When she and Duncan lapsed into a long silence, Moira did not mind. With Sean, every conversation had been fraught with hazards. He had been so volatile that she had to watch her every word, never knowing what might set him off. In truth, she found it soothing to walk with Duncan and not talk at all.
Her body ached, and she was growing wearier with each step. She had been beaten, lost at sea, swept down a cliff, and attacked by wolves. This time, when Duncan lifted her off her feet, she did not object to being carried.
Before she knew it, he was setting her down in front of Caitlin’s cottage. Judging from the way Niall’s eyes widened when she stepped through the doorway, Moira knew she must look a fright.
“What ye need is a good long soak,” Caitlin said. “I expect ye don’t want to bathe in front of Niall, even if he is your cousin—”
“Definitely not,” Duncan interrupted.
“Then you’re welcome to roll my washtub down to the other cottage.” Caitlin handed Moira a small pot of a creamy substance that smelled of heather and honey. “After you’ve bathed, have your husband help rub this salve on ye. It will soothe your aches and pains from that fall.”
Moira swallowed. After she had already slept alone in the cottage with Duncan, she supposed it was too late to confess that they were not married and ask Caitlin to help her with the salve.
“’Tis a lovely salve,” Caitlin whispered in Moira’s ear while Duncan retrieved the washtub from the far corner of the cottage. “I believe you’ll thank me in the morning.”
As she and Duncan went out the door, she heard Niall’s voice behind her, “But he’s not her husband.”
“Hush,” Caitlin said.
* * *
Moira had a hundred scratches, and her gown stuck to her in all the places she had bled.
“Ouch!” she said as Duncan peeled it off, leaving her in just her shift.
Before Moira could give him instructions, Duncan lifted her up and set her feet down into the tub of warm water. She wiggled her toes and sighed. “Ach, it feels heavenly.”
Duncan held a towel up between them. “Do ye need me to help ye take your shift off as well?”
She did not miss the hopeful note in his voice.
“No.” But her shoulder hurt so badly that she got stuck with the damned shift half off and covering her head. “I do need a hand, but don’t look.”
One tug and the shift was over her head—and she was naked as the day she was born. She winced as she dropped down to sit in the tub. The hot water made her scratches sting for just a moment, then the heat began soaking through her sore muscles.
“Ahh, that feels good,” she said on an exhale as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She heard Duncan pour in another bucket of water that he had heated over the hearth.
“Shame I can’t tell everyone at Dunscaith how the captain of the guard waited on me hand and foot better than any maid I ever had.” She smiled to herself. After a while, she slit her eyes open to see what Duncan was up to. “Ye didn’t close your eyes!”
Duncan snorted. “Did ye expect me to?”
“Ye could at least pretend ye were,” she said and covered her breasts with her hands.
“Let me wash your hair for ye.” He picked up a long strand and twirled it between his fingers. “Ye still have twigs in it.”
Her hair was so filthy that it itched unbearably. Keeping her arms crossed over her chest, she sat up and leaned her head over. Duncan’s strong fingers massaged her scalp as he washed her hair with the soap. It felt so good.
He gave her a folded cloth to cover her eyes before pouring the bucket over her head. When he was finished rinsing her hair, Duncan eased her back and put the cloth behind her head to cushion it against the rim of the tub. The gesture was so kind.
Tears slid down the sides of her face as Duncan rubbed her temples and then her shoulders and neck. No one had taken care of her in such a long time.
“Shh,” he shushed her. “You’ve been a brave lass.”
Moira must have dozed, for she awoke with a start when Duncan said, “The water’s getting cold. Let’s get ye out.”
She was too limp to fight him when he slipped his arm under her, lifted her to her feet, and wrapped the towel around her. When she slumped against him, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
“We’ve nothing clean for ye to put on.” Before she could gather herself to protest, he removed the towel and slid her under the bedclothes naked. “Here’s a warming stone.”