Elaine became more aware of the sensations she was feeling. Being so close to him, and with the worry of his wound no longer pertinent, she found her heart pounding in her chest as their legs pressed together in the position they found themselves in. Duncan’s muscles tensed beneath her touch. Though she had cleaned wounds before, they had belonged to her brother and father. This situation was entirely different. She had never touched a man so intimately before and, though it felt strange, it excited her. Perhaps it was not so much the situation as it was the person whom she was touching.
Elaine dabbed the wound clean with a dry cloth, brushing her fingers across the area around the wound to ensure it was dry. Duncan's arm hair was soft. Shefelt his taut sinews dance beneath her soft caress, and that strange knotting feeling in her stomach returned. She eventually took another clean piece of his ripped shirt, folded it into padding, and pressed it against thegash. She tied the padding in place with a long strip and sighed, unsure whether she was relieved or saddened that her task was complete. She could not help wondering what other parts of his strong, muscular body would feel like beneath her touch.
Duncan had not spoken a word for the entirety of it. When Elaine lifted her eyes to check if he was all right, she suddenly blushed for he was gazing at her with deep intensity; sorrow and concern swirled within the blue ocean of his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked gently.
He shook his head but did not reply, and taking a deep breath in, sighed heavily.
“Did I hurt ye?” Elaine frowned. “I didnae mean tae. I’m sorry.”
“Ye didnae hurt me,” he replied, suddenly standing from his chair and turning away from her.
“Then what is it?” she pressed.
She rose from her chair and followed him, standing close behind him as he faced the fire. His broad back was turned to her, as it had been the first night she had arrived. Elaine hesitated before lifting her hand to comfort him, her hand inches from his body. She was here out of necessity. Should she really be encouraging his attention?
Dinnae kid yersel!
Though she tried not to want him, she could not help herself. Her hand on his back would not simply be for his comfort, but for her wanting to feel his body beneath her touch. The occasions they had spent together, moaning ridiculously to trick those who could hear, had ignited her imagination. Her arousal when moaning for him had only made her curious of what it might be like to moan because of him.
He turned to her then, clearly aware of her presence behind him. Taking her by the shoulders, he gazed at her with that deep intensity once more.
“I was so worried for ye, Elaine. I cannae express the fear that ran through me when I saw ye fighting those soldiers. If I had got tae ye only a second later…” he lamented.
“But ye didnae, Duncan. Ye saved my life and I havnae yet thanked ye for it.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tightly. The unexpected embrace took her by surprise—she was stunned by his emotional demonstration. “I dinnae want yer thanks,” he breathed.
Elaine surrendered to his warm embrace, feeling safe in his arms. She'd barely had time to consider how close to death she was. But now, she recalledthinking she'd never see Rhona again. The only reason that wasn't true anymore was because of the man who now stood before her, his arms securely wrapped around her.
After a brief moment, she realized that this was no ordinary embrace. Despite his firm grip, he was trembling. Elaine couldn't understand it, but she knew she should keep quiet. Duncan needed this moment. She might never find out what was going through his head. But, after saving her life, didn't he deserve her silence and support?
‘I have already lost someone tae a blade,” he whispered.
His words struck her, and though she did not respond, she became intrigued. Her mind speculated on who it could be. He might feel inclined to elaborateif she remained silent and perfectly still. With that thought, Elaine remained silent and did not move an inch.
CHAPTERTEN
The castle was a mess.
Curtains and tapestries were torn from their fixtures. Tables and chairs lay strewn across the stone floor, some smashed to pieces, likely used as weapons from those desperate to defend themselves. Pottery and other items had been shattered; the shards scattered in every direction. As Duncan stormed down the corridors, children wailed, wrapped up in the arms of the older women trying to offer a comforting embrace.
When Duncan entered the Great Hall, he was met with even more chaos. The massive room was no longer a place where those in the castle ate and danced; instead, wounded men lay on tables, and servants and maids ran in all directions with pots of ale and bowls of water. The room was filled with loud groans, some more intense than others. And as Duncan's eyes scanned the scene, he came across the man he was looking for.
“How bad is it?” He asked, addressing the castle’s official healer.
Samuel McKinley had long since passed his sixtieth year. Thinning gray hair sat as a light covering on his head's shiny skin. Despite his age, he did not appear as mature as many older men. He stood tall, without a rounded back or slouching with age. His broad, straight shoulders revealed his once-strong and vital youth, and his steady feet were planted firmly beneath him as he attended to his duties. He did not let Duncan's question distract him from his work. Mopping up the gushing blood pouring from the leg of the man lying on the table before him, Samuel shook his head vigorously. “I can tell ye, my Laird. It certainly is nae good.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Surprisingly, nae more than half a dozen. Given that nae man was prepared, I would say that was nae only a blessing, but a bloody miracle,” he replied, his head still bent. “For the most part, there are only a few here that will survive but nae likely fight for ye again. The rest are battered and bruised but, with a little rest, will fully recover.”
Samuel had finished stitching the wound and only when an assisting maid took over to dress the leg, did he turn to look at him. Immediately, his eye fell to Duncan’s own bloody shirt sleeve.
“My God, my Laird,” Samuel suddenly gasped, grabbing the arm. “Ye are injured yersel. Why did ye nae mention it?”
Duncan pulled his arm away. “It’s naething tae worry about, Samuel.”