She points to a shattered mug on the floor. I step over it and walk to her, taking her hand in mine and unwrapping the towel.
“Och, what a mess,” I say as I look at her lacerated hand. “Doesn’t look so deep you need stitches, but we’d best bandage you up. Seems it may’ve startled you more than anything.”
I lead her out of the kitchen to go sit in the living room with the towel wrapped around her hand while I head to the toilet to get some bandages. When I come back, she’s quietly crying.
“Does it hurt badly, lass?”
She shakes her head. Not too painful, then.
“Were you frightened?”
She shakes her head again.
I frown while I take her injured hand into my lap, gently unwind the towel, and disinfect her cut. It’s not much more than a scratch when it’s all cleaned up. I reach for her mobile and hand it to her.
“Then what is it? Tell me.”
She’s clumsy typing with only the use of her left hand.
I shouldn’t have broken your cup. I am sorry.
I shrug. “No use worrying about all that. It had no sentimental value whatsoever.” I don’t even fucking know how it got here. House help or something, I suppose. I only use the one mug I have.
She sniffs again, and she can’t shake the frightened look. Christ, did her family belittle her for breaking things or something similar?
“Is there something else bothering you, lass?”
She fumbles at the phone, clearly frustrated she can’t communicate quickly like she did before.
No one’s ever been tender with me before, and I have to admit, I feel honored because you are not the type to really be tender with… well, anyone.
I can tell there’s so much more for her to say, as her finger hesitates over the keys, but she doesn’t send another message.
I bring her injured hand to my lips and kiss it. “You make it easy, Cairstina.”
What is this woman doing to me? No one has ever affected me like this. No one’s ever brought out this side of me before.
I knew from the moment I met her that something was special about her. I don’t know what it is about the two of us, but it feels almost as if I’ve been waiting for someone just like her.
She giggles and taps something else out on her phone.
Suffice it to say, you make it easy, too, even if you infuriate me sometimes.
I kiss her hand again, and the desire to make love to her resurfaces.
“I want to make love to you again,” I whisper, holding her gaze with mine. “But we have to get ready to go into Inverness. Will you wait for me until later?”
She nods eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation and pleasure. I pat her leg.
“Let’s get ready to go.”
She takes my hand when I offer it, following me into the shower. It’s a small room, but the shower itself is ample, so it’s only a matter of choreography to figure out how she showers right along with me. It’s almost a dance, as we lather and rinse, and she quietly lets me care for her.
Christ, I wonder if this is all I need in life.
We dress in amicable silence, her phone sitting on the table as we get ready. A few times she catches my eye and smiles shyly. I give a curl of her hair a little tug, and she silently laughs.
I wonder what it sounds like if she giggles. I wonder what her voice sounds like. I wonder what she’d say if she was able to speak. I wonder what her moans of pleasure and her gasps sound like. I wonder…
I call Mac and Tate, and we make our plans to go to Inverness.
“You sure it’s safe to go, Leith?” Tate asks, always the more cautious of the three of us.
“I’m not, but I don’t want this errand to wait.”
“I’ll be taking Cairstina with me, but I want her well-hidden.”
“Of course,” Tate says. “You want me to send one of the girls up to help?”
“Aye, but I’ll bring her up to the house. We’ve more things there than I do here.”
A moment later I get a text from Islan.
Paisley is out and about somewhere, I’ll meet you instead for now.
I frown at my phone.
Where’s Paisley?
Her response comes back almost immediately.
I’m not her keeper, Leith, who knows? Last night after you left, Fran came to visit, and Paisley went back with her for an overnight. I’ll let you know when I see her.
Not her keeper. We’re all each other’s fucking keepers. Fran, Paisley’s best friend, comes from the valley sometimes to visit. Leave it to Paisley to leave after last night’s conversation.
Maybe Mum’s right. Maybe bringing up Tavish’s death was a mistake. She’s got to bloody live, doesn’t she?
We leave the house, and as I go to exit the porch, Cairstina grabs my hand and yanks it. I look at her, surprised.