Willow rolled her eyes. The man would tear himself further if he kept padding around like that. With a deep exhale, Willow approached him, pointing down at the rounded mound of old hay furthest from the entrance to the hut.
“Sit. Ye’ll need to be cleaned.”
Keegan stared at her as if she’d grown a second head, one of his brows cocked up as he regarded her.
“Aye, and ye’re keen on assisting me why? I’ve no need of some trickery to injure me further.”
Scoffing, Willow tilted her head at Keegan, gesturing harder at the ground. “I’m nae tryin' to harm ye. Just sit so I can look it over.”
But the man continued to stare at her. She understood his reticence, but in truth, she had not considered injuring Keegan further at all. She simply wished to clean his wound so that the bastard wouldn’t get feverish.
However, the longer she considered that thought, the more Willow realized that it was strange of her to want to help him. He was her enemy, after all. Why were her instincts insisting she heal him?
“I’m nae lookin' to anger yerlairdfurther by letting ye catch yer death. So, if ye daenae mind?”
She gestured again toward the mound, and this time, Keegan sat, albeit quite begrudgingly based on the scowl he still wore pinned to his face.
“Thank ye. I’ll find a cloth.”
Doing as she said, Willow dug through the saddle bag for a clean scrap of fabric that the man had likely packed as a means of preparation for this very event. She pulled the thing free of the satchel and then searched around for a pot.
As expected, Keegan had the makings of a mess kit in his collection, things he might use to help start a fire and cook while he was out on the road. She poured a small bit of the water into the pot and brought it and the rag over to where he sat.
“Apologies, but this willnae be pleasant, I imagine. And cold.”
Keegan offered no response, still watching her like a hawk as she moved to tend to his side. The cut wasn’t as bad as she first believed, which Willow was quite glad about, and she dabbed at the injury with the dampened cloth to clean away the dried blood.
Grunting low when she touched the wound, Keegan gritted his teeth, and Willow’s brows pinched together as she let up. She clearly needed to be especially careful. It was a new thing to her, cleaning someone’s injury, and she did her best to recall the bit of teaching the McCallum castle’s healer showed her.
Moving slower, Willow was gentle as she swiped away more of the red from Keegan’s side. Her knuckles brushed over his skin as she did, and an odd tremor ran through her at the contact. His flesh was warm, and Willow’s throat was immediately parched. She had to force herself to swallow.
Still, Keegan said nothing, and when she looked up at him from kneeling before him, the man was as stoic as a stone with his eyes fixed on her. Willow felt pinned down by his stare, and she quickly looked back to the blade injury, doing everything to focus on cleaning it.
Ye are fine, Willow. Come now, get it done.
But her fingers trembled, and she knew there was no way that Keegan didn’t notice. She was progressing, but as the moments stretched on, that invisible weight she felt grinding on her only doubled.
“Ye’re shaking, lass.”
Willow nearly jumped out of her skin at his words, and she fumbled with the cloth as she dipped it in the water and wrung it out. She couldn’t bring herself to respond, choosing to pretend as if he hadn’t spoken and paid complete attention to aiding his injury.
“I wonder if it is from the cold. Or…are ye still so frightened of me.”
Uncertain which of the two was more pressing at the moment, Willow chewed on her lip. There was a solid mixture of fear and chill within her, but even more, something threaded through her with every touch she laid on the man. Keegan’s presence was…doing something to her.
“Could there be something else, lass? Something that ye daenae wish to tell me?”
Heat flared through Willow’s cheeks, and she cursed her fair complexion. It was very likely that the pink of her flesh was visible even in the low light, and she ducked her head, sucking in the fresh air so that she might be able to think clearly.
Still, it did nothing to dislodge the replaying of Keegan’s words from her mind. His voice low and husky—a darkness that was unfamiliar humming behind that—Keegan had spoken so softly. Though it had felt like a cannon blast as she’d heard him.
Alien thoughts and emotions bubbled through her like boiling water, and Willow was forced to shut her eyes briefly before dipping the cloth once more in the pot. She knew that the water had been cool when she’d poured it, and now that it sat out in the cold open air, it was far chillier.
How was it that Keegan didn’t flinch as it touched his skin? How did he seem so comfortable sitting in the cold without a shirt?
Her traitorous eyes flicked to his chest above the wound, the unmarred tan flesh looking achingly smooth and warm.
No, ye willnae be swayed by him.