“They’re both safe. Naught more serious than a few nicks and scratches.”
Alex and Brighde saw the tension immediately ease from both women as they rushed forward to find their husbands and help the wounded. As they approached the stairs leading them to their chamber, Alex felt his strength waning. He could not take the steps two at a time like he normally would.
It must have been that dash up the stairs to the battlements. The battle lust has worn off and those steps must have sapped ma last reserve of strength.
However, Alex felt light headed and saw flickering dots dance before his eyes. He barely made it to their chamber door before he had to put Brighde down. Brighde looked up at him in concern and pushed the door open. When they entered the chamber, the room was flooded with early afternoon light. She looked back at him and screamed when she saw his leine was completely saturated with blood. She glanced down and saw it covered one side of her gown. She unfastened the brooch on his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. She tugged at his belt and pulled down the plaid. She tried to yank the leine up and over his head, but she was not tall enough, and he had no energy left to help. She pulled the dirk from the hidden pocket in her skirts. Alex was barely aware enough to look questioningly at her.
“I put a few on me when I discovered ye already left for the bailey.” She explained quickly. She sliced open his leine on his good side and pulled it down over the wound.
She thought she was going to be ill when she saw the gash that ran from just below his chest across to his ribs, and down the length of them to where his belt must have stopped the blade.
“It isnae all that bad, bhean.” At any other time, Brighde would have delighted in hearing him refer to her as his wife, but the moment the words were done crossing his lips, he collapsed into a heap at her feet.
Chapter Twenty-One
B
righde’s heart nearly stopped as she watched Alex crumple before her. She rolled him onto his back and checked to be sure he was still breathing, then she ran to the door, flinging it open so hard that it slammed into the wall and bounced back.
“Help! Help! Callum! Tavish! Magnus! Someone come help! Get the healer!”
Brighde did not wait to see who might answer her call. She ran back to the small table that held a bowl, ewer of fresh water, soap, and linens. She fell to the ground beside him and began to gently and methodically wash away all the dirt and grime that surrounded the wound. She switched to a clean cloth to wash the actual wound. She could see it was far deeper than Alex probably thought and explained why he lost so much blood so quickly. She could see all the way to the bone in some spots, so she did her best to get as much of the remnants of his blood, sweat, fabric, and dirt from inside the wound. She was terrified by the fact Alex never moved, not even flinched, during the entire time that she was manhandling him. She looked around and remembered there was a bottle of whisky in one of Alex’s chests. She ran to the one that she thought held it and said a prayer of thanksgiving when she found it under a layer of fresh leines. She brought it back to Alex, and after a healthy swig, she poured it over his wound. Only then did he groan and try to twist away. Brighde felt miserable that she was causing him any additional pain, but the fear of him dying from infection was far stronger than any remorse for being responsible for his discomfort.
What is taking everyone so bluidy long to get here? Did they nae hear me? I canna lift him onto the bed by maself. I need his brothers to help me, and I canna leave him here on the floor alone. St. Columba’s bones, where are they?
Brighde was ready to yell for help again when Magnus and Tavish ran into the room.
“We heard ye yell--” That was a far as Tavish got before he spotted his brother on the floor. He reached out for Magnus and gripped his sleeve. They both looked down at Alex who was not only unconscious but now deathly white.
“He isnae dead. Please, I need yer help. I canna get him to the bed alone. Hurry.”
Magnus and Tavish surged forward each lifting from below his shoulders and thighs. They carried him to the bed and gently placed him in the center.
“Take his boots and stockings off and remove his belt and plaid while I find ma sewing kit.” Brighde did not bother looking at the brothers as she barked orders. She knew they would do whatever she asked.
She had just found her needles and thread when Laird Sinclair and Callum entered the room.
“The healer?” Brighde asked as she moved towards the fire. She threaded the needle and used the string to dangle the needle over the flames. She did not know why heating the needle almost always seemed to help fight infection, but she did it anyway. Once the needle was almost glowing red, she let the string swing until the metal was cool enough to touch.
“Where is Aileen?”
“She is in the Great Hall seeing to some of the other men. She will be up as soon as she is done stitching up one of them.”
Brighde could only nod. Alex may have been the laird’s son, but she could not very well insist that the healer leave one man to tend to another simply because of birth. Her grandmother had taught her how to treat wounds and stitch them closed just before her own death. Brighde had still been very young at the time, but she had paid close attention. She was an adept seamstress and excelled at embroidery even though she rarely liked to sit still long enough to finish a tapestry or banner. Her sewing skills had been called upon more than once for her half-brothers who seemed to constantly be getting injured. She sewed plenty of cuts together, but this was the worst wound she had ever seen.
She poured whisky over the needle and the length of string she would need to begin stitching the wound closed. She examined Alex’s side to try to determine the best angle in which to reach him.
“Can ye roll him onto his good side? And hold his arm and legs still? I dinna ken how much of this he will be able to feel, and I dinna want to pour any whisky down his throat for fear he may choke.”
Callum and Tavish stepped forward to hold Alex down while Magnus moved to the window embrasure and pulled the cover all the way back. Bright sunlight streamed in, and Brighde nodded her head in thanks as she focused on the man she loved beyond reason and the wound that could very well take him from her.
The next hour was spent making tiny, neat stitches that ran from the center of his right chest muscles to just under his armpit and down his ribs to his waist. Alex had been unbelievably lucky that while the cut was deep, it had not severed any major veins or arteries. Brighde had to keep blowing the hair from her face as she sweat from the tension and strain of her task. She had not heard Mairghread or Siùsan enter until Mairghread gently pulled her hair back and tied it with a ribbon while Siùsan mopped her forehead. She was nearly finished when Aileen entered. The healer looked over her shoulder and murmured her agreement with Brighde’s suturing.
“Ye have done well to sew the wound shut from as close to the bone as ye could. We will pack the wound with yarrow to help fight infection, but we shouldnae stitch it closed at the top. The skin must grow back together from bottom to top. Stitching it shut on the surface will not allow the skin to knit back together properly and will either kill him or maim that side of him.” Aileen set about placing her various tools and medicinals on the small table where the pitcher and bowl had been. She made a poultice to pack his wound with and a tincture that would ease the pain to keep him asleep.
When Brighde finally finished stitching Alex closed, she sat upright and stretched her back. She rolled her shoulders and looked to Aileen who traded spots with her. As Aileen tended to Alex and applied the poultice, Brighde looked around the room for the first time since she had begun sewing the wound together. The Sinclair men wore expressions of varying degrees of worry and fear for Alex. Brighde had never seen a group of men who were more candid about their feelings for one another. She did not completely understand the depth of their bond because she was not close to any of her half-brothers and could not imagine what it would feel like to love a brother as these m
en clearly loved one another, but she could appreciate the sincerity of their emotions. She watched as Siùsan held Callum and ran a calming hand up and down his chest. She saw Tristin’s arms wrapped tightly around Mairghread who leaned heavily against him, and it was clear to see that the love the brothers shared was felt deeply by their sister too. Finally, she looked over at Laird Sinclair who she was surprised to see was watching her instead of Alex. He opened his arms to her, and before she knew what she was doing, she flew into them. He enclosed her in a cocoon of warmth and security that she had only ever found with Alex. He was the same height as Alex, and it was clear where he had inherited his breadth of shoulders. Laird Sinclair was still all hard and defined muscle, but there was a softness to his embrace that felt like home to her. She burrowed her head into his chest and finally allowed the tears to fall. Her greatest fear had come to pass: Alex was grievously injured, and it was her fault.
Laird Sinclair stroked her hair and rocked her slowly as if she were a wean instead of a fully-grown woman.
“Wheest. Dinna fash, nighean. It wasna yer fault.”
Brighde sniffled as she tried to stop crying, but the tears refused to abate.
“How can ye think of me as yer daughter when I may have gotten yer son killed?”
“Brighde, ye didna cause Alex’s injuries. Nae directly or indirectly. Havenae yet noticed other scars on his body?” When Brighde nodded slightly, he continued, “Lass, he is a warrior, and unfortunately this is neither the first nor the last time he’s been injured. He has recovered from other wounds such as this. Have ye nae seen the scar that runs down his left thigh? That sword slice was so deep we thought he might lose his leg.”
Brighde tried to recall whether she had noticed that particular scar, but she had to admit to herself she had seen and felt numerous other scars that crisscrossed his chest and back. He had fine white lines all over his arms from nicks and slashes. She swallowed as she tried to accept Laird Sinclair’s reassurance, but she still felt enormous guilt.
“That may be so, but this wound wouldnae happened if I never came here.”
“Mayhap, but neither would ma son be in love with a woman who couldnae be a better match had I planned it maself.”
Brighde rested her cheek upon his chest and watched as Aileen finished administering the tincture to Alex’s lifeless form. He had not stirred once or made a sound during the entire time she pushed and pulled a needle through him. It was only the rise and fall of his chest she had to work around that reassured her that he still lived.
Chapter Twenty-Two
T
he next fortnight was a personal hell for Brighde that she felt she would never escape. Those two sennights were harder for her than the entire northern trek she made while evading pursuers and avoiding being assaulted as she traveled alone.
Alex’s fever began within hours of when she finished sewing him closed. It raged daily and spiked at night. He mumbled incoherently throughout the day but suffered horrible night terrors where he screamed her name over an over as he dreamed that he had to rescue her. The first time she tried to soothe him, he lashed out and sent her flying halfway across the room. Fortunately, Magnus was in the passageway and heard the clatter as Brighde knocked over the wash basin when she fell. Magnus was able to pin Alex down and kept him from ripping his stitches. From that night on, at least one of the Sinclair men or Tristan kept watch with her. Brighde refused to leave his bedside. She took all her meals there and could not be convinced to leave the room for fresh air. She argued that she could breathe just as deeply standing by the window as she could in the bailey. When her refusal almost came to blows with Callum, they finally all relented. Her new family by marriage did all they could to comfort her and provide anything she might need or want, but the days passed by in a blur to her. She was not truly aware of what anyone else did around her. Her only respite was each evening when Hagatha arranged for a steaming hot bath to be brought to the chamber. She moved around silently as she ensured Brighde had everything she needed. It was the second evening after Alex’s injuries when Hagatha assisted Brighde into the bath. Brighde was so exhausted that when Hagatha saw her struggle to undress, she offered to help her. Once settled into the warm water, Hagatha again took charge and washed her hair. During that brief reprieve before the night terrors began, the older woman shared stories of Alex and his family from when the children were young. She recounted tales of the great love that developed between Laird and Lady Sinclair. It became their routine over the course of the following two sennights. While Hagatha helped Brighde learn more about the Sinclair family and the clan’s history, it was more the quiet company that helped Brighde prepare for the onslaught of rants and thrashing that was sure to come as Alex’s fever peaked each night.
Brighde finally understood the hell Alex must have experienced when he cared for her for nearly a full moon. The difference was, while Brighde’s illness lasted longer, Alex had not yet fallen in love with her. Brighde loved Alex with a fierceness and unwavering devotion that scared her at times. She could no longer picture a life without him.
By the eighth day, Alex’s fever broke, but he still did not awaken. This scared her more than the raging fever and night terrors. He barely ate or drank anything in over a week. She spooned barley and beef broth into him throughout the day, and he managed to swallow Aileen’s tincture despite their wretched smell and what Brighde was sure was a horrendous taste. He clearly lost a good deal of weight during his illness. He seemed to deflate right before her eyes. When his cheeks were not flushed from fever, he had a greyish pallor that looked nearly ghostly. She tried not to bombard Aileen with questions when she came to check on Alex twice a day, but she could not help it. She wanted to know why he had not yet awoken when his fever ended two days prior. She wanted to know what damage might happen to his mind if he remained unconscious any longer. Aileen was patient with her as this was not the first anxious family member she had dealt with, so she kept reminding Brighde that she, herself, had been sick for much longer and had survived without any lasting effects.
Brighde tried to keep that in perspective, but it was difficult when she feared she was watching Alex’s life slip away. The end of the fever and night terrors meant she felt safe climbing into bed next to Alex each night. She was careful to never jostle him, but she did sleep with one hand on his good side as a reassurance that he was still there.
“Bhean, are ye nae going to wake, so I might see yer beautiful face?” It was the morning of the fifteenth day after Alex was injured, and Brighde could not understand why there was such a heavy weight pinning her to the mattress as she woke. She could hear a soft voice near her ear but could not quite understand what she heard. Her eyes struggled to open, but when they did, she found herself staring into a pair of mahogany eyes that twinkled with mirth.
“Bhean, I thought ye were never going to wake. Ye sleep like the dead.” Alex teased as he pulled her closer. Somehow his good arm had snaked beneath her neck and now wrapped around her waist. He kissed her forehead as his hand wandered lower. He grunted in frustration when his arm was not quite long enough to reach her bottom. He pulled her onto his chest and grinned when he could finally reach what he wanted. He snagged the hem of her chemise and lifted it, so his bare hand could touch the silky skin of her bare bottom.
When all she could do was stare, open-mouthed at him, he gave her a pinch and a tap on the backside. He tried raising his other arm to cup her face, but the skin felt too taut to move his arm that high.
“Kiss, Brie,” he murmured.
Unblinking, she lifted her mouth to his. She watched him as she felt his tongue slide along the seam of her mouth. She opened to him immediately and nearly sobbed when she felt his tongue glide along hers and then explore the recesses of her mouth. She cupped his face and held it to her as she nearly devoured him.
“Easy, lass, unless ye plan to finish what ye’ve started.” Alex chuckled as he squeezed her buttocks again.
“Heave
nly Father and all the angels, thank ye, Lord, for bringing him back to me.” Brighde again latched onto his mouth as she tasted him for the first time in a fortnight.
“Brie, I dinna think I am ready to bed ye properly, but if ye keep this up, I will certainly try.”
When Alex’s words finally permeated her scattered mind, she pulled back and settled for stroking the beard that had fully grown in during his illness. She had attempted to shave him the first few days but decided that it was pointless.
“Alex--” That was as far as she got before the lump in her throat kept her from saying anything else. Her fingers flexed along his jaw, and one hand ran down lightly over his throat to his shoulder, and then back up and into his hair. She feathered kisses along his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and jaw, and finally, she nibbled at his chin.
Alex growled as he attempted to flip her onto her back. Pain like a smelting iron being pressed against his side made him pull back. He lifted his arm to get his first good look at his wound, but it was covered with bandages. He saw a few specks of blood beginning to brighten the white linen. Brighde saw this too and pushed at his shoulder until he lay on his back again.
“If ye’ve ripped any of ma stitches, I willna be pleased with ye.” She bounced off her side of the bed before Alex could stop her. She came around to his side and slowly peeled the bandages away. Alex pulled his arm over his head to give her space to look. The pain was nearly mind-numbing until he caught sight of his wife’s full breasts as her chemise gaped when she leaned over him.
His Highland Prize (The Clan Sinclair Book 3) Page 24