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He hissed in pain and jerked away. “I said it was merely a flesh wound.”
“Best allow me to take a look,” Fiona advised. “I’ve seen many a good knight suffer mightily from a small, festering wound.”
Reminding her far too much of Spencer when he was in a snit, Gavin reluctantly allowed Fiona to pry his fingers away from his arm. The moment they were removed, a well of fresh blood surfaced.
Fiona sucked in her breath when she saw Gavin’s arm. The wound was deep and jagged, tearing away a good portion of the flesh.
“It will need stitches,” she declared.
Gavin gave her a wary look. “Are ye certain? Or are ye just looking fer an excuse to stab me with a needle?”
Fiona leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “Well, my lord, you do take every opportunity you can to give me a poke. I think ’tis past time that I return the favor.”
He smiled wolfishly, as she had hoped, the wound momentarily forgotten. Taking advantage of the distraction, Fiona sat Gavin in a chair, then quickly dispatched Alice to fetch a needle and thread and Hamish to bring hot water, clean bandages, and medicinal herbs.
Gavin shut his eyes as she playfully removed his shirt, the tight, white line around his lips conveying the depth of his pain. When Alice and Hamish returned, the pair hovered over her curiously until a glare from Gavin had the steward bowing politely and both of the servants quickly leaving.
Fiona presented Gavin with a healthy portion of whiskey, which he downed in two gulps. Waiting a few moments for the strong spirits to take the edge off, Fiona began gently cleansing the wound. She sopped up the warm water as it trickled down Gavin’s arm, wrung the cloth out, then started again. The water in the bowl soon turned red, but she was pleased to see the bleeding had slowed.
Fiona’s brow furrowed as she threaded the needle. Pinching the jagged edges of Gavin’s flesh together between her thumb and forefinger, she made small, neat stitches. Gavin clenched his mouth and turned his head, but he never once flinched.
Fiona was grateful. Though she had learned, and was often called upon, to practice the healing arts, it was never easy piercing a man’s flesh, especially one who was squirming and screaming. Thankfully, Gavin had spared her that added difficulty.
When she finished, Fiona mixed a salve with the herbs and honey Hamish had brought. She spread it liberally over the wound, then wrapped it with a clean cloth. She placed her palm across his forehead, soothing him while at the same time checking for any sign of fever.
“I still cannot credit that Spencer was the one who did that to you,” she murmured.
“A streak of sunlight flashed off his blade and temporarily blinded me,” Gavin grumbled.
“Really? It must have been a very fleeting burst of sunshine,” Fiona commented in a lighthearted tone. “The skies have been gray and cloudy all day.”
“Cease gloating, please.” Gavin flexed his arm and rotated his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the movement. “I plead an English conspiracy. Ye deliberately distracted me as ye were standing in the crowd while yer son attacked me.”
“Oh, is that how it happened?” Fiona stepped back, resting her hands on her hips. “Lest I remind you, ’twas you who taught Spencer that fighting fair doesn’t always win.”
“Aye, but Spencer has no need of cheap tricks. The lad has real skill.”
Fiona’s heart gladdened at hearing the compliment. She had convinced herself that with the proper training Spencer would be able to overcome his physical limitations. ’Twas a tremendous relief to discover she was right.
“He’s had a good teacher,” she said.
Gavin shrugged. “I take little credit. Duncan trains the squires. He works them hard, but the results are promising.”
Fiona smiled. “I know you’ve been giving Spencer extra attention. Thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary. ’Tis part of our agreement, after all.”
Her heart squeezed. “Yes, of course.” She turned away and busied herself with clearing the medical supplies, trying not to react to his words. Words that struck at her heart, cutting her to the quick as they delivered a cold shock of reality.
This was a business arrangement between them. An exchange of bartered services. Gavin agreed to foster her son and train him to be a knight and in exchange she slept in his bed.
’Twas nothing more and nothing less.
Though painful, Gavin’s remarks were a stark reminder that she was a fool to ever forget it.
Gavin saw Fiona’s expression tighten with hurt and he wanted to bite his tongue until it bled. First, he’d humiliated himself on the practice field by allowing himself to become careless, and now he had opened his mouth and stuck his booted foot inside it.
He reached for her and she tried to push him away, but he persisted, catching her wrist and pulling her toward him.
