by Jenna Stone
“Then he is a fool,” Collin said dismissively. “Leti will have told ye about our father’s passing now,” he stated without emotion.
“Yes,” I muttered in acknowledgement.
“Nathan!” Collin bellowed straightening in his chair as the heavy wooden door creaked open behind me. “Find her a suitable place tae sleep. Ye might as well put her in the chambers that were prepared for her arrival.”
Nathan walked over and stood beside me, nodding in approval to the Laird’s orders. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled as he reached down and took my elbow, encouraging me to stand.
Collin was already back to reading the papers on his desk, dismissing my presence as a nuisance to his work. “I’ll sort out what I plan tae do with ye now that father is dead. Stay out of trouble until then,” he said, not looking up.
Nathan guided me from Collin’s study, closing the door quietly behind us. His large hand settled in the small of my back, warm and reassuring as he propelled me forward down the corridor. “I’ll take ye tae yer chambers, lass. It’s been no doubt a long day. Ye’ll be needing tae rest.”
As soon as the door to my chamber closed behind Nathan, I lost every last shred of compose that I had and promptly fell apart. I threw myself on the feather bed and cried my eyes out. My chest heaved with the reverberations of my emotions and my eyes stung from the tears that continued to flow down my cheeks.
Having gotten that out of my system, I collected myself and began to formulate a plan.
I’ve escaped two marriages already, if I have to escape ten more, so be it. I will be free.
Chapter Three
I awoke in a panic to pounding on my chamber door. Had I bolted it last night?
“Kate! Kate, wake up!” shouted the urgent voice amidst the banging on my door.
My feet felt the shock of the cold flagstones as I slid from my warm cocoon of quilts and stumbled blindly towards the door in the pitch darkness.
“Kate! Hurry!” The banging grew more insistent.
I fumbled with the latch that I had indeed locked and came face to face with a terror stricken Leti as I cracked open the heavy wooden door. Her face was ruddy from crying and her usually striking green eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Her nose was red and she sniffled as she exclaimed, “Do ye ken anything about healing?” the words coming out brokenly between the sobs that racked her small frame.
“Wait,” I mumbled. I was having difficulty tracking her explanation after my abrupt awakening. “Who? What?” I questioned as I made a lame attempt to smooth my curls and wipe the remnants of sleep from my eyes. “Who’s hurt? Leti? What happened?” The sleep was beginning to recede from my brain and coherent thoughts were within tentative reach.
Leti was growing impatient with me. She now spoke quickly and directly, her breathing heavy from the run up to my chamber. Her desperate demeanor demanded my attention to the matter at hand. “Our young men are back from a cattle raid and a few are badly wounded. Over half of the clan is gone for the harvest, including our healer. We need any help that can be mustered.”
“Yes, I can help,” I said without thinking, having been trained in some healing techniques as a young girl.
I was alarmed by the urgency in her voice. I could see that her body was wrought with tension. Her hands clenched the folds of her dress so hard that her knuckles were white with the strain as she said, “Brennan’s hurt something fierce. He’s my betrothed. I caught word that they were home early and I went to greet them and saw him being carried behind his horse in a pallet and...” her voice trailed off as a sob escaped and the emotion of seeing her betrothed in such a condition tore from her throat. Gasping for breath between her sobs, she exclaimed, “And he was so pale it was as if the blood had left his body! His eyes are glassy and he doesn’t speak, doesn’t respond or recognize me or…Oh God, Kate! He can’t die! Please help him! Please help him... hurry!” she sputtered in desperation between sobs, as she reached out and grabbed my arm, half pulling me into the hallway.
My mind was racing as I pulled away from her and ran back into my chamber, having the presence of mind to throw a dressing gown on over my night dress. Leti was standing rigid as a board in the threshold, color gone from her face, waiting impatiently for me to follow her. She turned on her heel as we left my chamber and walked briskly down the hallway as I slammed the door behind me. I rushed down the corridor following close behind Leti, knowing that there was not much that I could do to help if the situation was as grave as she had described.
Apparently not happy with the pace of my progress, Leti whispered “Hurry,” tersely as her sweaty hand reached back and grabbed mine, speeding my walk into a jog as she drug me through the candle lit corridor. Her nails dug into my skin and I felt the desperation in her hurried, methodic movements as she rushed me through the maze of halls. I followed her into the great hall. My breathing ragged now. Nervous anticipation filled my senses as I dreaded the scene I was about to enter into.
The fire roared at the end of the great hall and there was a hustle about the room as if it was midday rather than the middle of the night. The tension in the room was palpable. People were speaking tersely in Gaelic. At this moment, I first learned the smell of true fear. It seemed to permeate the room, with its damp, adrenaline soaked reek. Leti drug me to the far end of the hall and pushed our way through the throng of people toward the table where we had met for the first time only hours before.
He lay on the table, glistening with sweat, which from my immediate assessment of the patient stemmed from a raging fever, not from his close proximity to the fire. His body trembled slightly and his skin had a sickly pallor. Leti dropped my hand and grasped his flack, lifeless hand as if by will alone, she could hold him to this Earth. He was a handsome man and yet at the same time he had almost plain features. His sandy brown hair was crusted with blood and debris from his injuries and his journey home on the pallet. It fell in sweaty clumps about his broad shoulders. He had a kind, boyish face that was slack with fever and expressionless. His eyes were closed and fluttered behind his pale lids with feverish dreams.
I pushed my way towards his head and realized instantly that I would have to take charge of this situation or Brennan would surely die. It was clear that no one knew what to do for him, and consequently, no one was doing anything! No one except Leti, who was bawling her eyes out as she held onto his hand for dear life. To what good her efforts were, I was not sure.
A kitchen maid was gawking at the scene, and I pointed in her direction, breaking her trance with my harsh orders. The authority in my voice surprised me. “Get clean, boiled water. Lots of it. Bring a kettle of cold water too. I need clean cloths for bandages and garlic. See if you can find willow bark tea as well. Get whisky for the others, they will need to wait their turn for treatment. Organize them in order of most grave injury.”
The maid nodded in immediate acceptance of my orders, looking relieved to have something purposeful to do that would remove her from the scene in the hall.
“Everyone else, get out of here!” I barked as I made my hasty preparations for my impromptu healing debut.
The crowd of onlookers dissipated, either from the authority in my voice or from relief that they would not have to be the one who let Brennan die. I moved up beside Brennan’s head and placed my palm flush against his forehead. His eyes fluttered behind his eyelids. His skin was dreadfully hot.
My requested supplies arrived moments later and I knew that my first priority would be to reduce his fever. “Dip the rags into the cold water, and drape them over his limbs. We must change them as often as possible, keeping them as cool as we are able to. This should help to reduce his fever,” I explained.
My assistant was quick to follow my orders, soaking the cloths in cool water, ringing them out and laying them over Brennan’s arms. I took a sopping cloth and draped it over his forehead, covering his rapidly moving eyes. Next, we draped the larger cloths over his legs, and began changing the cloths that were already p
laced, refreshing them with the cold water each time. In only a few minutes, Brennan began to shiver in response to the cold cloths. I hoped that this was a good sign.
Leti sat as if she was made of stone, still holding on to Brennan’s hand for dear life. Her beautiful features were clouded with red, puffy eyes. The color was still completely absent from her face. She looked like a different person all together.
“Thank you,” she whispered, making eye contact with me for a fleeting instant as I peeled back the woolen material of the kilt that was crusted to Brennan’s upper thigh, dangerously close to his nether regions. Now was certainly not the time for modestly, but I placed the shreds of his kilt in such a way that they covered his masculine parts from view.
I inhaled swiftly, and my eyes darted towards Leti, “You need to go,” I said sternly.
“No. I’m staying with him, Kate,” her eyes were full of challenge.
I sighed as I turned back to Brennan’s leg. I had never seen such a grave injury before and I was taken aback as I exposed it’s entirety to view. The gash went from Brennan’s lower abdomen and stretched towards his groin and down his upper leg. His flesh looked like it was about to explode from the pressure of the infection that had overtaken the wound. Thhe edges of the cut were a frightening, angry red. There were clear red lines radiating from both the top and the bottom of the wound. My heart sank. I knew what these streaks meant. Brennan had blood poisoning from the infection.
My stomach began to churn and roll as I took in the situation at hand. I felt like I was going to be sick from the smell emanating from Brennan’s wound coupled with the fear of knowing that I would likely not be able to do much to save him. Poor Leti. My eyes darted back in her direction, and she looked back at me encouragingly. She thought that I knew how to handle this! I faked a smile, exhaled slowly, and turned back to Brennan’s infected leg.
I tentatively probed the wound with my fingers, applying light pressure near the swollen cut inflicted by the sword. The flesh felt sickeningly full and tight beneath my fingers. I pushed back my gag reflex, knowing what lay inside the wound. I would have to abrade the wound.
“I need the whisky,” I said, as I looked hard in Leti’s direction. “I need you to leave for a few minutes, and no matter what you hear, don’t come back until I tell you to.” I ordered, challenging her with my eyebrows knit together to disobey my orders. “Nathan!” I shouted across the hall to the older clansman. Nathan and I had become bonded after he had discovered me in the forest. I knew that I could count on the clansman to not only help me care for Brennan, but to keep Leti away while I worked. “Can you take Leti out for a few minutes?” I asked, although it was meant more as an order than a question.
Nathan scurried over to our table, looking ragged from assisting the wounded. He nodded in reply to my request as he pulled Leti away from Brennan and whisked her from the hall. He shot me a nervous glance from under his bushy eyebrows after looking at Brennan’s leg. I could tell that he thought that Brennan didn’t have a chance in Hell of making it.
“We’re going to open the wound,” I stated matter-of-factly to the kitchen maid. She nodded briskly in response and let out a heavy sigh, preparing herself for what lied ahead. “I’ll open it, and we need to flush out as much of the infection as we can with the boiling water. I need you to hold down his shoulders in case he wakes up.”
Without further prompting, she moved around to Brennan’s head and stood behind him, placing one hand on either of his shoulders. Her freckled face was red from exertion and her brown hair was a frizzled mess.
She rolled her shoulders in a final preparation and said, “Go to it, lass. I can be braw enough when I need to be.” Her muscles tensed and she pressed down on his slack shoulders with all of her might.
I took a deep breath and placed one hand on either side of the wound. As I slowly exhaled, I pressed both hands down and slowly drew them apart, causing a thick stream of pus to flow from the gash on Brennan’s lower torso. The amount of pus and the smell that leached from the wound caused me to choke and gag and I turned my head away as I continued to drain the wound. I moved my hands up the entirety of the wound, repeating the same movement and releasing the infection from Brennan’s fevered body.
The maid had been holding her breath with her eyes clenched tightly closed for what felt like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. She finally exhaled and released her grip on Brennan’s shoulders. He had not moved during the entire procedure. She opened her eyes and timidly peeked at the wound. Her eyes bulged when she saw the infection that I had leached from the wound.
“Lord in heaven,” she mumbled before looking away. “Ready for water?” she asked, already moving around the table to the basin of steaming water that she had brought from the kitchen. “He’s not going tae be moving, let’s get on with it,” she remarked with a glance towards Brennan’s lifeless face.
I touched my hand to his face and it seemed slightly cooler. Maybe the fever was breaking, or at least I hoped it was going down from the cool cloths.
The maid nodded, hoisting the steaming pitcher above the wound. “Ready?” she asked, holding eye contact. I nodded in response and she immediately poured the near boiling water directly onto Brennan’s infected flesh. The last bits of pus were washed from the wound and the water running from the incision was stained pink with blood.
“Again,” I prompted her to pour the second pitcher directly into the wound. There was no response from our patient, a fact that terrified me. I wanted him to scream, to rise up, to respond in some way. I wanted him to show some sign of life! “Now the whiskey,” I coached, eyebrows knit together in concentration.
She grabbed the stoneware bottle of whiskey and removed the cork. “Hold him,” she ordered as she tilted the bottle towards the injury and let the amber liquid flow directly into the bloody incision.
Brennan’s scream was agonizing. At the same time, I was relieved that he had finally responded to our torture, showing a sign of life. It broke my heart knowing that Leti had most likely heard the cry of her betrothed and was probably being restrained from running to his bed-side. Restrained from what would most likely be his death bed. I used all of my strength to press Brennan against the table, and was thankful when the strong arms of his clansmen took over Brennan’s restraint and allowed me to step away.
Brennan abruptly stopped screaming due only to the fact that he had passed out again from the overwhelming pain. I could not imagine what pouring whiskey into such a raw and inflamed wound must have felt like.
“Go get Leti,” I coaxed the maid, whose eyes bulged with fear from what she had done to Brennan. “He’ll be better for what we’ve done,” I encouraged, as she gently set the whisky bottle down and strode from the room, smoothing her skirts.
Leti returned, glaring at me, obviously believing that I had first tortured and then killed her beloved. After finding him still alive, hastily feeling his forehead and inspecting the gash in his torso, she hesitantly asked, “Will he live, Kate?”
“I don’t know. His injury is grave. We did our best to rid him of the infection, but it may have gone into his blood. I don’t know if he will live,” I said honestly, fear once again unsettling my stomach.
“Thank ye, Kate. I ken that ye did yer best for him,” Leti mustered an anguished slight smile as she resumed her place next to Brennan, again holding his hand for dear life. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, then whispered something in Gaelic into his ear.
“Ye did braw well, lass,” the kitchen maid smiled up at me with her broad grin and gapped front teeth. “Braw well,” she encouraged. “I can mind Brennan and the lassie from here, I’ll wager that there are other patients in need of yer help,” she said, patting my hand with assurance that she had the situation under control.
My final patient of the evening was clearly in the advanced stages of inebriation. Self assessment of his injuries must have brought him to the conclusion that as he was not on death’
s door, and thus not in danger of losing neither life nor limb, he would kindly wait his turn and allow his more seriously injured comrades seek treatment first. While he waited, he had partaken heavily in self-medication for his wounds in the form of my “medicinal” whiskey. He had a long wait while I performed my medicinal ministrations on his peers and due to the quantity of whisky he had consumed and perhaps the late hour, he had finally passed out atop a table near the fire.
Throughout the night I had felt his hot gaze on me, watching my movements, watching how I tended to the men. I knew from the cautious concern in his steely gaze that he was their leader. He watched to make sure that their needs were tended before his own.
I approached his prostrate form cautiously so as not to wake him while I accessed his injuries. He was neatly laid out atop the table, the fingers of his hands were intertwined and rested on his abdomen. He looked as though he had laid down for a peaceful nap except for the incriminating empty whiskey bottle next to him on the table. He was breathtakingly handsome.
“Ha!” declared Nathan, snapping me out of my appraisal of the sleeping warrior, “Devon’s a nasty gash across his chest, though I would imagine that his pride is a damn sight more wounded that his body. The lad is well into his cups partially for the wait, maybe for the pain, but mostly for his pride. I’m sure that he kens that his sister will likely finish him off if Brennan doesna pull through this,” Nathan said, casting a quick glance to Brennan’s still form in front of the fireplace.
So, I thought to myself, this was the mighty Devon that Leti had told me about. She had spoken earlier of her fearless brother, the leader of the warriors. Even in his slumber he looked like a warrior. Massive and strong, his body covered most of the large wooden table. I couldn’t help but notice his well-muscled body and the sharp line of his jaw.
“Hell hath no fury,” I whispered as I leaned over my last patient of the evening, listening to Nathan recount the glory of the raid with only half an ear. I turned to my patient and gingerly began to peel the filthy homespun shirt from the wound on his chest. The blood had dried, cementing the shirt and subsequent grime to the injury. I looked up to see that he had not awoken, and admired the shape of his well boned, masculine face.