"Aye."
When she bent, she could hardly contain a groan. He stopped her with a gesture. "Let me."
Callum raised her skirt a few inches and used his dirk to cut a long strip of lawn. With efficient hands, he wrapped the injury.
"Thank ye," she said softly.
"When I think of what might have happened…" The words jammed in his throat and he looked away, ashamed of the tears in his eyes.
"But ye saved me."
It wasn't enough. God’s teeth, how could it be? He blinked away the mist in front of his eyes and faced her again. "I didnae mean to kill her, although the witch deserved it."
"Aye, that she did."
"I aimed for her shoulder."
"Ye hit her in the shoulder." She paused. "It was a breathtaking bit of shooting, Mackinnon. She was too near the edge. The force of the impact took her over."
"I was so afraid I’d miss and hit ye instead." Agonizing emotion thickened his voice.
She smiled with more conviction than last time. "But ye didnae."
"No, I didnae." He'd thank the Almighty for the rest of his life that despite being in the grip of a dread beyond anything he'd ever known, his hand remained steady and his eye sharp. "Where else did she hurt ye?"
There was too much blood for just the cut on her arm. He also noted how stiffly she was sitting on the rock.
"Here." She pointed at her waist.
"Mhairi, why the devil did ye no’ say something before, ye daft lassie?" God’s teeth, had he ignored a wound that threatened her life in favor of tending a minor cut?
To his surprise, she lifted her uninjured arm and touched his cheek. "It's just a scratch, I'm sure. I jumped out of the way before she did too much damage."
Callum closed his eyes. He didn't deserve to receive comfort from her, but the sweetness of her touch seeped into him and turned his blood to syrup.
A painfully short moment later, she drew her hand away. It was the first time she'd touched him with tenderness. The knowledge cut him far deeper than Sheena's knife had sliced Mhairi's arm.
He slid his arm around her back, supporting her against him. "Show me."
Gingerly she lifted up the ragged blouse to reveal the bloodstained shift. Self-hatred knotting his gut, he shifted aside the sodden edges of material covering the wound.
A knife to the belly was usually a death sentence. At the first sight of the long red mark across her stomach, his head swam. But with brutal determination, he forced himself back to reality.
And reality was that it was only a scratch, as she’d said. She'd been lucky.
No, they'd both been lucky.
Relief thundered through him, more powerful than the Mare’s Tail at full spate. With gentle care, he released her and returned to the burn to rinse out his handkerchief. When he came back, he cleaned the blood away from the graze. She sat uncomplaining in his embrace, although his ministrations must hurt like Hades.
Once he was done, he sat back and tugged his shirt over his head. "Here, wear this."
She eyed him doubtfully. "I dinnae need…"
"Aye, ye do. That tattered rag is soaked through." A tender smile curved his lips. "I'll close my eyes while ye change. Dinnae try and put your sore arm through the sleeve. I’ll help ye once you’ve got the shirt on."
After a pause, she accepted his shirt. "Thank you."
True to his word, Callum shut his eyes. He was so attuned to her that even over the waterfall’s rush, he heard the evocative rustle of clothing. Only when Mhairi told him to open his eyes did he realize that he'd held his breath the whole time.