Page 6 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Alasdair stood beside Lily and watched her work on Timothy’s wounded foot in silence. She had the efficiency of someone who had been doing this since they were born. Her hands moved smoothly, not only across the foot but also in the space around her.

She knew where everything was and picked up each tool with ease. It did not matter one bit that she had only been here for less than an hour. He watched her eyes dart across the hall for something he didn’t know. Then, she turned to look at him.

“Can ye help me change the towels on that row?” She jerked her chin toward a group of men further down the hall. “After that, come back. I’ll need another set of hands to clean Timothy’s leg.”

Alasdair raised an eyebrow. “Ye’re going to take full advantage of this, are ye nae?”

She looked up at him with the faintest smirk. “Of course I will.”

He gave a small huff, brushing off his hands on his trousers as he stepped away. Davie MacLeod, one of his trusted soldiers, was lying on the first cot. Alasdair studied the splint around his arm and the shimmer of sweat on his face. The poor man was exhausted.

“Ye look better, Davie.”

“Ye lie like a minstrel, me Laird,” the man rasped with a grin. “But I suppose I have nay choice but to take it.”

“Aye, well,” Alasdair said, softening his voice. “The war is finally behind us. And now we have a real healer, at last. One that willnae stop till we’re all patched up.”

Davie nodded, and Alasdair moved on.

With each cot he passed, he greeted the men by name. Stewart. Callum. Jamie. All good soldiers who were bruised and beaten. While they looked barely in good health, they were all still alive and aware, at least for now.

He continued to work as steadily as he could, but he could have sworn he felt Lily’s eyes on him the entire time.

It was like he could feel a hole being burned into his neck.

Yet, whenever he turned to look at her, she was looking elsewhere.

One time, he almost caught her gaze, but she had looked away immediately.

As he laid out and tucked the last towel with care and affection, he studied Jamie for a few more minutes and then gave the young man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Keep yer head up, lad. Ye have all made it through the worst of it. Just hang on now. Help is here.”

“Thank ye, me Laird.”

Alasdair nodded and walked back to her.

“Ye were watching me,” he said, lowering his voice as he knelt beside her.

Her hands were still busy arranging her instruments, but she paused for a moment to listen to him.

“Was I?”

“Aye, ye were. And daenae try to deny it. I can tell.”

She finally looked at him, her blue eyes piercing. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t affectionate either. It was hard for him to tell what she was feeling.

“Did I nae do it well?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“If ye must ken,” she said, “I was only surprised because ye did it right.”

He blinked. “Did ye think I would ruin it somehow?”

“I didnae think anything,” she replied. “I just didnae ken if that was something ye could do. And ye have proven me wrong.”

He let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I spent years on a ship with more wounded men than cannonballs. I learned how to clean wounds. Nowhere near as good as ye, but I can at least do that.”

“Aye, how could I forget the years ye spent on a ship. Ye were there under me faither’s commands, remember?” Lily muttered, her voice low enough for him to hear

He wanted to talk at that moment. To ask what she thought of him, now that she could see the people around her. He wanted to know if she was still of the belief that she had been kidnapped.

Alas, he didn’t get the chance, as Daisy returned at that moment, her arms wrapped around a bunch of small bottles.

“Here’s all the whisky I could find, me Lady.”

“Thank ye, Daisy,” Lily said, standing up to take them. “And please, check on the water again.”

“‘Tis nearly ready. I will bring it as soon as it has boiled.”

Lily nodded. “That would be good. Thank ye again.”

Daisy lingered a second longer. “Ye daenae have to thank me, me Lady. I’m only doing me duty.”

Lily gave her a strange, soft look. “Where I was raised, we were taught to say thank ye.”

Daisy’s eyes widened slightly. “Aye, me Lady. I’ll go see to the water now.”

After she left, Lily glanced down at the wound again and adjusted the fabric at Timothy’s ankle. “Alasdair, can ye hold this bit here, just above the edge?”

Alasdair didn’t hesitate; he stepped behind her, his fingers closing gently over hers.

And just like that, the space between them vanished.

Her back pressed against his chest. The scent of her hair hit him first. He was already familiar with the scent of lavender and rosemary. He’d smelled it on the horse for half an hour before she stabbed him. A few strands brushed against his chin, and he had to grit his teeth to keep still.

His palm covered her hand, steadying the cloth as she bent over Timothy’s foot. The dip of her waist grazed his hip. His body stirred without permission, and for some reason, she didn’t even notice what she was doing to him.

She shifted slightly, unintentionally pressing tighter against him.

He clenched his jaw. This was neither the time nor the place.

The weight of his men’s eyes and the stink of wounds around them grounded him. He was Laird here. He had to keep his composure.

“There we go,” Lily said suddenly, straightening.

He stepped back as if she’d burned him.

“Aye. Good.” He cleared his throat and moved to her side again, the tension between them thicker than a storm.

For now, he would have to keep himself in check.

Lily leaned closer to Timothy’s food, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead as she examined the wound. Her brow creased in concentration, the tips of her fingers already gloved and stained.

She worked in silence at first, then finally murmured, “The surface is clean, but it’s only the first step. I still have to go deeper. If the slightest grain of dirt remains, the wound will only keep festering.”

Timothy let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Do what ye must, me Lady. I’m still riding the joy of kenning that I’ll walk again. Whatever comes next, I will survive it.”

Lily gave him a tired smile. “Aye, well, I’m afraid that euphoria may nae last. I am about to use the whisky.”

Timothy waved her off. “I will manage. The pain will remind me of what I almost lost.”

Alasdair had been standing quietly by, but at that, he stepped forward and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Trust me, lad,” he said gently. “Do as she says. Bite down on something. There’s nay glory in suffering needlessly.”

Timothy shook his head. “Let it hurt. I want to remember it.”

Lily met Alasdair’s eyes. “He is just as stubborn as someone else I ken.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ye’ll have to be more specific.”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she uncorked the bottle. Just as she was about to pour, she turned to him. “Ye could have just asked nicely, Alasdair. Ye could have simply told me what was happening in yer clan, and I would have come.”

Alasdair’s jaw tightened. “I couldnae take that risk. Every second counted. The council wouldnae wait. Me people wouldnae wait. But the most important thing is that ye’re here now and ready to take yer place.”

A coldness swept across her expression like the wind from a terrible blizzard. “Daenae twist this. I am here to care for the wounded. That is all. Nothing has changed. And ye would do well nae to forget it.”

He swallowed the words that threatened to rise and said nothing as she turned back to Timothy.

She poured the whisky.

Timothy arched off the cot with a scream, his fists clenching around the sides of his blanket. Lily whispered an apology, her hands already working fast and steady as she cut the infected tissue away layer by layer.

Alasdair pinned down the boy’s leg with both hands, keeping him from thrashing as Lily worked. But his gaze wasn’t fixed on Timothy. It was fixed on her. Not just her skill, but also her calm, her voice.

Lily glanced up at Timothy’s face and noticed the tension in his jaw. “Tell me about yer wife, Timothy. What’s her name?” she asked softly.

“Clara,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“And what did Clara do before she got with child?”

“She… she sewed dresses for the ladies in the village,” he said, sweat beading on his brow.

“And what do ye think the bairn will be? A lad or a lass?”

Timothy coughed a laugh. “She says a lass. I am hoping for a lad. But I’ll love it either way.”

“Aye. And if ‘tis a boy, what will ye teach him first?”

“Nae to be like me,” Timothy muttered.

“Nonsense,” Lily said firmly. “Ye will teach him to be kind, brave, and strong enough to walk through fire and still carry love in his heart.”

Timothy exhaled shakily. “And if ‘tis a girl?”

“Then ye will teach her the same,” Lily replied. “And maybe how to sew a stitch better than her maither.”

That coaxed a genuine laugh from Timothy, one that broke through the pain.

Alasdair, still holding the boy’s leg steady, blinked at Lily in awe. The way her hands moved without hesitation and the way her voice distracted Timothy from the pain... Watching her work was like watching God create humans.

He was deeply impressed, but he wouldn’t tell her. At least not yet.

Eventually, Lily sat back. “That’s the last of it.”

She wiped her brow and reached for the bandages Daisy had left earlier. Carefully, she wrapped Timothy’s foot with it, tying the last knot with a secure tug.

“There,” she said. “Rest. Ye’ll be limping for a while, but at least ye get to keep yer foot.”

“Thank ye, me Lady,” Timothy whispered, his eyes already closing.

Lily rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders as she scanned the room for her next patient.

But Alasdair stepped in front of her. “‘Tis enough for now.”

She frowned. “There is still more to be done.”

“And ye’ll do it better after a bath and some rest.” He nodded toward the door. “Ye’ve been riding all night, and we both ken what happened in the woods.”

“I am fine.”

“Aye, and a tired healer is more dangerous than an assassin,” he said evenly. “Nay one else needs immediate treatment. The maids are working, and Sorcha is in charge. There is food waiting for ye. The maids have drawn ye a bath, and yer bed has been made. Go.”

Her jaw clenched, but he held his ground.

At last, she sighed and turned toward the door. “Fine.”

Alasdair exhaled, watching her go, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.

It struck him then, as he looked around at the wounded and the quiet order she’d somehow brought into chaos, just how much of a challenge his wife was going to be.

“God help me,” he whispered to himself as he watched her exit the hall. “God help us all.”