Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) by Lily Baldwin Page A

her words stung. “I am an islander, a sailor. By my troth, I needle a fine stitch,” he said. Then he walked toward her. “But first allow me to appraise how your hands are healing.”
    “Nay,” she said too quickly as her hands flew behind her back. “You just keep your distance, Duncan MacKinnon.”
    Putting his hands out in front of him, he approached her as he would a spooked mare. “Easy, lass. I am not going to hurt you. Those bandages are filthy. I smell the fish you were chopping yesterday.”
    “Aye,” she said as she moved to stand behind the table. “I remember the fish yesterday too. I also remembered what happened when you offered to help. Stay back.”
    “I merely sought to aid,” he said as he drew closer, making his way around the table. “I promise to behave.”
    “Do not take another step. Already your eyes have a glint I do not trust,” she said.
    He stopped and a smile spread across his face. “Are you certain ‘tis not yourself you mistrust?”
    Her reaction did not disappoint. Her mouth fell open in shock. Then her face turned almost as red as her hair. Fury claimed her features as her eyes narrowed and the stubborn set of her jaw snapped shut. She stormed around the table as she tore at her bandages. Then she thrust her bare hands in his face.
    “I accept your aid,” she said.
    He smiled, “As you wish, lass.”
    He took her hands and led her to the table. Pulling out a chair, he motioned for her to sit. She complied, resting on the edge with a rigid back and one foot pointing toward the door. He glimpsed the shiny waves peeking out from beneath her scarf. Her torso tempted his hands with its gentle curves and sleek length. Her now familiar scent awoke the desire he fought to suppress. He swallowed the apprehension that tightened his throat. He dared her to submit to his care, and now that his hands were about to touch her, he began to worry about his earlier promise to behave.
    Just then he felt a tug on his plaid. He looked down to see two big, green eyes smiling up at him. Resisting the urge to sigh with relief, he reached down and scooped Nellore into his arms.
    “Good lass,” he whispered. Then with one hand, he gathered the salve and some clean linen.
    The lass’s laughter broke the thread of tension. Duncan settled down beside Brenna with Nellore in his lap. A wave of relief washed over Brenna’s features. She leaned close and gave her daughter a kiss.
    Duncan lifted Brenna’s hand for a closer inspection. “Your skin heals quickly.” He turned her hand over and studied her palm. “I see no infection, but your fingers reek of fish.”
    She swatted his shoulder playfully. “’Tis not as bad as all that,” she said. Then she sniffed her fingers and frowned. “For once, I shall not argue. ‘Tis offensive. How did I not notice?”
    “Perhaps you were distracted by something else,” Duncan said as he caught her gaze. She blushed and looked away. He bathed her hands and then applied a thick layer of salve before wrapping her wounds in fresh bandages.
    “Why did you not ask Rona to clean the fish?” he asked.
    Brenna laughed. “I sent her away. The stench of fish is preferable to the lass’s company.”
    “Her chatter never ceases,” he said, smiling.
    “Never,” she said. “But that I could tolerate. ‘Tis her mother I cannot abide.”
    “I was unaware of Margaret’s visit,” he said.
    “Margaret has never before stepped foot in my hut. She claims the hill would be too taxing, yet, I tell you, Duncan, she’s here every day. Apparently, she disapproves most heartily of every decision I’ve ever made from how I wear my hair to my mothering of Nellore, even to my treatment of you.”
    “It might relieve you to know Margaret condemns us all. So what offense have I committed now?” he said
    “You? Nay, Duncan, you are a saint. ‘Tis I who am wicked, having forced you to sleep out of doors, exposing you to the balmy summer nights.”
    “She has