didn’t touch her. Instead, he eased the cloth around her body once again. His arm brushed beneath hers and his breath came harder. Again he unwrapped, bending slightly closer, and this time his crotch touched her bottom. His erection jerked on contact. He ground his teeth, closed his eyes, and continued, but finally he felt the bandage resist. He glanced down and saw that the cloth was adhered to her wound. Tugging gently, he pulled the linen from her flesh. The cut was several inches long, but no great amount of blood had been lost and the pain didn’t seem excruciating as he eased the cloth back around.
One more circuit and suddenly her shoulders were bare. They were not delicate shoulders, not weak shoulders. The bone was substantial. There was little slope to them, and the muscle that curved down to her arms was as firm and graceful as a doe’s.
He swallowed hard and reached about her again.
Through the fabric, his wrist brushed her nipple. He jerked at the impact. She stiffened, but despite his expectations, she made no attempt to decapitate him. In fact, she didn’t pull away, but remained like a life-sized doll in the circle of his arms.
Lachlan licked his lips, said a silent prayer to a surely mischievous God, and eased the cloth around her one last time. ‘Twas not such a difficult task, he told himself as he gazed into the distance. No troublesome ordeal. It was like peeling a quince or unwrapping a…
But in that instant, the tail of the binding fell away, and her torso was bare. His biceps inadvertently brushed the swell of her breast and his cock kicked like a mule against his plaid.
He froze. Aye, he knew he should pull away, but, strangely enough, he found such self-preservation impossible. He was paralyzed, with his arms about her, breathing in her essence, feeling the softness of her hair against his throat.
Reaching out, she found her tunic with her fingertips and pulled it to her chest. The last of the cloth unwound from her waist and he stood like one in a trance, staring at her back.
It, like the rest of her, was beautiful. Sleek and smooth, it sloped down to the sharp curve of her waist like an ivory spoon.
“Tell me,” she said.
“What?” he asked, and fretfully caught her gaze as it slanted up from beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes.
“Surely you can see it now.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, and glanced down at the wound. ”And?”
Her heavy tunic and her bindings had saved her much pain. Indeed, the wound was barely a scratch and would surely heal well with no help from him. It almost seemed a shame.
“Will it need tending?”
“Ahh… Yes it will.”
She glanced over her ivory shoulder at him, and there again he saw the worry.
“But you needn’t fret,” he added at guilt’s nudge. Her brow puckered slightly. “Do not coddle me, MacGowan,” she said. “You can tell me true. Is it a grievous wound?”
“Not… grievous,” he said, and let his gaze slide over her buttocks again. “Still, I think-”
“Does it fester?”
He pulled his attention upward, only pausing momentarily on the dramatic dip of her waist.
“MacGowan?”
“Nay,” he said. “It looks fresh. If we clean it thoroughly it will mend well.”
“You are certain?”
“Aye, you needn’t worry.”
She nodded once. “Then I shall douse it with spirits and bind it anew.”
“Alone?”
“Of course,” she said, and glanced at him again. “If ‘tis small and not festering-”
“Well there might be a bit of… festering.” Oh aye, he knew he was pathetic.
She stared at him.
”And you cannot reach behind,” he continued. “Nay,
I’ll not have it.”
“You’ll not have-”
“‘Tis your rule we live by now.”
She raised her brows slightly in curiosity.
“If one saves another it is his right and duty to make certain no harm befalls him, at least for a spell.”
“That is not my rule,” she said, but he failed to hear her, for his entire attention was bent on the
One more circuit and suddenly her shoulders were bare. They were not delicate shoulders, not weak shoulders. The bone was substantial. There was little slope to them, and the muscle that curved down to her arms was as firm and graceful as a doe’s.
He swallowed hard and reached about her again.
Through the fabric, his wrist brushed her nipple. He jerked at the impact. She stiffened, but despite his expectations, she made no attempt to decapitate him. In fact, she didn’t pull away, but remained like a life-sized doll in the circle of his arms.
Lachlan licked his lips, said a silent prayer to a surely mischievous God, and eased the cloth around her one last time. ‘Twas not such a difficult task, he told himself as he gazed into the distance. No troublesome ordeal. It was like peeling a quince or unwrapping a…
But in that instant, the tail of the binding fell away, and her torso was bare. His biceps inadvertently brushed the swell of her breast and his cock kicked like a mule against his plaid.
He froze. Aye, he knew he should pull away, but, strangely enough, he found such self-preservation impossible. He was paralyzed, with his arms about her, breathing in her essence, feeling the softness of her hair against his throat.
Reaching out, she found her tunic with her fingertips and pulled it to her chest. The last of the cloth unwound from her waist and he stood like one in a trance, staring at her back.
It, like the rest of her, was beautiful. Sleek and smooth, it sloped down to the sharp curve of her waist like an ivory spoon.
“Tell me,” she said.
“What?” he asked, and fretfully caught her gaze as it slanted up from beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes.
“Surely you can see it now.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, and glanced down at the wound. ”And?”
Her heavy tunic and her bindings had saved her much pain. Indeed, the wound was barely a scratch and would surely heal well with no help from him. It almost seemed a shame.
“Will it need tending?”
“Ahh… Yes it will.”
She glanced over her ivory shoulder at him, and there again he saw the worry.
“But you needn’t fret,” he added at guilt’s nudge. Her brow puckered slightly. “Do not coddle me, MacGowan,” she said. “You can tell me true. Is it a grievous wound?”
“Not… grievous,” he said, and let his gaze slide over her buttocks again. “Still, I think-”
“Does it fester?”
He pulled his attention upward, only pausing momentarily on the dramatic dip of her waist.
“MacGowan?”
“Nay,” he said. “It looks fresh. If we clean it thoroughly it will mend well.”
“You are certain?”
“Aye, you needn’t worry.”
She nodded once. “Then I shall douse it with spirits and bind it anew.”
“Alone?”
“Of course,” she said, and glanced at him again. “If ‘tis small and not festering-”
“Well there might be a bit of… festering.” Oh aye, he knew he was pathetic.
She stared at him.
”And you cannot reach behind,” he continued. “Nay,
I’ll not have it.”
“You’ll not have-”
“‘Tis your rule we live by now.”
She raised her brows slightly in curiosity.
“If one saves another it is his right and duty to make certain no harm befalls him, at least for a spell.”
“That is not my rule,” she said, but he failed to hear her, for his entire attention was bent on the
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