veil and twirled it around his finger. “Does she have honeyed locks like her mother?”
Helen almost didn’t want to say. “’Tis black with silken curls.” Helen whipped two more stitches. “She’ll be a bonny lass, for certain.” Then her face fell with thoughts of the miserable life her daughter might endure because of her beauty.
Eoin released her hair. “Why so glum?” The MacGregor Chieftain was too perceptive and too disconcerting.
Helen couldn’t help but heave a sigh. “Aleck aims to make an alliance by marrying Maggie off as soon as her menses show.”
She must have stabbed Eoin with the next stitch because the muscles across his abdomen contracted. He let out a grunt. “I’ll wager you’re not happy with the prospect of seeing her married so young.”
Helen tied the last knot. “I would do anything to keep her from an unhappy marriage.”
She snipped the thread and Eoin took in a deep breath. “At least you have a dozen years or more before you must worry about that.”
“Aye.” I’ll have a dozen years to keep her away from Aleck’s lash, too.
“I’d like to see her,” Eoin said as if he cared not if the bairn was a lass or lad.
Something warm flickered within Helen’s breast. “You would?”
He puzzled. “Why have you not brought her to the great hall? Everyone is fond of a glimpse at a wee bairn.”
Another deep sigh slid through her lips. “Everyone except Sir Aleck, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t understand.” Eoin knit his brows, looking rather dangerous. “True, he wanted a lad, but he has a lass to love until a boy is born.”
Helen’s throat closed. If only Aleck could be half as sensible as Eoin. She fished in her basket and pulled out a small stoneware pot. “This salve has avens oil to help you heal.” She couldn’t bring herself to apply it. Smoothing her fingers over his warm and banded flesh was more than she could bear.
He took the pot and his finger brushed hers. It was as if he’d taken a feather and teased her with it. She wrapped her hand around the finger to staunch the tingling. Why on earth did Eoin MacGregor disarm her with a simple touch? Yes, it had been an eternity since she’d had such a friendly conversation with a man, but must a mere brush of his fingertip send her insides into a maelstrom of fluttering butterflies? Helen picked up her basket and dipped into a curtsey. “You’d best find that shirt before you catch your death.” Or you make all the women in the castle swoon into a heap of worthless mush.
Eoin let out a long breath as he watched Helen stroll out of the antechamber. Holy Mother Mary and all the saints, whether coming or going, the lady was a vision to behold. A married vision nonetheless. He still couldn’t believe he sat there and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. Then it was all he could do not to hold it to his nose and inhale.
Devil’s bones, he’d acted like a lovesick fool. He wasn’t in love. Even if he were—which he definitely was not—the lady embodied the metaphor of forbidden fruit. Worse, she had to be married to the most insufferable arse in the Highlands. Without a doubt, this was the most god-awful assignment Eoin had endured since he’d joined with the Campbells and the Highland Enforcers.
Christ, his gut hurt worse now than it had after MacIain sliced his dagger across it. The miserable backstabber. That’ll teach me. I should have been wearing an arming doublet and hauberk.
Eoin glanced at his belly. Helen had tied off a half-dozen stitches, each one perfectly exact in a row just below his navel. Funny, he hadn’t felt any pain whilst she was stitching, but as soon as she left the room, the wound throbbed and ached as if he’d been gutted. Bloody oath, he could use a healthy swig of that whisky now. He pulled the stopper out of the pot, hit by a strong clove-like aroma. Spreading it over his wound, he let out a grunt. It stung and, holy hell, his eyes watered.
Truth be told, he’d wanted Helen to apply the salve with her deft fingers—wished she’d do it. He’d even closed his eyes and prayed she could hear his thoughts. Please. Smooth in the ointment. I need to feel your lithe fingertips upon my skin just once more.
He understood why she’d handed him the pot. He must have made the lady damn uncomfortable when