“’Tis no’ worth the bother most times, if I’m going to be standing again soon after.” It was a fine day, the air smelled of rosemary, and for the first time, she wasn’t snapping at him for his suggestions about her seasoning choices. Why were they wasting time talking about his brace?
Because at least she’s no’ snapping at ye for yer suggestions about her seasoning choices.
Och, aye. That was it.
She met his eyes, and he was surprised to see there wasn’t worry there, although they were still more gray than green. But she even offered him a little smile. “Give yerself time. No’ to heal, but to learn to live with yer new normal.”
His brows twitched downward. “A strange way to say I’ll spend the rest of my life limping about, milady, unable to ride a horse or lift a sword to defend my laird.”
Her smile faded at the bitterness in his tone, bitterness which had surprised him as well.
“’Twas a wound nobly got, Brodie,” she reminded him.
He snorted. Actually snorted. “In training, there’s nae such thing as a noble wound. They’re all just…”
Wounds.
To his surprise, despite his gruffness, she actually stepped closer, and her hand rested once more on his forearm, which gripped the damned crutch. Did the same strange spark travel up her fingers, as it had his?
“Leanna told us all about how ye were wounded, Brodie. She explained that ye and Kenneth were hunting for the bandits who had been deviling the mountains, and separated. While he’d discovered Leanna bathing, ye were busy fighting for yer life.”
“I almost lost it,” he growled, swallowing down the shame of the retreat which followed that day.
The blinding pain from the arrow in his knee, the one which had pinned him to his mount, had made it difficult to hold onto his sword, but he had. He’d taken down three of the bastards, until more had arrived, each carrying blades or bows.
He could’ve sold his life dearly, but there had been a more important vow to remember. One to his laird.
“Ye escaped them,” she said quietly, her fingers pressing against his skin, “so ye could warn Kenneth. And in doing so, ye saved Leanna. How could I no’ think that a noble wound?”
As he’d wheeled his horse about, a second arrow had caught him high in the shoulder. Although the healer had been able to remove the arrowhead with ease, the wound still very much troubled him when he tried to lift his arm above his head. Not that he’d give up trying to strengthen the arm, but it would always remind him of his choice.
He’d chosen to live, even with the pain.
Clearing his throat, Brodie looked away, breaking the oddly intense gaze they’d shared. “Leanna is yer sister.”
It wasn’t a question, of course not. He knew exactly who she was, even if he wasn’t sure about the rest of her family.
She nodded as she turned to her left and stepped away. “Leanna is the youngest of us all, and I’m the next auldest.” Her skirts brushed against herbs as she moved toward what he now realized were the scallions. “She’s the wild one; the daughter most interested in adventure.”
“And ye’re no’?” he asked gruffly.
Surprise flickered across her expression as she blinked and glanced at him, before crouching in the dirt. “Nay, I’m no’. I have everything I ever wanted right here.” She hesitated, then took a breath and nodded. “Aye, I do,” she repeated, as if reminding herself, “and nae desire for anything different.”
Hmm.
But she was talking to him at least, and he didn’t want that to change. “Ye have other sisters. Four, aye? The healer is one.”
“Nichola, aye.” She nodded as she carefully chose stalks to slice with a sharp little kitchen blade. “She’s the second-auldest behind Coira. Coira—” She hesitated, a grin tugging at her lips, her attention on the scallions. “Coira is likely the only thing holding this whole place together.”
That sounded curious, but he had to admit he didn’t give two shites about Coira right at that moment. Not when the summer sunshine was highlighting Fenella’s red curls with little golden highlights, and she was sounding so at ease. He wanted this moment to last for much, much longer.
“And yer other two sisters?”
“Robena is next-auldest to me and makes the sweetest music ye’ve ever heard. Wynda is our scholar—”
“She’s the one who made my brace, aye?” He remembered her name now that she’d spoken it.
She glanced up at him, her eyes shading toward green. “Aye! She says she found the design in a portfolio of inventions from one of our great-great-great-great-something-or-other uncles.”