The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(84)

Suddenly, he turned at the sound of the door opening. Bella marched through, a determined glint in her eye.

“I hope I’m not disturbing anything?”

He and Boyd exchanged guilty glances, both of them wondering how long she’d been there. From her too-blank expression, he suspected longer than he wanted.

“Nay, nothing, my lady,” Boyd said. “Is there something you needed?”

She lifted her chin. If it quivered a little, Lachlan told himself it was the flickering firelight. But it didn’t stop the suffocating press of conscience against his chest or the ridiculous urge to pull her in his arms and tell her he didn’t mean what he’d just said.

He did mean it, damn it. Maybe he wished he hadn’t said it so crudely, but it was the truth. He wanted her, but a woman wasn’t going to distract him. Not this time.

“I have some salve.” She came over to Lachlan. “To tend your wounds.”

He glanced up at her, surprised and discomfited by her thoughtfulness. He wasn’t used to having anyone worry about him. It would be easy to …

Damn it, she was making him soft. He didn’t need anyone. He waved her off. “I’m fine.”

She looked down at him, her mouth pulled in a tight line of frustration, exasperation, and maybe even a little hurt. “Nails to the cross, Lachlan! Would it kill you to let someone take care of you for once?”

He arched a brow. Nails to the cross? She’d been around him long enough to pick up something better than that. Before he could reply that it might, she set down the armful of items she’d brought with her and turned to him with her hands on her hips. Shapely hips that were revealed all too well in those torturous breeches.

“I’m doing this even if I have to get Robbie to hold you down.” She eyed the hulking warrior. “He certainly looks strong enough to do the job.”

“Plenty strong, my lady,” Boyd chimed in with a wink.

Bastard. Lachlan didn’t need to look at him to know he was enjoying this. There were few men who would dare make that claim, but as Boyd was one of them, Lachlan decided not to put it to the test.

He put down the lock he had in his hand and smiled mockingly. “As you please, my lady.”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded remarkably like “why I bother.”

Tilting his head toward the light, she inspected the gash on his temple. Her touch was soft and gentle. It felt good. A little too good. He jerked away.

She gave him an impatient scowl and pulled him right back. “You bathed,” she said.

Lachlan heard a snicker coming from the opposite side of the fire. He shot Boyd a sidelong glare, but his dark head was down, pretending to be focused on his task. “I don’t like being dirty.”

He blamed the defensiveness in his tone on Boyd.

“I remember,” she said softly, so Boyd couldn’t hear. “It’s nice. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. You smelled too clean for a brigand.”

She’d bathed, too. He was trying not to notice how good she smelled, but she was standing too bloody close to him. His body heated with awareness. If Boyd weren’t sitting there, he knew he’d be tempted to pull her onto his lap and take another stab at what they’d barely begun two nights ago.

“It’s good,” she added, running her fingers through his hair by his temple. “You managed to wash away most of the dirt and blood from the wound.”

She reached down to pick up a swathe of linen and a clay pot.

He smothered a groan. Those damned lad’s clothes were going to kill him. When she’d bent over in front of him, the gap in the linen beneath the tie at the neck opened, giving him an eyeful of one generously curved, softly rounded breast.

He was a man; he couldn’t help himself. His eyes fastened on the place in the linen where her ni**les jutted against the thin fabric. Jesus. His mouth watered, seeing the outline of delectable, hard, puckering flesh.

Kiss her all over. A promise he’d made to himself that he’d broken when Comyn’s men had discovered them. But he was remembering it now. He wanted to strip her naked. Fill his hands with all that creamy flesh, bring it to his mouth, and suck each delicate pink nipple until it was berry red and throbbing tautly against his tongue.

He shifted, feeling a not-so-slow thickening in his braies. She was bent over him, her body achingly close, torturing him with her gentle touch. Her fingers smoothed the ointment over his wound, drawing small, caressing circles that only increased his ache.

Finally, when he didn’t think he could bear her closeness, her touch, the warm fresh scent of her another minute, she wrapped a clean cloth around his head and stepped back.

He nearly sighed with relief.

Her flushed cheeks told him he was not the only one affected. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Nay—”

“He has a cut on his arm and some nasty-looking bruises on his stomach,” Boyd volunteered.

Lachlan shot him a death glare. He was going to kill Boyd for this. The bloody bastard knew exactly what kind of pain Lachlan was in right now.

Bella pursed her mouth. He couldn’t tell whether it was in anger or reluctance. “Let me see.”

He lifted his shirt to reveal the numerous blue, black, and red mottled bruises that had turned to one big, angry mass covering his entire right side.