Page 36 of Taken By the Heartless Highlander
“Ye are a vicious woman,” he murmured, and she could not help a low chuckle.
“If ye were careful, I wouldnae have to bandage it again,” she replied, but she noticed his lips quirk into a small smile as she lightened the treatment a little.
“Yer hands are cool,” he said in a low, rumbling voice that sent a pleasurable ripple through her body.
“I’ve been told before,” she replied.
But as soon as those words left her mouth, her thoughts immediately moved to Lucas.
It was he who had said the same when she had treated him at her cottage—his limp fingers caressing her face against her will. It had been the beginning of a terrible obsession that had signaled the end of her peace. Her mind was flooded with fearful thoughts that one day Lucas might find her again.
Her hands began trembling as she continued her ministrations.
MacAllen frowned as he noted the reaction. After she had removed the last of the bandage from his arm, his hand came up and gently took hold of her wrist.
She held her breath as he examined her trembling fingers. After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, he slowly began to massage her palm as though to ease the quaking.
Keira watched his hands touch hers, desire and need building in her again as she tried to fathom what this man wanted from her. She tried not to moan aloud as his thumbs dug into her palm, it felt impossibly good.
There was a long silence; only the fire crackling in the grate made any sound. Keira wracked her brain for something to say, but all she could think about were his hands on her body and an illicit wish for him to lean forward and cover her lips with his mouth again.
“Yer chest,” she blurted out quickly, clutching at a topic—any topic—and pulling her hand gently away. “How is it feelin’?”
He lowered his hands to his lap, glancing at her curiously as she examined his shoulder with renewed vigor.
His shoulder was so large that she changed her mind about the manner of bandage she would use. The last attempt had not put enough tension against it. No wonder the blood had flowed again. She rooted around for a different length of cloth in the bundle he kept in his room. They were not neatly folded so it took her a moment to put her hands on the right one.
When she looked back at him, his jaw was clenched as though he were warring with himself about what to say. She waited, but when he was not forthcoming she voiced her concerns aloud.
“It has been botherin’ ye again then?”
“It’s nae so good,” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “It has been achin’ for much of the mornin’.”
“And now?” she asked.
He frowned, “Nay. I cannae feel it now.”
She began to wrap the strip of cloth around his wound.
“I see, and what did yer old healer suggest for the problem? Was there anythin’ that she felt might help?”
He shrugged, making her tut in frustration as he jostled the site where she worked.
“Deindre always told me to rest.”
Keira felt an unpleasant tug in her chest when he called the old healer by her first name. In her mind, she was a blonde, tall beauty—nothing like herself—who gave perfect advice and saved every life she came across.
“She used to give me a tonic for it,” MacAllen continued, “tasted awful. Did nae good either way,” his voice was bitter and angry now, and his shoulder tensed.
“Try to relax for me,” she said quietly. “This isnae goin’ to stop hurtin’ if I bind it when yer so tense.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but he did slowly relax his shoulder.
“Ye’re bein’ a lot less demandin’ today, lass,” he mused, “have I reduced yer temper with a kiss?”
She cleared her throat, fighting the blush that threatened to return at his words. “Did she say anythin’ of what was in it?”
“What?”
