“Gads,” he agreed. “Tons. Megatons.”
He saw a sparkle in her eyes as her hold on his hand slowly eased. “I dinnae think that word’s been invented yet.”
“Well, when ‘tis invented, that will be my level of pain.”
“Oh dear,” she tsked. “We cannae have that. Perhaps that tincture in the sick room will help.”
“Tincture, aye.” The only thing he’d been sipping lately was good Scots whisky. “What’s it made from?”
“Ye recall, Brodie.” Her eyes were still gray, but there was a definite flash of amusement in their depths as she slowly withdrew her hand from his. “Fish heads, salt, moldy bread, and those herbs Nichola found in the boggy area of the marsh.”
“Och, how could I forget? Boggy herbs and mold. My favorite.”
Her lips were twitching as if she were fighting to keep a straight face. “Verra nutritious.”
Across the table, Gordon spat out, “’Tis disgusting. Remind me never to accept medical care for myself from ye country folk!”
Solemnly, Brodie inclined his head in the man’s direction. “I’ll remember.”
Fenella clearly understood he was offering her an excuse to escape the awkward meal, so she stood, pushing the bench away from the table as she did so. “I ken ‘tis difficult to walk in this condition, Sir Brodie. Allow me to help.”
She snaked her hand into his armpit and tried to lift, and damnation if she didn’t make things more difficult. Between her lifting, and him pushing against the table, he somehow managed not to pull her back down into his lap as he stood.
Which might’ve been awkward since his cock had absolutely been reacting to her nearness during their time at the table.
“There,” she huffed, once he was upright. “Allow me to fetch yer crutch.”
He took it from her with a grunt of appreciation, and as he turned, he was pleased to see Gordon frowning at Fenella’s attention. She “helped” him around the bench, and although it was damned awkward to walk with her arm around his waist like it was, there was no way he was going to push her away.
“Come along, Sir Brodie,” she said overly loud. “I ken ye’re in tremendous pain, but the tincture will help. ‘Tis hard to walk in this condition.”
“So hard,” he muttered.
“What?” she hissed in return.
“’Tis verra hard, lass.” When she glanced at him, Brodie dropped one lid in a quick wink. “Especially with ye snuggled up against me like this.”
Her jaw dropped and she stumbled. He felt a moment’s panic, trying to coordinate one working leg, one non-working leg, a crutch, and both of her bare feet, but he managed to keep them both upright.
“Are ye…teasing me?” she whispered.
He blinked solemnly. “Lass, pain, if ye’ll recall? Uurgh and all that? This is no’ the time to discuss my cock.”
Her blush bloomed again, but this was…different. She held his gaze speculatively, and he saw her eyes shading slowly toward green.
“Fenella!” Her mother’s voice cut caustically through the heat between them. “Where are ye going? And in bare feet no less?”
Her chin dropped as she turned toward the head of the table. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said in a low voice. “I was working when I heard yer call, and I didnae stop to dress properly.”
“’Tis clear.” Her mother sighed. “Ye look like a peasant. And now ye’re leaving the table afore yer laird dismisses ye?”
Thanks to the woman’s berating, all eyes had turned on the pair of them, and he felt Fenella shrinking into herself again. Already, one of her arms was wrapped around her middle, and he longed to feel it wrapped around him again.
Damnation, this was not what he’d had in mind when he’d set out to save her.
So he cleared his throat. “Forgive me, milady,” he began. “Fenella noticed my increasing pain and offered to help me down to the kitchens. For my tincture.”
As Lady Oliphant frowned, her daughter Nichola—the healer—slowly stood. “Tincture?” she repeated doubtfully. “In the kitchens?”