Page 21 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Finley showed her how to peel and slice the onions, then stood back at arms’ length while she completed the process. It was an agonising, eye-watering experience, and when she had finished Isla had tears running down her face, and her eyes were bloodshot. “I never expected that!” she cried, wiping her face with a cloth.
Finley chuckled and gave her a cup of ale. “Now ye can try carrots. Ye willnae have any trouble wi’ them, unless ye chop your fingers off.”
Isla sliced the vegetables and managed to keep her fingers, then Finley showed her how to boil them while he fried the rabbit meat in a pan. When they sat down to eat she was ravenous, and despatched the food very quickly, then eagerly accepted a second helping. Finley watched her surreptitiously, smiling inwardly. He had been concerned for her health for the last few days, but by the way she was eating, it was obvious that she was no longer hurt or helpless.
“I enjoyed that,” Isla said happily as she wiped her lips.
“I noticed.” Finley’s tone was wry and amused as he picked up her plate. He looked out of the window as he stood up. “It is rainin’,” he said irritably. He had been about to go and weed the kitchen garden then chop some firewood, but that was impossible now, since the rain outside had turned into a deluge. He sighed and then turned back to Isla, who was sitting gazing into the fire with her hands folded in her lap. He was ashamed that he did not even have a book with which she could amuse herself.
She looked up at him, smiling. In truth, she was completely bored. She even wished she had the embroidery she had started with her so that her hands would not be idle, although a book would have suited her better.
Presently, Finley took the seat opposite her and sat down. He was holding a cube of wood in his hands that looked to be about six inches long on each side, and a tray on which there was an array of carving tools.
Isla was fascinated as she watched him work; it was as if the horse he was carving was actually being born, and she was amazed at how such big, clumsy-looking hands could make the tiny, precise movements necessary to perfect the sculpture.
It took less than an hour for the figure to be completed, and when it was finished he rubbed it with some abrasive substance that she could not identify, but which looked like the skin of a fish. Finally, he dusted it off and handed it to her.
“For me?” she squeaked as she took the small statue from him.
He nodded. “A present.”
Isla looked at the figurine in awe. It was perfect in every detail, and she was utterly amazed by its accuracy. “It is a masterpiece,” she breathed. “You must show me how to do this.”
He looked doubtful. “The tools are very sharp,” he told her. “Are ye sure, Isla?” He was frowning and looked slightly afraid. “I have a few herbs, but if ye cut yourself deep, I willnae be able tae help ye.”
“I want to try,” Isla said firmly. “I don’t think I can do myself too much damage.”
“Dinnae say ye werenae warned.” Finley’s voice was resigned. He fetched a block of wood that was slightly smaller than the one he had been working on. “What dae ye want tae make?”
“I will start with something easy,” Isla suggested. “A mushroom?”
He shrugged. “A mushroom it is.” He looked at the wood for a moment and made a few careful nicks in it with the blade, then gave it to Isla, handle first. He watched her first clumsy movements with bated breath, waiting at any moment for the blade to slip and bury itself in her tender flesh.
Isla, aware of his scrutiny, concentrated hard on the task she had assigned herself and was doing quite well, she thought. Finley bent forward from time to time to help her and guided her occasionally by wrapping his big hands around hers. She was surprised to feel how gentle they were, despite the roughness of his skin, and when he came close to her she inhaled his scent.
It was not like the perfume of a flower; rather it was earthy, woody, the smell of nature itself and something else that was all his own. When he was inches away from her, she could see how the irises of his eyes had a ring of dark blue around them which gave way to a bright sky blue around his pupil. Beautiful eyes. She wanted to run her hands over his beard too, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.
“Looks as though ye have a knack for this, Isla,” he observed as he placed her hands over hers to turn the half-finished sculpture around so that he could see it.
Isla’s hands tingled at the contact with his, and a strange thrill that she had never felt before travelled through her. Finley was awakening delicious sensations hitherto unknown to her, and it was heavenly. She looked down at the piece of wood she was working on as he removed his hands from hers. She felt bereft for a moment before she bent to her work again, but she had been so distracted that she let her blade slip, and it embedded itself in the pad of her thumb. She felt a sharp stab of pain and let out an agonised howl.
Finley was immediately ready with a length of cloth to soak up the blood, and only just managed to stop himself from saying:‘I told you so’.Then he told himself off for letting her embark on such a foolish project, to begin with. What was wrong with him? Why had he not been more forceful? He knew why. She was beginning to affect him the way a woman affects a man when he is beginning to fall in love with her. It had not escaped him that he had already acceded to her every wish, but he had done everything she wanted willingly and without complaint, because he wanted her to be well and happy.
He tied a length of cloth around her thumb and she smiled at him ruefully. “You were right,” Isla conceded. “Maybe this is not for me.”
“When a baby learns tae walk, does it give up the first time it falls down?” Finley asked, cocking his head to the side questioningly.
“No,” she replied, with a little laugh. “You mean I should not give up either?”
“No, ye shouldnae,” he answered. “Ye might have a few more accidents, but ye will get there in the end.”
“I will never be as good as you,” she told him.
Finley shrugged. “Keep practisin’,” he advised.
They sat by the fire for a moment, and suddenly Isla felt that she had to reveal to Finley the truth about why she was there. After all, he had shown her incredible hospitality, and cared for her when she was sick. Indeed, he was still doing it now.
“Do you know Iain Crawford, Finley?” she asked.
