Desperate to soothe her, he ran his large hand up her spine, feeling her normally braided hair tangling in his fingers. God’s teeth, Gordon had hurt her.
“Ye’re safe, lass,” he said gruffly. “I’ll no’ let him—or anyone—hurt ye ever again.”
She sniffled once, then twice, her head jerking in what might’ve been a nod of agreement. “I ken it,” she mumbled. “I was just…scared.”
“Och, ye should’ve been. But ye made him yell.” Brodie didn’t bother hiding the pride in his voice. “Did ye hurt him?”
Still sniffling, she slowly straightened, but her gaze didn’t leave his chest. “I…kicked him.”
“Good lass,” he said gruffly, amazed by her strength.
“And”—slowly her chin rose—“I threw a squash at him.”
Brodie grinned. A genuine grin, one of pride and fierce pleasure. “Ye threw a squash at him?”
She was studying his expression, his lips, and he didn’t even care.
Slowly, she nodded. “Twice.”
“Twice?”
“I threw two squashes at him.”
His grin grew, and she frowned in response.
At least, she tried to frown. Even in the dim light, he saw her flinch in response to the movement, and knew her jaw was paining her.
Tsking under his breath, he wrapped his arm around her and turned her towards the back door to the kitchen. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he’d been strong enough to scoop up a scared maiden and carry her easily. Now, his leg could barely support his own weight.
Surprisingly, that leg was doing just fine without the crutch. Oh, the whole bloody thing ached like he had hot pokers under his skin, but the brace was holding, each step awkward and painful and hesitant.
But he was walking.
He was walking, the woman he loved beside him, and he’d just satisfied the beast he carried inside him.
Mine.
She was his, no matter what might happen, and that fact made his decision about McClure Keep and his future so much easier.
Before they were halfway to the kitchen, he realized his love had shoved her shoulder into his armpit and was trying to half-carry him. The notion made him chuckle, and she jerked in surprise.
“Are ye aright?” Her breathing was troubled.
He tightened his hold on her shoulder and focused on not tripping over the steps. “Aye, of course.”
“Ye laughed.”
“I’ve laughed afore.”
Where was that candelabra?
“No’ like this. What are ye doing?”
Ah, here ‘tis.
“Getting light.” He snatched up a poker and managed to find a few glowing coals, then shoved the candle closer until it caught.
When he turned, Fenella was chewing on her bottom lip, wringing her hands. “Brodie, ye must be in terrible pain. Please sit and let me tend yer knee.”