She wrung out a cloth in the basin of warm water and set to the task of washing him, cleaning away the blood and dirt from his great hulking body with as gentle a touch as she possessed. She had to ensure they didna miss the tending of a single wound. Even in his disabled state, the man was a wondrous sight indeed. A chest broader than any she’d seen. His entire body so muscular, it felt rock hard to the touch. The silent strength of him beneath her hands mesmerized her as she ran the soft, wet cloth across his ridges of muscle. Catriona swallowed hard, strange warm flutterings surging through her. What was he like when he was whole and awake? What sort of man might he be?
While Gaersa and Elena tended to the other unconscious man, Catriona was quite aware of their glances her way, watching to ensure that she didn’t tend to any part of the man that a maiden shouldn’t touch unless that man happened to be her husband.
“Have ye e’er seen so many scars?” Gaersa asked as she hefted another steaming kettle of water from the fire and sat it on the bench between the two men. She waved for the two maids carrying candelabras with fresh candles to come forward and place the additional lighting on benches at the heads of both men. “These lads have seen their share of battles afore whatever happened this time. Some of those scars are old. And they favor each other. Reckon they’re kin?”
“Hair black as soot and both the size of great hulking bears? Aye. They’re kin. I’d wager maybe brothers even.” Elena covered her patient with a light blanket, then bent with a stiff shuffle and scooped up the cloth sack she’d brought with her. “We’ll be needing a mighty poultice for the both of them once we rid them of their bullets.” She hitched her way toward the kitchen, then paused and turned back, shaking a crooked finger at Catriona. “I’ll no' have ye about whilst we cut out the bullets and cauterize the wounds. I ken you’re the lady of the keep since your mother’s death and ye’ve guided this clan during your sire’s ill health, but ye’re still a maiden and it’s no' proper for ye to witness such.” Elena waved away any possibility of argument as she walked away. “Content yourself to lighting a candle for them and saying the words.”
A fool candle and strange words willna heal this man. Prayers? Aye. But I’ll no’ waste my time mimicking my mother’s dabbling in the ancient ways. Elena’s advice heated her blood, made her resolve to help the man beneath her hands all the stronger. She meant to tend to this poor warrior and Elena's druthers were better directed elsewhere. Catriona drew in a deep breath and eased it out as her gaze settled on the man’s large hand resting at his side. Two of his fingers swelled with a hideous purple coloring and were more than likely broken. With as gentle a touch as possible, she repositioned his arm and propped his injured hand atop a folded cloth. They’d have to splint those later. So many wounds. Braw mighty man or no’, how could anyone survive this? She feared all their care and mending might be for naught.
“Do ye hear my words, Catriona?” Elena repeated in a tired but firm tone. “I’ll no’ have ye seeing such.”
She met Elena’s scowl with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Ye will be in need of my help.” She looked over at Gaersa to include her in the conversation. “Your combined wisdom is great and I respect the both of ye more than ye’ll e’er know but the both of ye are older and your strength wanes. I’ll be helping with the tending of these men. I dinna believe in shirking duties no matter how unpleasant. These two need attention as fast as we can give it.” As if to cement her vow, Catriona pulled the linen back, uncovered the man in front of her, and dabbed away the blood and grime from the wound high on his upper thigh. “And I verra much doubt that the washing of an unconscious man is a grave danger to my maidenhead, ye ken?”
Inwardly, she smiled. Aye, her maidenhead was quite safe, but in all fairness to Gaersa and Elena’s reservations, the sight before her did set her to musing. What might it be like to be wanted by such a comely made man? She blew out an excited breath and swiped the back of one hand across her forehead. The hall seemed overly warm, and she wondered at the prudence in placing the men so close to the hearths.
For the sake of her own temperature, she drew the linen back across the man’s middle and busied herself with tending to his other wounds.
Chapter 2
His screams shattered the nighttime peace of the hall, but the word scream didna provide an accurate description of the heart-wrenching sound. The warrior’s growling roars sounded more like unimaginable pain unleashed from the depths of his anguished soul. 'Twas a hellish sound that echoed off the rafters.
Jolted awake, Catriona sprang up from her pallet and rushed to the thrashing warrior’s side. Thank the saints, they’d strapped him to his sickbed or he would have tumbled to the floor by now. The man's safety demanded restraints. There had been no choice. He’d never survive another round of bleeding.
“Shh…'tis all right. ’Tis all over. Ye’re safe now.” She wrung out a cloth in a basin of cool water and sponged it across the suffering man’s forehead, daubing the sweat from his brow with slow, gentle movements. She laid a hand to his cheek, against the side of his neck, then rested it on the center of his broad heaving chest. Her heart lifted at the cool, clammy touch to his skin. “Praise be. Your fever’s broke at last.”
A relieved breath escaped her as she pressed the damp cloth along his throat and collarbone, wiping away the sheen of sweat the fever left in its wake. Praise the Almighty, 'tis at last broken. Fierce thing it was. They’d rid his body of bullets, staunched his bleeding with red-hot irons, and sewn closed the worst of the damage left by the blades, but the fever had held to him with the stubbornness of a life-sucking demon. The man, nay, Alexander had faired no better for so long that Catriona had feared they couldna save him. She’d feared he’d die within days.
“Alexander,” she said his name in a soft whisper, praying it would pull him from whatever dark terrors he still battled. “Alexander MacCoinnich, rest ye easy, lad. All is well and ye’re safe here at Tor Ruadh.”
Sutherland, the youngest MacCoinnich brother, had revealed Alexander's name. Catriona stole a glance around the hall. 'Twas as quiet as a tomb and dark as the maw of a cave except for what bit of golden light flickered from the hearths. A single candle sputtered on the mantel next to Alexander’s makeshift bed. The shadowy forms on pallets scattered around the room remained still. The other men had grown accustomed to Alexander’s outbursts during his fevered fits.
“Back to sleep with ye, my fine warrior. Find your rest. All is well.” Catriona had discovered that the more she spoke to him, the calmer the great bear of a man became even in his unconscious state. As before, Alexander stilled, relaxing into his blankets and ceasing his attempts to snap the bindings around his arms.
Catriona shuddered, struggling to push the troubling memory of cleaning his wounds back into the darkness where it belonged. Elena and Gaersa had been right. Catriona hadn’t been prepared for what they'd had to do to save him. 'Twas the stuff of nightmares. She cradled his face in one hand, the stubble shadowing the man’s cheek tickling against her palm. Sympathy for him swelled within her heart. God bless ye, my poor suffering lad. God bless ye and keep ye. Tending to Alexander’s injuries had cost him dearly, but it had been a case of damned if ye do or damned if ye don’t.
Catriona combed her fingers through his dark, sweat-soaked hair and raked it back from his face. She pressed the cool cloth along the side of his neck and across his collar bone. A tired smile tickled the corners of her mouth as Alexander’s breathing returned to a peaceful, steady rhythm with a gentle rise and fall of his chest. At last. The poor man rested. Stifling a yawn, she returned the cloth to the basin and turned away.
“Stay,” whispered a deep voice, hoarse and rough but still so weak she strained to hear it.
Catriona whirled about, fearing she’d imagined the sound. She eased closer to the head of the bed. His eyes were open, dark and confused, but clear and lucid rather than wild with fever. She leaned over him so he could better see her in the weak light. “I’m r
ight here. I’m no' going anywhere.”
Even in the faint glow of candlelight, Catriona saw the uncertainty and leeriness in his eyes. Such dark eyes. Black as ebony but when the candlelight hit them just right they flickered to a shade of the deepest, richest brown.
“This…place?”
“Tor Ruadh. The keep of Clan Neal. Ye’re safe here.”
Eyes narrowing, Alexander’s dark brows knotted into a fiercer scowl. “How?” The word croaked out from between his dry, cracked lips, his unblinking gaze searching her face.
“Our hunters found ye in MacAlpin’s cave and fetched ye back here afore the lot of ye froze to death.” She poured cool water into a wooden cup, soaked the folded corner of a clean cloth, and held it to his mouth. “Here. Wet your mouth with this for now and if that goes well enough, we shall try a wee swallow or two of water, aye?”
Alexander didn’t answer, just allowed her to press the cloth to his lips, watching her with an unnerving look as she guided a few drops of water into his mouth.
Catriona squeezed the cloth against his parted lips, dribbling the water in a slow, steady stream until no more came from it. She took the cloth away and wet it again in the cup. He kept her locked in a fathomless, unblinking stare, scrutinizing her until her cheeks grew warm.
“Your kin are here, too,” she said. Surely, he’d be worried after them. “Four brothers and two cousins.”
“I dinna have four brothers.” Alexander’s voice still rasped rough as wagon wheels in gravel but seemed stronger for the water. He blinked hard and fast. His brow creased and his eyes narrowed. “Magnus. I remember Magnus being…there.”
“Aye.” Catriona nodded. “Magnus is here.” Catriona nodded toward the wide hearth on the other side of the room. “He sleeps even now. Over there.”
Alexander tried to rise, then halted with a jerk, emitting a low rumbling growl in tandem to falling back to his pillow.
“Be still with ye now!” Catriona grabbed the candlestick, holding the flickering light high as she checked the bandages wrapped around his thigh, shoulder, and midsection. “Shame on ye, sir! Ye canna afford more bleeding! I bid ye lie still this instant!”
Alexander rolled his head back and forth on his pillows with a frustrated groaning huff. At last, he stilled and the hint of a smile lifted the corners of the fine full lips that Catriona had noticed more than once. She’d even dared to wonder what those lips might be like if they ever touched hers. She’d ne’er been kissed before. Not really. Liam Bickerstaff had attempted a stolen kiss once when they were little more than children but that had been a clumsy bumping of lips, teeth, and noses. She blinked away the memory and forced herself back to the matter at hand.
“Daren’t ye smile at my scolding.” Catriona retrieved a cloth-covered crock from the bench. “Ye’ve shifted Elena’s poultice wrap from your shoulder. Lie still now whilst I apply another.” Stop being the fool about this man. What ails ye? Time to stop silly daydreaming about this fine warrior and concentrate on getting him healed.
Alexander’s smile grew as he pulled in a deep breath, winced, then released it. The smile disappeared when he attempted to lift his arms. He jerked his forearms against the bands of cloth securing him to the table. “Why am I restrained?”
Amazing how a man could sound so strong and in charge even when he spoke in a rasping whisper. Catriona removed the cloth cover of the jar and stirred the poultice, her eyes watering at the rotten oniony smell. “Ye were wild with fever and we feared ye would throw yourself from the table and reopen your wounds.” She removed the dislodged bandage from his shoulder and discarded it in a bucket under the bench. As she smoothed a generous amount of the stinking gooey paste on a fresh cloth, Catriona forced back a gag. The stuff stank like a rotting dung heap, but Elena swore it drew poisons out of the body.
“God’s teeth.” Alexander made a choking sound as he tried to shift away from her. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned his face away. “What the hell is that stinking mess?”
“A poultice. Draws out poisons.” Catriona drew in as few breaths as possible and took care to breathe through her mouth. “Once your fevers are gone and dinna return, we willna have to use it.” She forced herself not to smile as Alexander’s nostrils flared and his strong jaw clenched whilst he stared up into the darkness.
“There. All done.” She and Alexander exhaled together. The poultice still reeked, but the stench was bearable now that she’d covered it with several layers of linen.
“My brothers. Graham. All are here? And well? Graham's wounds. He lives?”
“Aye.” Catriona rinsed her hands in the basin then dried them on a linen towel tucked into the belted waist of her apron. She nodded to the left of Alexander’s bed. “Look over yon. Graham sleeps right there. His wounds were bad but not so bad as your own.”
Alexander turned his head toward Graham then seemed to relax even more while he watched the rise and fall of his sleeping brother’s chest. After a long moment of silence, he returned his focus to Catriona. “How long?” He paused and cleared his throat, flinching from the effort. “How long have we been here?”
“A wee bit less than a sennight.” Catriona eased a fresh blanket up over him. “Are ye warm enough? Or do ye need another blanket?” With his fever broken, she didna wish for the man to become chilled.
“Untie me.”
Catriona pondered the request. 'Twas true the fever had broken for now but who’s to say it wouldna return? It had taken herself, Gaersa, and four strong stable lads to hold Alexander down and tie the bindings the first time. At this unholy hour, everyone was asleep and needed their rest. What if the fever returned and Alexander had another fit? She shook her head. “I think not. This is the first time ye’ve been sane enough to speak and cool to the touch. I fear the fever might yet return.”
Alexander huffed out a frustrated cross between a snort and a groan. “I am fine. Untie me.”
“When I tell ye ‘no’, I mean it,” she said in the same tone she used when scolding her youngest brothers. “Now rest a while. When dawn breaks, if ye’ve remained cool to the touch, we’ll remove the ties and change your bedding, but I dinna wish to wake Gaersa or any of the lads at this late hour to help me, ye ken?”
Alexander didn’t respond, just glared at her with the muscles in his cheeks rippling as he gritted his teeth. It was all Catriona could do to keep from laughing out loud. Master Alexander MacCoinnich wasna happy with her at all.
Her heart went out to him. The man had to be suffering from lying flat of his back on a blanket-covered table. They’d done their best to cushion his legs and shoulders with blankets but they couldna turn him due to his injuries. An idea to console him came to her. Willow bark tea would ease his aches and if that went well enough, a wee bit of whisky could follow. Best see if he can keep down water first. She picked up the cup of water from the bench and held it where he could see it. “Will ye risk a swallow of water rather than the dribbling of a cloth?”
Alexander’s face lit up as though she’d offered him a keg of whisky. “Aye, lass. That I will.”
A belated thought dawned on her. Catriona realized she’d have to cradle his head and shoulders upward for him to drink without disturbing the stitched wound across his stomach. A sudden flush of warmth rushed through her. Aye, well, there’s no helping it. She swallowed hard then slid her arm beneath his head and shoulders and held him propped against her. “Small sips, mind ye, your belly’s been empty a great while.” She thanked the stars above that she sounded a great deal calmer than she felt, what with a man’s head and shoulders cradled up against her breast like a reclining lover. She did her best to concentrate on giving Alexander tiny sips.
“Ye’re trembling,” he said between sips, the look in his eyes sending an even hotter tingle through her.
“I’m having to stand on the tips of my toes,” she lied. Aye, ’twas a bold-faced fib and she prayed he wouldna realize the truth. “One more sip and then I’ll let ye lie bac
k down for a while before we try the willow bark tea, aye? Elena’s been ready to serve ye a tonic but ye’ve been too ill to drink it.” She swallowed hard. Damned if she didna sound as breathless as a maiden caught in the gardens with a suitor.
Alexander gave her another look that took quite the toll on her already rapid heartbeat, then took one more long, slow drink from the cup. Damn him. ’Twas almost as though the man could see into her thoughts.
“Thank ye, lass,” he said with a satisfied sigh that let her know he’d not only relished the drink but maybe the giving of it even more.
The feel of him in her arms and the way he rumbled against her when he spoke made it difficult to draw breath without shuddering. With a slow careful shifting, she lowered him back to the bed and slid out from under him with a smile and a quick nod before turning to set the cup away and attempt to regain her composure. She’d ne’er held a man that close before and it disturbed her to admit that it had been rather nice.
“Lie ye down,” he said in a low tone that was no longer a rasping whisper. Replenished by the water, his voice was deep and strong yet quiet in honor of the darkness and all who slept around them.
“B-beg pardon?” Catriona turned back to him, heart now pounding so hard it almost choked her. She feared even Alexander could hear it. “What say ye?”
Alexander shifted on the pillow, turning his head her way. “I said, ‘lie ye down.’ Ye look weary and I fear I'm the cause.”
Catriona dropped her gaze to the floor, not knowing how to respond. No one ever worried after her. Never had. Well, no one but Gaersa. The housekeeper had shown some concern for her well-being, but nothing over much. Even when her mother yet lived, everyone expected Catriona to be the strong one. She’d been born to it, or so her mother had often said. Catriona raised her head and forced a smile. “Dinna let it trouble ye. I assure ye I'm well. Thank ye.”
The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel Page 3