Chapter 4 #2
“Mmm, I’ve cleaned many such wounds,” she replied, inspecting her handiwork. Satisfying herself that the wound was as clean as she could get it for the moment, she discarded the used cloth and reached for the little pot of salve.
“Did the nuns teach ye how tae clean wounds like that?”
She smiled, carefully applying a thin layer of the salve to the gash with the cloth before putting the pot aside.
“Nay, cleanin’ wounds so they dinnae get infected was just about the first lesson I ever had from Elaina.
It was because of what she taught me about healin’ that the Maither Superior decided tae make me an assistant in the priory infirmary.
” Folding a fresh cloth into a pad, she placed it firmly against the wound to cushion it.
“Is that so? Well, Elaina taught ye well.”
“Aye, she did. And I learned even more from the nuns, of course.”
“Ye havetae have a knack fer it though, I reckon. Ye have steady hands. A good healer needs that.”
“Aye, it certainly helps,” she said, hiding the pleasure at the unexpected comment. “Especially when ye’re stitchin’ people up.”
He smiled back, flashing white teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It both startled her and unexpectedly warmed her insides.
“I bet ye’re good at that as well. I recall how proud ye were of yer neat, wee stitches when ye used tae dae yer embroidery, eh?”
Unable to account for the sudden glow in her chest, she laughed nervously. “Aye, neat stitchin’ helps as well, though when ye’re sewin’ up people ye dinnae need tae be so fancy as all that.”
Their gazes held for a moment before she dragged her eyes from his and busied herself with bandaging up his hand.
He watched silently while she wrapped the clean cloth around it and tied off the ends before tucking them in neatly.
“That should hold it until we get tae Castle Gordon. Ye’ll havetae be careful though, in case it opens up again. ”
Raising his hand and examining the bandaging, he nodded approvingly. “I’ll try.” His dark eyes sought hers once more, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “Ye’ve done a fine job, Catriona. Thank ye.”
Another wave of pleasure washed over her at the compliment, which only confused her further.
This is Malcolm Gordon I’m talkin’ tae, irresponsible, unreliable Malcolm. Dinnae be fooled by his smile and braw looks, she silently warned herself. He’s nae the sort of man tae trust with yer life, even if Duncan thinks so.
Yet another part of her remembered how fiercely he had fought and killed Sinclair’s soldier to defend her. That part could not help her softening towards him despite her better judgement.
Outside the hut’s flimsy walls, the storm raged on. Inside, a tense silence fell between them. Needing distraction, she rose and gathered up the unused cloths and the pot of salve and went to stowed them back in the saddlebag.
While she was crouching beside it, Malcolm said, “There’s a wee bag of provisions in there as well. I dinnae ken about ye, but I’m starvin’.”
“I hadnae thought about it,” she replied truthfully, locating the bag and carrying it back with her to the bench, setting it down between them.
From inside, he drew out a hunk of barley bread, some oatcakes, some hard yellow cheese, and a couple of small pies. “Help yersel’,” he said, gesturing to her with his chin as he tore off a chunk of the bread.
To her chagrin, her stomach rumbled as she surveyed the little spread. “Sorry,” she apologized, suddenly hot with embarrassment at her unladylike lapse, expecting ridicule if not outright revulsion. “I havenae eaten much today.”
Malcolm’s brows shot up, and he stared at her as though about to take her to task. But to her surprise, he seemed almost scandalized on her behalf. “Nae at all? Did they nae feed ye at the priory then?”
“Of course, they did,” she replied with a small smile. “But I was up before dawn, pickin’ herbs, so I had an early breakfast. Then I got busy and then... well, all this happened.”
He nodded his understanding. Then, much to her astonishment, he flicked an assessing glance up and down her body. His next words made her gasp with disbelief. “Ye cannae afford tae skip meals. Ye’re too thin as it is.”
Catriona bristled, her face growing hot with umbrage. “Why, Malcom Gordon, what a nerve ye have! I dinnae recall askin’ fer yer opinion on me appearance. Nor is it appropriate tae say such things tae a lady,” she chided.
He merely shrugged. “I mention it out of concern fer yer health. Ye never used tae be so skinny.” He picked up one of the pies and offered it to her.
She opened her mouth to refuse it when her stomach let out another loud growl, and she snapped her mouth shut.
Embarrassment mixed with fury gripped her when she spied the corners of Malcolm’s lips twitching upwards.
Before she could stop him, he reached over, grabbed her hand, and placed the pie in her palm.
“Mutton,” he said and took the other pie for himself.
Catriona watched him take a huge bite of his pie, then roll his eyes in a pantomime of pleasure. “Delicious,” he muttered, flaky pastry crumbs sticking to his lips.
The savory aroma of cooked meat and seasoning was too much for Catriona. With her mouthwatering, she lifted the pie to her lips and bit into the golden crust.
Och, Lord, it is truly delicious.
She chewed and the buttery, meaty flavors exploded on her tongue.
“Tasty, eh?” Malcolm asked, grinning at her as he popped the last mouthful between his lips and wiped the crumbs from them. Ignoring him, Catriona kept on eating, relishing every mouthful of the pie.
Under the surface, however, she was smarting far more than she knew she should at his comment.
Arrogant wretch! Why it should it bother me if he thinks me too skinny?
She frowned in consternation at the part of her that seemed very bothered by it indeed.