"You finished it," Lorcan said. "That's what matters. And that dress..." His lips twitched at the memory, but only briefly before his gaze dipped back to Corrie's hand and concern shut out anything else.
He watched, wincing in sympathy, as she unwrapped the cloth. "Do you want to get all those out, or do you want me to do it?" Lorcan asked, carefully neutral. She could probably be more delicate than he, with pain as a warning, but just looking at all those splinters made him wince, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to do it herself.