Page 15 of Taken by the Heartless Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #2)

CHAPTER 15

As they made their way out of the room, Keira’s mind was flooded with images of their kiss. Every step he took drew her eyes to his muscular calves and the memory of his hands smoothing over the skin of her thighs.

MacAllen preceded her, and instead of leading her to the healer’s chambers as she had expected, he led her to his bedchamber.

Keira paused in the doorway, staring at his wide back as he walked before her.

“I have everythin’ ye may need in here. It isnae the first time I’ve been nicked by a blade,” he grunted.

She followed him, keeping her eyes firmly away from the large bed in the room. It was a beautiful space with red fabric covering everything—the same color on the curtains. An exquisite tapestry hung on the wall, which she wished she had more time to admire.

MacAllen walked to the center of the room, dragging a chair over with his good arm and taking a seat. He stripped off his léine and dropped it carelessly to the floor. He seemed even larger than she remembered, imposing and stern as he sat watching her.

Her eyes dropped to the bloom of red on the bandage on his shoulder, and she ground her teeth together. Why do men never listen?

Keira looked about the room, and MacAllen gestured to some bandages and a basin of water on the washstand.

“It would be easier if we were in me healer’s chambers,” she admonished but went to fetch the things she needed, nevertheless. Perhaps he felt more comfortable in his own rooms— I wish I did .

Grabbing the bandages and some clean water, she pulled her own chair up beside him and sat down. MacAllen glanced at her, his back straight and tight, and Keira raised an eyebrow at him.

“How exactly did ye manage to rip the wound open?” she asked accusingly.

“Perhaps yer fingers pinched it when ye had yer arms about me neck,” he muttered softly, shocking her into silence. She felt a deep blush rise up her cheeks as she busied herself with untying the existing bandage, trying to distract her wayward thoughts.

It didn’t help that the man had the hottest skin imaginable; it was like sitting beside a furnace.

She clucked irritably as she removed the final strip. The injury was bleeding freely once more. A drop of blood ran down his chest, staining his skin with a line of bright red, rippling over the ridges of his muscles.

I can do this, I’ll just keep me eyes on the wound, and I willnae touch him more than necessary.

He looked over at her, his eyes so close she could see the flecks of gold and copper in them again. She palpated the wound to check it, and he winced.

“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?”

“The tonic.”

“Of course,” he said, a small smile curling his lips. “I wasnae listenin’,” he muttered. That sounds like him, Keira thought affectionately and then scolded herself for being so familiar with the man.

“And ye’re sure nothin’ happened before it started?”

“Nay. I have told ye that already, lass,” he stated firmly.

Keira did not believe him. She was uncertain why, but his response was too quick and too emphatic to be truthful.

What does this man wish to hide from me?

“I ken ye told me,” she agreed. “But chest pain can be affected by the mind as much as anythin’.”

As she finished, she retrieved some liniment to rub against the edges of the bandage to prevent friction. She applied it fairly liberally, and when she looked at MacAllen, he had his eyes closed, and he was leaning into her touch. She swallowed, breathing heavily and trying to calm her hammering heart.

“Have ye tried deep breathing?” she asked thoughtfully. “It helps women when they are givin’ birth to calm them.”

His relaxed demeanor evaporated in an instant, and the authoritative laird was back.

“Do I look like a woman givin’ birth to ye, lass?” he growled.

“I’m just sayin’,” she continued determinedly, “ye have nothin’ to lose. If ye think of somethin’ that makes yer chest start to ache, try to think of somethin’ different and see if it helps. Clear yer mind as much as ye can. I kenned a story of a maither who had chest pains similar to yers after she lost her son. She had to turn her mind to other things for them to abate.”

MacAllen was thoughtful for a long time; his eyes focused on a spot in the distance that seemed to be somewhere not quite in the present. Keira examined his profile, taking in the pleasing line of his strong jaw and long, straight nose.

“I see,” he finally said, his tongue coming out to moisten his lips as she fastened the bandage around him.

“Thank ye, lass.”

Keira rose as he stood to pull his léine back over his head. She forced herself to stand still and not assist him, not wishing to get any closer to all that heated flesh than she needed to.

She gathered the soiled bandage and made to leave the room, but as she passed him, his hand curled around her upper arm, and she stopped.

“What, nae seduction this time?” he asked; his voice was amused but banked with heat, and she shivered before gently pulling her arm free.

She tried to keep her expression as blank as possible.

“I am sorry for that,” she said finally, watching his gaze falter. “I was just desperate; I shouldnae have propositioned ye like that.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Ye are the last person I should try to seduce; ye’re a powerful laird, and ye could have me head if I disrespected ye.”

He snorted, his hands coming to rest on the top of his belt, the picture of manly strength.

“I’m nae that bad,” he protested.

As she turned to leave, he touched her elbow again, just a whisper of connection, but it still lit up her skin like a bonfire. “Ye ken ye can stay here for as long as ye need. Even after the month is out, ye are welcome to remain in me castle.”

She frowned up at him. “And do what?”

“Be me healer. I’ll keep ye safe.”

Keira felt sadness settle in her chest as she looked up at his earnest and kind expression. He was doing this because he wanted to protect her, just as he had done in the forest. But she realized now her heart yearned for there to be another reason for his actions.

Nae matter how temptin’ this beautiful castle, and this beautiful man, may be. I must do what is right for me family .

“I thank ye, me laird,” she said haltingly. “But I hope in a month’s time I willnae need yer protection. We can both live our lives as we did before, and ye willnae be troubled by me presence any longer.”