Page 22 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

“I have,” Aurora confirmed, accepting the knife she was handed.

Though the women around her spoke, Aurora let her mind go blissfully blank as she removed the skin and inedible bits from the vegetables. The motion was soothing, meditative. And, though she was sitting still, she did not feel like she needed to run. She wondered if the servants would welcome her help here any time.

Nearly an hour passed with the comforting chatter of the women, the pile of scraps that would be thrown to the chickens growing larger in the center of their group. So, when a stack of pans clattered to the ground, Aurora nearly lost her hold on the small knife in her hand. She spun around, gasping at the sight before her.

A young shepherd, a boy no older than fifteen, was standing near the scattered cooking implements. He was holding onto his arm, a pained look on his face. There was a cut in his doublet, and Aurora could see that his forearm was bleeding.

Though she was halfway across the room, she could tell that the wound was deep.

“Saints, what happened to ye?”

Mrs. Duncan was the first to act. Without taking her eyes off of the boy’s injuries, she set aside her knife and the potato in her hand. She had nearly reached him when another, more overwhelming presence entered the kitchen. Aurora did not even need to turn around to know that Hendry had arrived.

“What happened?” he asked, crossing the space in a few long strides.

“The sheep surged and pinned me against the wall,” the boy said, his voice shaking from shock. “One of the stones caught me arm.”

Hendry stepped forward, taking hold of the boy’s arm with a gentleness that surprised her. She did not realize she was holding her breath, expecting the Laird to start barking orders. Surely he would demand another to take care of this wound. The man was busy.

“Bella has travelled to the nearest village for supplies,” Hendry said under his breath. “But I will help ye.”

Aurora’s breath caught with surprise. Rather than instructing anyone to jump into action, Hendry rolled up his sleeves and found a bucket of water. He scrubbed any remaining dirt from beneath his nails. Then, he found a rag and grabbed a jar of honey from a nearby shelf.

All at once, she saw the man who tended to her brother in the abandoned cottage. His focus was absolutely unbothered by the way his staff moved around him. As he cleaned the wound, Aurora felt her feet moving.

“Bandages,” she murmured under her breath, looking around the kitchen.

There was nothing she could use immediately in the room, so she rushed into the corridor. Her feet carried her through the castle, navigating to the healer’s room on pure instinct. Once inside, she quickly located bandages as well as a few vials of herbs that he might use. It was not until she was back in the kitchen and passing supplies to him that she realized what she was doing.

Assisting him felt like second nature to her, like this was where she belonged, the place that she had been searching for her entire life.

“A clean flannel,” she whispered, passing a freshly dipped cloth to Hendry.

As he accepted it, their fingers brushed. She felt the same spark that had accompanied the kiss, and for a moment time stopped and she forgot how to breathe. Then, the contact ended, and his mind snapped back to supporting Hendry.

The two did not exchange any words as they worked. All it took was a glance from Hendry, and Aurora knew precisely what he was asking for. It felt more natural than anything else she had ever done, like the two of them shared a language that they had learned intuitively.

Within minutes, Hendry had stopped the bleeding. His fingertips were gentle as he applied honey to the edges of the gash to protect against infection. He reached over without looking, plucking the clean bandages from Aurora’s hands.

This time, when their fingers brushed together, it felt deliberate. It might have been all in her head, though.

“Bella will want to see ye in a few days to check on yer healin’,” he said as he stepped away. “If it becomes red and angry, ye will go to her before then, aye?”

“Aye, me Laird,” the shepherd said, giving Hendry a grateful smile.

Hendry grunted, giving the boy a single nod before he turned. Without another word, he cleaned away the honey and blood. Then, he looked at the head cook and said, “Come. I need to speak with ye about our stores.”

As if nothing happened, Hendry led the cook away. Aurora was awed by his ability to shift between Hendry the healer and Laird Anderson. She was not sure if she was impressed or frightened by his dichotomy.

Shaking the thoughts away, Aurora began to clear the mess. Even though he had been working quickly, Hendry had kept the area relatively neat. It was exactly how she would expect to find a healer’s station.

“Ye ken,” Mrs. Duncan said, coming over with a clean flannel to wipe the area, “before becomin’ the hermit that neighborin’ clans whispered about, Laird Anderson spent years studyin’ healin’ under the old village healer.”

Aurora looked up, catching the woman’s eye, her knowing smile softening a corner of her heart. “I could tell that he was skilled.”

“He has delivered more babies, set more broken bones, and saved more lives than anyone else in the glen,” Mrs. Duncan continued quietly. “It is what makes him such an admirable leader.”

“Aye,” Aurora managed to squeak out.