Roderick sat down near her, but he remained quiet as he ate. Siena thought he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, even if he did have a ferocious look about him. He had long, dark, brown hair that was overly long and framed his face perfectly. There wasn’t much about him that wasn’t perfect. He seemed a true warrior and so much larger than her brother’s men. His deeply tanned skin and broad shoulders proved that he attended to his training well. She felt very small sitting beside him, yet she was unafraid and that puzzled her. Siena wondered what he was thinking. She couldn’t tell because there wasn’t any emotion in his eyes, just a cold, hard stare. He glanced over and caught her looking at him, causing her to blush that she’d been caught in the act.
When Roderick had finished his chicken, he said, “We need to look at yer arm, lass. I had little time to examine it before we left Berwick.” Siena nodded and carefully held her arm out, wincing from the pain. Roderick pulled the dirk from his boot and carefully cut the bandage with the sharp blade, so he could easily unwrap the cloth. He turned her arm as he examined it, causing her to flinch again. Evidently the man didn’t know his own strength. “Och, this cut is deep, lass. Needs stitching.”
“Agatha, did you bring my medicine kit?” Siena croaked.
“Aye.” Agatha fumbled in the brown cloth sack until she found a small wooden box, which she handed it to Siena. “But you cannot stitch yourself, milady.”
“Nay, I cannot, but you can.”
Agatha started shaking her head. “I’m afraid that I would surely swoon after the first stitch, but I can thread the needle.” However, after searching through the box she said, “We have no thread.”
Siena looked up at Roderick. “Can you sew?”
“Probably not as well as you,” he admitted then turned to one of his men. “Fergus, do ye huv yer thread and needle?”
Fergus had red hair; a bushy red beard and merry, blue eyes, though he still appeared a fierce warrior … only more inviting than the rest. She questioned that he would be doing the sewing with such big hands. Yet, she knew something had to be done.
“Aye, sire.”
“Fetch it.”
“But—” Agatha stopped abruptly when Roderick stared at her.
“If we dinna tend the wound, it will become infected and fester,” Roderick said, cutting Agatha off. “You said ye couldna stitch the wound, but someone has to.” He handed Siena a whisky flask. “Drink some of this, lass. It will help with the pain.”
“Nay. You’ll need that, as well.” She nodded toward the flask. “We must pour it over the wound. The dried blood will have to be cleaned off before you can sew up my arm.”
“Ye’ve done this in the past?”
“I’m not usually the patient.” Siena smiled. “I’m the one doing the sewing.” She found she liked Roderick’s Scottish burr. Sometimes it was thicker than other times, but it was different from her proper English. “I’ll try not to scream,” she paused then blurted out, “Second thought, you had better give me some whisky.”
Both men chuckled.
Roderick positioned himself so that he was leaning against a tree. He spread his legs, then motioned for her to come to him. “Sit and lean against me. I’ll support yer arm while Fergus does the sewing. Ye need not be scairt. He is the best I have with a needle and has stitched me more times than I care to remember.”
Once Siena had settled herself against him, Roderick found an overwhelming need to protect her. Something he’d not felt in a long, long time. He believed there was something special about Siena. She seemed so small, and her bruises told him she hadn’t had a pleasant life.
He also noticed the one eye he could see clearly was a silvery blue, much like a cold winter’s lake. He wondered what she would look like once the swelling and bruises went away. She felt comfortable in his arms, he admitted, and her head fit just under his chin.
He watched Fergus thread the needle with horsehair. To Siena’s credit, she didn’t flinch, showing she had gumption. He liked that.
“This will sting a wee bit, lass,” Fergus warned.
“I know,” Siena whispered with an attempt at a smile. However, her face hurt from the bruises, so she wasn’t certain she’d managed one. “I have been through much this day. I believe I can take a little more pain.”
“I could knock ye out, lass,” Fergus said with a laugh.
“I think not, Fergus. Remember I killed the last man who hit me.”
“Feisty, wee lass,” Fergus chuckled. He poured more whisky over her cut, and Roderick felt her back tense, but she didn’t jerk away or cry out in pain. She held her head high and bravely submitted to Fergus’s ministrations. Roderick was proud of her courage. There was more to the lass than he’d thought. He sensed in her a real fighter.
He held her arm still as Fergus took the first stitch. She drew in a breath and looked away, squeezing Roderick’s free hand for support. He was surprised that she turned to him for comfort as if there were already trust between them.
“Oh, my lord,” Agatha gasped before she fainted and toppled over sideways on the blankets.
“S--she has a faint-heart, I’m afraid,” Siena managed to say through clenched teeth.
Roderick smiled. “You, lass, are the brave one.” He didn’t mention she had a tight grip on his arm, so he knew she experienced a great deal of pain. He decided to take her mind off the mending of her arm. “Is Agatha related to ye?”
“Nay. My father is alive, but I’ve not seen him for the last two years.” She shrugged. “I guess you can say that I don’t really have a family who cares for me. Agatha was my nurse,” Siena paused, winced, then continued, “Agatha raised me. Even if she isn’t related to me by blood, I think of her as my family. She is a good woman.”
“I’ve finished, lass,” Fergus said with a broad grin. “Ye held up like a true warrior. Ye can open yer eyes now.”
Slowly, Siena turned her head and Roderick smelled the fragrance of flowers wafting from her black hair. She felt right in his arms. He hated to admit it, because it had been a long time since he’d held a woman like this, and something stirred within him. He was momentarily speechless in his surprise.
Then Roderick thought of his dead wife, and the anger he tried so hard to control surged through him like a coiled snake that had been provoked. Fighting his rage, he thought back to that fateful day when he had returned to his holding to find his wife had been raped and murdered and his son missing. Something within him had broken. Gone was any happiness he’d once felt. It was replaced with bitterness and guilt that he’d not been there to protect them.
Roderick shook his head to rid it of the dark images. He’d been bitter for so long that he didn’t know how to change. Now he held a woman in his arms, a woman who had killed his mortal enemy. For that, he was grateful, but he felt so strange—something he would sort out later. For now, Siena looked clearly exhausted and pitiful with one swollen eye and a dark circle under the other eye. He shoved to his feet and gently lifted Siena and carried her back to her blanket.
“I will sleep on this side, so we can share my plaid, and my warmth,” he said, pointing. “Duncan will sleep next to Agatha. You needna worry about anyone harming ye tonight.”