Eli wanted to protest, to leap down from the table and leave before he could no longer find the resolve to do so, but he was already unable to find the will to make his feet move, so he waited for Kit to return with a small jar in her hand.
She scooped up a generous portion and rubbed it gently over the cut, her stitches having done the job of completely stopping the bleeding. “Will you see your mother or your sister? Can one of them treat this for you, or shall I send this jar with you?”
“I will see them,” he assured her, thinking she shouldn’t send the entire jar with him when Armant might need it for something else.
Kit nodded and set the jar aside, wiping her finger on a rag before finding a clean one and tearing it into a strip. “Let me wrap it up.” She went about making sure it was covered. “Be careful not to use it if you can help it. At least it wasn’t your right hand.”
“I did think it through a little.”
