aye. I want to feel yer hands and hear yer voice. I want ye to listen when I tell ye what I need.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes at her, almost in disbelief. “All right.”
Without waiting any longer, he rose and grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around her before lifting her out of the water. Once she was seated on the stool, he kneeled again and dried her with slow pressure, beginning at her feet and working upward.
His touch followed the condition of her body. Around the scrapes, he blotted the moisture. Near her ribs, his hand remained open and light. By the time he reached her breasts, her nipples had tightened beneath the linen.
His gaze lifted to hers, a question in it.
“Continue,” she said.
He passed the cloth over each breast, then slid one arm beneath her knees and carried her to the bed. Ceana directed him to arrange the pillows until she could recline without pulling at her ribs. Her damp hair spread across the linen as she relaxed further into the mattress.