on their own accord. She remained silent lest she started screaming and never ceased. She rubbed her thumb over her palm before switching sides. She squeezed her fingers and rubbed them. Anything that would make the sensation end faster, but she knew it would go away when it was ready, not when she wanted it. Inhaling deeply and releasing it slowly, Laurel forced her eyes open as some of the initial pain eased. She glanced at Aggie and knew the woman suffered from guilt. It was clearly etched in her face, but Laurel knew it wasn’t guilt from committing a crime. It was guilt from not having prevented it. Struggling against the pain and the leaden weight of the water on her arm, she reached her hand for Aggie’s, which rested on the lip of the tub.
“Nae yer fault,” Laurel whispered. “I’m certain ye didna do it, and I’m certain ye wouldnae have let someone if ye’d kenned.”
“But ma lady, all that happens under this roof is ma responsibility.”
“It may have been the last few years, but that ended yesterday. This wasna yer doing, or lack of doing really. Aggie, I never blamed ye.” Laurel scowled and muttered, “I blame that tart Gara.”
“She’s dead,” Brodie stated. Both women looked at him in shock. “A guard found her behind a storage building while he helped search for ye. She’d been stabbed several times.”
“How long before ye found me did ye find her? Who kens?”
“Half an hour, mayhap. Monty, Donnan, Graham, and I went with James when he fetched me.”
“Graham and James wonder if it was me?”
Brodie’s mouth thinned. His wife’s perceptiveness wasn’t always convenient. He supposed that was part of what caused Laurel’s problems when she arrived at Stirling. She’d figured out people, and either didn’t care for them or didn’t care for their reaction to her. He nodded.
“Even if I hadnae been locked in the larder, I wouldnae have done it that way. One clean wound, and I wouldnae have lingered for more.”
“That’s what Monty and Donnan said,” Brodie frowned. He glanced at the door but pushed aside a hint of a thought.
“They’d ken. They taught me.” Laurel shifted as some pain eased, allowing her to sink lower in the water until it rippled on her chin.
“They said that too.” Brodie ran his hand over Laurel’s head, wanting to touch her, to show his concern and affection. But there was little more he could do while she was in the tub and with Aggie present. He also worried that he’d hurt her if he touched anything but her hair.
“Ma laird, ma lady. I think it’s best I take maself off to some other task or whatnot.” Aggie rose from the side of the tub and the stool she’d sat upon. She patted Laurel’s hand that still rested over hers. “Ye’re a good lass, ma lady. It’s been clear since ye rode in holding hands that ye love the laird, and if anyone doubted it before, they canna wonder now. He loves ye too. Ye’ll be good for our clan, ma lady. I’m glad ye’ve come.”
“Thank ye, Aggie. That means a great deal to me. I’m happy to be home.”
Aggie beamed at Laurel and glanced at Brodie before taking her leave. When the door clicked shut, the couple looked at one another. Brodie’s mouth descended to Laurel’s, as her neck strained to lift her chin to meet him. The kiss was hungry and frantic. It was as if none of the time lying in bed or while Laurel soaked had been enough to reassure one another that they were safe and together. Laurel’s dripping hands pulled at Brodie’s leine.
“Off,” she demanded, her voice growing stronger. As though their first kiss was the succor Laurel needed, she found strength she’d believed had been sapped. “I want to see you, touch you.”
Brodie obliged before his hands plunged beneath the surface. They skimmed along her legs, over her belly, up her ribs. He squeezed her shoulders and massaged her neck. Laurel’s hands prowled over her husband’s chest and back, covering every inch she could reach. But when she found his stitches, she gasped and jerked away.
“It’s naught but a wee scratch,” Brodie claimed, repeating what Nora said. She’d always downplayed his injuries except for the few that nearly killed him. She’d done it since he was a child, and he knew that while he didn’t need her to make him brave, he found it endearing.
“A wee scratch ma arse. Let me see,” Laurel demanded.