"Of course I touched you," Dirk replied, oblivious to Briar's meaning, "how else could I stitch and clean your wounds? I don't have magic, I can't do it without touching you." He pointed at her drying clothing, hanging by the fire. "Your smallclothes are there," he told her, "as I said, I washed your clothes and they are drying. While you were out, I undressed you, cleaned you, stitched you, bandaged you, dressed you in that robe, and set you there to rest." As he listed the things he did to her while she was out, he ticked them off on his fingers, making sure he didn't miss anything. "As for the robe, you're in it because I figured you'd prefer to be clothed, rather than naked, which you are not naked, and that's what I had that would fit you comfortably. Is there something wrong with it? It seemed acceptable to me." He sipped at the stew, checking it's flavor one last time. It seemed perfect to him. Ready to be served.
"Would you like to eat now," he asked with what seemed like it might be impatience, "or do you have more questions about the quality of care? Perhaps you would prefer I treat you as the criminal you are," his tone almost took on a bit of petulance, almost. "I have rope I can bind you with, and manacles. If that's what you prefer I can do that, or you can stop crying and eat the food I went to all this trouble to make for you."