“You’ll get lost if you try to…oh!”
Isobel regretted her blustering the second her ankle twisted and she went toppling to the earth. The pain was immediate and intense, but it was doubled when she let go of her skirts in time to press her palms into the earth and absorb the impact of the fall.
“Argh.” Isobel emitted a very unladylike groan. Her hands shook, unable to support her full weight. She quickly flopped onto her backside and allowed the searing pain in her ankle to throb.
“Miss Graham!” Laird MacRaeh called.
“Over here,” she managed to return weakly.
He appeared a half-second later. His hands parted the tall grasses and then, when he reached her side, the Laird dropped to his knees. “Where does it hurt?” His face was etched with concern. His eyebrows were drawn low and his lips were squeezed into a tense pucker.
“Everywhere,” Isobel moaned dramatically as her eyes fluttered closed, and she sucked in a deep inhalation.
“Everywhere?” he echoed.
She opened her eyes slowly and peered at him. The look of worry was still there but his grey eyes were filled with a stronger sensation too, something closer to distress.
“Not everywhere,” she amended as she shifted her weight on her bottom so that she might work her limbs and see what truly stung. “My arms hurt a little,” she clarified as she lifted her hands and rolled her wrists.
“Is that all?”
She shook her head, then winced as she tried to perform the same movements with her legs. “My ankle. The left one. It…it hurts terribly.”
He offered, “Should I fetch ye a physician?”
Isobel stared at him. When she first met this Highlander, he’d had his nose busted and been nursing a wound on his arm. He had balked at allowing her to step in and clean the blood away on his behalf. But now, his eyes were wide and his panic was apparent as he suggested they find a healer to treat her injury.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Just…just help me stand.”
This feat was one the Laird could manage with little difficulty. He placed both hands under her armpits and swiftly hauled her into a standing position. She might’ve enjoyed the proximity to his firm, lean torso and even appreciated the strength in his forearms had her ankle not smarted immediately, causing her to pull the foot off the ground and hold it in midair.
“I do not think I will be able to walk back to the house.”
“I can carry ye.”
Isobel looked at the Laird, expecting to see a hint of mockery or even a flicker of a smile on his face, but his expression was earnest. He would carry her all the way back to the castle if she consented.
“No.” She let go of his hands, then slumped back into the tall grass. “Perhaps if I just rest here for a moment, I might regain my composure and feel stronger soon.”
As she reclined in the grass, hearing the dry bits crinkle and crunch beneath her weight, the Laird fell back onto his knees once more. Isobel could not be quite sure of how he did it, but when she looked up at him, she realized that her legs were parted and that he was sitting in between them. Her skirts fully covered her, but still, she felt slightly exposed. A flush of heat crept up the back of her neck and raced toward her cheeks.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
I should’ve known he would not miss it when my embarrassment showed.
“Nothing.” She dismissed his thoughtfulness hurriedly, then tried to roll her ankle again. She winced as a streak of pain lanced through her whole leg.
“Ye must stop doin’ that,” he said quietly as his eyes flicked downward and he looked at her boot.
“I cannot help myself,” Isobel explained. “Moments ago, we were laughing and enjoying ourselves. And now, I have spoiled everything.”
“Nothing is spoiled.” The Laird lifted his hands. It looked as though he wished to place them on her but paused before proceeding. “I’m not a healer, ye ken, but I should like to look at the injury and assess what ought to be done next.”
“Of course.” Isobel gulped. No man had ever lifted her skirts or touched her foot before. Her knees wobbled as he placed his hands on the hem of her skirts and brushed them aside.
“I will need to take off yer boot.” His hands reached for her, but he stilled himself once more, waiting for her permission.
“Yes,” she granted it. “My foot might feel better if the laces were undone.”