Only Lachlan’s question of, “What now?” kept her from throwing herself at Alec and begging him to please live long enough that she might convince him that she loved him.
“Let’s put one more pillow under him, to aid his breathing,” she said instead, using the back of her hand to wipe at her tears.
When this was done, she spelled out what else they would need to do to keep him alive.
“He needs to be kept in this state,” she said. “I know we want him to wake, would find great relief in that, but it won’t help him. His breathing is compromised, as his right lung is not working. It can heal itself from the inside, but it won’t be helped if he wakes and struggles to breathe.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said. “But how do we do that? Keep him sleeping?”
“By giving him a mixture of herbs...and other things.”
“Other? What other?” Ian frowned.
Katie held her hands up, thinking out loud really. “I’ve never used it, never had cause, but I’m familiar with a mixture—Maybeth, the healer who was my teacher—used it occasionally. She called it dwale, said it was employed quite commonly in England.” With a bit of a grimace, she informed them, “She also insisted on including the bile of a barrow swine, but I could never imagine any medicinal properties in such, that I think we might leave off adding that.”
“What do you need then?”
“Mulberry juice, henbane, bryony—the wild neep—but I haven’t come upon any of that around Swordmair. And a few other things I do have here.”
Lachlan and Iain exchanged glances. “Either Cameron or MacGregor might have it,” Lach supposed.
“Aye,” Iain concurred. “Isla Cameron is skilled.” He shrugged. “Send ’em down to both places, no harm to have excess.”
“What else?” Lach asked.
“And prayers.” Was all she could imagine.
ALEC HAD BEEN RETURNED for two full days before Katie would leave him. She still resisted but had now come up against the insistence of not only Maddie and Lachlan, who’d suggested as much regularly, but Iain and Elle and even Henry.
“You dinna look verra good, mam.”
She forced a smile for her son. Elle had brought him up, which Katie did not mind. Henry had known sickness and death since his infancy, as she’d never once left her son to tend another person, so she wasn’t afeared that he might not be able to process the circumstance or that he might find it disturbing. He’d asked only when Alec would wake as he’d gingerly touched one finger to the back of Alec’s hand.
“I’m fine, Henry. Tired, is all.”
“Ye always say to all the people ye tend, take care of the caretaker.”
She nodded, knowing he was right, and lifted her gaze across the bed to Lachlan and Malcolm, and especially Elle, all of whom were giving her an expectant look.
“Mayhap I wouldn’t mind a quick bath,” she thought out loud. She’d eaten, as Maddie kept the room and all its constant occupants well-fed. She’d slept, curled up next to her husband in their big bed, wanting to be near should there be any changes.
“Aye, we can make that happen,” Elle said. She took Henry’s hand and they departed.
“Dinna make it quick, lass,” Iain said. “The lad’s right—learned from his wise mother—you’re no good to Alec if you run your own self down.”
“Aye,” Lachlan concurred, “so you’ll be off then, and we will no’ allow you back until after supper.”
“Before supper,” she cajoled, which was still too long gone from his side.
Lachlan nodded, conceding. He took her arm and bade her stand from the chair. “Go on then—”
“But you’ll fetch me straight away if—”
“Ye ken we will,” Iain said as he propelled her toward the door.
She allowed him to close it after her, not all the way, that she hovered, torn, not really wanting to leave him.
After a moment, just about when she shifted one foot to turn away, she heard Lach’s voice.
“I’ll kill him myself if he lets this be the end—done off by a fecking ragtag band of weak-kneed fops.”
“Jesu,” Iain breathed, a shaky laugh bursting out. “I ken the same thing. You mean to tell me he survived Falkirk and the seven months after and all the shite since and he’s gonna be felled by some wee skirmish that will no’ even be given a name, it was over so quick.”
“All those years, living only for the next battle—Jesu, how he loved the fight. Sought it out, I ken. Now he’s got her...might finally ken some peace and.... Christ, I’ll kill him.”
She stayed no longer, needed to hear no more. Her husband was in good hands. His friends loved him, as he did them.
SHE BEGAN TO TALK TO him on the third day. Not out of fear that he was slipping away or out of boredom for the long quiet hours she spent at his side. But with some hope that he might hear, that he didn’t worry himself that he couldn’t wake yet.
Katie didn’t mind if any others heard, didn’t let the presence of his father or mother or Lachlan or Iain keep her from chatting away. She only talked trivialities at first, letting him know who was there and what others were doing, how the battle had ended in their favor, according to Iain, whom she’d thought to question at some point.
“Your mother was here this morning, as she has been each other morning, which you might well know,” she said to him on the fourth day. Yesterday, she’d asked Lach and Iain to shift Alec’s resting form a bit to the right of the bed, that there might be more room for her on the left side of the mattress. So she sat there now, crossed legged at his side, unconcerned with the impropriety of her position as it allowed her to be closer and not turned so awkwardly. She held his hand, rubbed her fingers along the back of it. “We bathed you again and she quite enjoyed combing your hair, was about it for quite some time. Then she was off, but I was very proud of her—she lasted nearly an hour without tears today. She’d stay all day if you needed her, of course, but you understand she’s just so much better off moving and busy tending things and people.” She laughed a bit. “Though your father did suggest that when it’s time for you to wake, we might sit her right down and let her chatter non-stop until you roused and begged her cease.” She turned his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, pleased that his skin was warm, but not overly much. “Malcolm came by, stoked the fire a bit, and shuffled his feet. I sent him off after a bit, on a frivolous errand, as his staring so eagerly at you even makes me nervous. And I’d explained to him already—twice now—that you are sleeping at my behest, and with the help of the herb recipe, so that you can heal properly.” Katie turned, staring off out the slim window a bit, until she thought of more to share with him. “I cannot say enough, or convey with any amount of perfection, how grateful I am for Lachlan and Iain’s presence. Alec, those are two very remarkable friends you have and how blessed you are. They love you so much, have cried and prayed and jumped to do all my bidding, all for you. What a wonderful thing, to have such friends. You truly are very blessed. Lach said they might send for Mari and Maggie, which I’m not against at all, if it makes them feel better to have their wives near. Yes, they already did send off word that they were safe, advising of the situation here, that neither Mari nor Maggie was left to fret over their husbands.”
The door to their chambers was always open now, save for at night when Katie slept beside him. Katie turned now, sensing a presence. Lachlan had returned, one broad shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’d been there a while.
He entered then when she’d noticed him.
“Will Mari and Maggie come then?” She asked, assuming he’d heard.
“Aye, Murdoch and Archie and a dozen more’ll bring ’em up.”
She nodded, but then kept talking to Alec. “More friends coming, which will bring more prayers.”
Her shoulders sat low, but only because she was very weary. It wasn’t even past noon yet, she thought.
“Katie,” Lachlan drew her
attention to where he sat, in the chair, which had been moved to the other side of the bed, “I ken you want him still for the healing but are you sure this is working?”
This came as no great surprise to her, someone questioning her methods. Truth be told, she questioned everyday if she’d made the right choices, if this were what he needed to live, if she weren’t causing him more harm. In the end, always her conclusion was the same. She was certain of one thing: Alec would not die.
“I love my husband. I want him—”
“Do you?”
Her initial, spontaneous and internal response to this shock was, I take back all the kind words I’d spoken about this man. Her dander rose, along with her shoulders. She could only stare at him.
“I’ve never heard or seen this method practiced. I’m only thinking of Alec.”
“By questioning my love for him?”
His big shoulders lifted and fell, his hands folded together in front of him, elbows on the arms of the chair. “I was at the wedding. And I was here for a few days after.”
She didn’t need to ask to what he referred. Alec’s coolness instantly came to mind.
Deciding she didn’t need to explain all the particulars to him, she said pertly, “When Alec wakes, you can ask him yourself exactly how big an arse he was in those days.”
He seemed to accept this or chose not to pursue the topic. Mayhap her gaze, suddenly and annoyingly filled with tears, staved off any pursuit of this line of questioning. After a moment, something else occurred to her—that mayhap at some point, Alec had spoken with Lachlan about the state of, or the reasons for, their marriage. A bit awkwardly then, she said in a small voice, “I love my husband. I-I cannot...that is, I know he does not feel the same, but I do. I would rather see harm done to me than—”
“Dinna love you?” Lachlan frowned, which intensified every line and mark and crease in the scars on his face. “Jesu, lass. Make him better and get the truth from him. If he says nae, tell him he’s a liar. That was your name on his lips anytime he was wakeful enough to speak. Get me to Katie, over and over.”
She was quiet, a bit unnerved by the dark intensity of Lachlan Maitland, who at this very moment made Alec’s frowns seem rather tame in comparison.
Considering his words though, Katie turned her attention back to Alec, still holding his hand.
Lachlan interrupted whatever musings she might have lent to his surprising words. “He ever talk about being a prisoner?”
Katie shook her head, startled by the question. “But once.” She thought she should add, “He shared no details though.” While Lachlan nodded, Katie dared to ask, “What are the marks on his legs from? They’re all the same size, evenly spaced, one after another.”
He pushed his lips out with the distaste the memory brought to him. A long silence filled the space between them before he answered. “John of Knolles had been marking the wall, one strike carved with a stone for each day we were held. Every day, someone would ask, how long? how many days now?” He shook his head. “I never ken why they cared. John died and Alec...he assumed that role—among others. Iain could barely move, his back so shredded, bleeding, infected, so forth. I was...no help to any for weeks, couldn’t see out one eye, too busy praying for death. When the English found the marks on the wall, they decided to start marking the days on Alec instead, one slice every morning. He used to smirk at them—Jesu, he was a hard-bitten son of a bitch. “
“They were monsters.”
“We all are, were. War is...it turns people ugly.”
“That’s not true. Alec wouldn’t have treated any prisoner like that. You wouldn’t have. The laird—” Katie broke off, as Lachlan had thrown her a narrow-eyed scowl. “What?”
He only shook his head. “Turns people ugly, lass. All of us.”
She shook her head. No, that wasn’t true.
And then, rather out of the blue, he asked, “Why do you boil the utensils?”
She blinked, wondering if Lachlan Maitland actually had an agenda, of things he wanted to know, bouncing around as he was. “I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “But over the years, I’d noticed that minor scrapes and cuts on Henry, when kept clean, or on a part of the body that was less exposed to dirt or debris of any kind, seemed to heal better and faster. Cuts on the fingers or his face—parts that a young boy quite often got dirty—tended to, more often than not, become infected, or at the very least, take longer to heal.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure it means anything, but I’d always thought it couldn’t hurt.”
He only nodded and requested, “Swear to me, Katie. Tell me he’ll be fine.”
Oh, how she wanted to. She believed it with all her heart. She wept. “He must be. He has to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They developed quite a system for the caretaking of Alec. Though he slept mostly peacefully, he needed to be roused several times a day and forced to ingest both sustenance and the medicine. This chore required the strength of Lach or Iain or Malcolm, and usually involved his father nearby, his booming voice scolding his son to comply. It was messy and not always successful, sometimes requiring that Katie squeeze his cheeks to open his mouth, and all of them hoping he didn’t choke on any of the liquids.
He was bathed every other day, and a kettle of water was kept constantly at the hearth, where Simon and Malcolm had rigged up a spit of sorts, a long metal rod suspended over the fire from which hung the pot. She should expect his mother every morning, shortly after sunrise, and his father several times a day, though he adhered to no schedule it seemed. Elle was in and out, sometimes with Henry, and usually fussing after Katie to take care of herself. One day, they’d sat together, Katie on the bed with Alec and Elle in the chair, while they tried to figure out how to make dressing gowns for the bairn Elle would deliver in the spring. Lachlan and Iain came everyday around noon and then again in the evening, when they forced Katie away from her husband for as along as she could stand it.
She rarely found herself alone with him, save for at night, when she laid on her side and lightly set her hand on him, just to know he was warm and still yet. Everyday, she listened to his chest with her ear over the shrinking hole that had pierced his lung.
She continued to talk to him and had observed that several others had begun to do so as well. Henry had happily told him of the fish he’d caught in the loch with Ronald and Martin, her son being so dear that he’d lifted his voice and leaned close to Alec, as if his ears were stuffed with cloth and this was Alec’s only deficiency now. She’d returned one evening an hour after Lach and Iain had sent her off, pleased that her presence didn’t silence the two, as they’d been reminiscing about their youth, many summers spent here at Swordmair, training with the laird. She held no grudge for Lachlan, didn’t think ill of him for the concern he’d shown for his friend. And she enjoyed their lightness this evening, laughing together over some trouble they’d gotten into with Alec’s father way back when.
“He was right pissed,” Iain said. “Face all blotchy red, spittle flying with each word he roared.”
“Aye, but first, remember that look? He wanted to laugh, I swear to God.”
“What had you done?” Katie asked, taking her usual spot on the bed.
Iain’s eyes were bright with merriment. “The laird convened a meeting of northern nobles, when Balliol was first chosen. Naturally, he trots out all the accoutrements, good food and imported wine—back then it was easier to come by. Has the proud and righteous MacBriar banners slung over the wall, three of them.” He stopped, laughing so hard he couldn’t finish, pinching his eyes with his thumb and middle finger.
Lachlan picked up where Iain had left off. “We thought we’d add our own banners, but first we had to make them. We tried filching some linen from the laundress, but she wasn’t having it, so we stole three pairs of the laird’s drawers—”
“And tumeric and onions and our own piss to make a yellow paint,” Iain was able to add, his voice still ringing with lau
ghter.
“We drew—and I use that term loosely—our crests onto his drawers and flapped them over the wall just in time for the approaching nobles to see,” Lachlan’s shoulders shook, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
Katie covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her shock and laughter.
“He gave us hell for three days when they’d all gone,” Iain said.
“One of the many times we put him through his paces,” Lachlan concluded.
But then he saved you, she thought, recalling that Laird MacBriar had been the one to see the release of these three, and others from the godawful English prison.
When they left an hour later, having shared more stories from their youth and even adulthood, Katie once more laid beside Alec, holding his hand near her thigh.
“I love you,” she told him in the quiet room. She said it again and again until she fell asleep.
WHEN A WEEK HAD GONE by, Katie put her ear to Alec’s chest first thing in the morning. Out of habit, having heard so little in the last seven days from his right lung, she made to pull away after only a cursory attempt, supposing nothing had changed. But it had. She flattened her cheek and ear against him once more and heard the faint, but unmistakable sounds of the lung at work.
Disbelieving, she listened for quite a while, closing her eyes in splendid joy for this progress. When she was satisfied that she hadn’t imagined it, she ran to the door and pulled it open, shouting out for Maddie and Lachlan and Elle, knowing the rest would come as well at her happy cries.
They came quickly and heard the good news.
“We can stop the sleeping draught,” she advised, which enlivened the group even more. “He will wake then.”
But he did not, not that morning and not that afternoon.
And when the evening grew old and he still did not wake, Katie now contended with worry over other things. Was there an infection somewhere inside that produced no fever? Had she over-medicated him that he might not ever wake?
The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6) Page 29