by Baker, Katy
“Fine!” she cried. “I’ll just be a good little girl and go along with everything you say, shall I? I’ll just keep my mouth shut, do as I’m told and hope you weren’t lying when you said you’d help me escape, shall I?”
His expression darkened. "My word is my bond. Do ye doubt me?"
"Damn right I doubt you! You've just stood there and admitted you've been lying to me! I trusted you, Finn! Now I don't know who the hell you are or whether I can believe a word you say!"
"I will keep my word to ye, Eleanor,” he said. “With God as my witness, I willnae let any harm come to ye. I have broken many vows in my life but I will die before I break this one.”
The pain in his voice was so strong that it twisted Eleanor's heart. Oh god. What had been done to him? She felt her anger melting away. How could she be angry at him for keeping secrets when she kept so many of her own? For a moment she longed to tell him the truth and to have it all laid bare between them. She ached to tell him the truth about why she’d come to Scotland, of the terrible, gut-wrenching guilt she was trying to outrun, of Irene MacAskill sending her back in time. But she couldn’t tell him any of that. She dare not.
“Oh, Finn,” she breathed. “What are we going to do?”
He laid a hand on her arm. “I dinna know, lass.” His lips quirked in a crooked smile. “But I’m working on it.”
Despite herself, she felt her lips tug into a smile in response. “Well, I suppose that will have to do won’t it?” She looked up at him. “Oh, and by the way, you’re one hell of a singer.”
“One hell of a...” he looked puzzled. “I assume there’s a compliment in there somewhere?”
“Yes,” she said. “A big compliment. Where I come from you’d have been talent spotted years ago. Where did you learn to sing like that?”
He shrugged. “I am the third son. My eldest brother was trained to lead, my second brother, to fight. But the spoiled youngest son was allowed a little more freedom.” He laughed lightly. “Some might say a little too much. I spent my childhood ducking out of chores and exploring the countryside with old Ham, the huntsmen. It was from him I learned how to track and use the bow. And my mother indulged me in my other passion: music. I spent every spare hour practising. I was the clan bard by the time I was fourteen years old.” His voice was warm and there was a faint smile on his lips as he relived bright memories.
She smiled. “I wonder what you were like at fourteen. Breaking the hearts of all the clan girls, I’ll bet.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “Hardly. That was Camdan’s domain. I was a gangly youth forever tripping over his own feet.”
Eleanor laughed lightly and Finn’s eyes sparkled. His hand was still resting on her arm. Even through the fabric of her sleeve, she felt the warmth of his touch against her skin. A tingle walked up her arm as he watched her, firelight dancing in his eyes.
Eleanor opened her mouth to speak but instead her breath came out in a low gasp. Finn’s lips parted and he stepped closer, bending his head towards her.
“Everything okay, sir?”
Eleanor jumped as Finn spun around with a curse. “Damn ye, Donald! What are ye doing sneaking around like a thief?”
A youth of around seventeen with a shock of red hair was standing in the doorway, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, sir. I heard voices and after what ye said about guarding the lady, I thought I’d better check who it was.”
Finn sighed. “Aye, lad. Ye did right. My apologies. Ye startled me, that’s all.” He looked at Eleanor. “Lady Stevenson, this is Donald MacTavish, one of my best trackers. He’ll be guarding yer door tonight.”
Donald flushed at the compliment and then dropped Eleanor an awkward bow. “An honor, my lady. Just call if ye need aught. I’ll be right outside.”
Eleanor smiled at him. “The honor is mine, Donald. And it’s Eleanor. None of this ‘my lady’ business.”
Donald’s blush deepened and he dropped another bow. Finn smiled at the boy’s embarrassment and then said, “Sleep well, my lady. Come, Donald, let’s give the lady some peace.”
Donald nodded and ducked out of the door. Finlay followed but paused with his hand on the jamb. He looked back, his eyes finding hers. For a moment Eleanor thought he would say something but he only gave a brief nod and then followed Donald out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Eleanor stood there for a moment, her heart racing. She squeezed her eyes closed, clenched her fists, and sucked in one, two, three breaths, until her pulse began to steady. For a moment there she’d thought Finn would kiss her. And for a moment she’d really wanted him to.
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed through her. It had been quite a day. The bed had never looked so inviting. She managed to struggle out of the dress and hung it on a peg on the back of the door. In only her under-shift, she climbed beneath the covers, lay down and closed her eyes.
In minutes, she was asleep.
Chapter 9
She awoke just as weak morning light was beginning to creep through the narrow windows. Eleanor took a minute to lie still, eyes closed, then with a sigh, she threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. The fire had died to cold ashes and there was a chill in the air. Still, she felt far more rested than she had expected. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless and she felt calmer, more determined this morning.
She had a plan. Last night, listening to the grumbling of Stewart’s men at dinner, the glimmer of an idea had come to her.
She got out of bed, gave herself a bracing wash with the cold water in the basin, brushed her hair and teeth using the rudimentary implements Stewart had provided, and then dressed. She had nobody to help her into the gown so it took a while, but eventually managed to fight her way into the cumbersome garment. This done, she crossed to the window and squinted through the thin gap.
Below her the encampment spread out, a sea of tents stretching into the distance. Finn had said the men in the camp were dangerous and posed a threat to her safety, but if she played this right, they might just be her ticket out of the manor house.
There was a knock on the door.
"My lady?" Donald's voice called. "Are ye decent? May I come in?"
"Yes," she called. "And it's Eleanor, remember?"
The door swung open and Donald backed in, carrying a tray. He gave her a shy smile. "Finlay said to bring ye breakfast, my la...Eleanor."
"Did he now?" Eleanor replied. "That was very kind of him. And very kind of you to bring it for me."
He blushed to his hairline, set the tray on the bed and bobbed his head. "Do ye need aught else, my lady? I mean Eleanor. Do ye need aught else, Eleanor?"
"Actually, yes," she replied, giving him a smile. "Could you please let Lord Stewart know that I would like to speak to him at his earliest convenience?"
Donald paled slightly at the mention of Stewart's name. "I...of course. Enjoy yer breakfast."
"I will. Thanks, Donald."
The lad hurried out, locking the door behind him. On the breakfast tray Eleanor found a bowl of unsweetened porridge, some bread and butter, and a cup of small beer to wash it down with. There were no chairs so Eleanor perched on the end of the bed as she ate, making sure to finish it all, even though the porridge was a little bland without sugar to sweeten it. When she was full, she settled down to wait. Would Stewart even grant her an audience?
It wasn’t long before she found out. Less than ten minutes later the door opened and this time Finn strode into the room. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. His hair had been washed and combed and fell onto his shoulders in midnight waves and he wore a crisp white linen shirt under his plaid. It clung to his muscled chest in a most distracting way.
"I am to escort ye to Lord Stewart," he said, fixing her with a puzzled expression. "He says ye requested to speak to him. What are ye playing at, lass? Didnae I tell ye to keep out of his way?"
"Good morning to you too,” Eleanor replied, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, I know you said to avoid him but that's not
going to work. We’ll never get out of here if I’m confined to this room all day. If I can get Stewart to trust me, he'll give me more freedom, and if he gives me more freedom, we can get away."
Finn crossed his arms over his broad chest and frowned. "Win Alasdair Stewart’s trust? And how, exactly do ye plan on doing that?"
She smiled. "You're just going to have to trust me, aren't you?"
His frowned deepened but he didn't say another word as he turned and led her from the room.
Lord Stewart was eating his breakfast when they entered his study. He looked up irritably, then waved for Finn to leave. Finn gave her a look as he went to wait outside that plainly said he hoped she knew what she was doing. Eleanor hoped the same thing.
Stewart took his time finishing his bowl of porridge, making Eleanor wait, before finally looking up. "I trust ye slept well?”
"I did."
"And yer accommodation is to yer liking?"
"It’s fine."
"Then what can I do for ye? Spit it out. I’m a busy man."
"It's actually what I can do for you. I’ve come to check your wound."
He leaned back in his chair. "There isnae need for that. The wound is fine."
Eleanor drew a breath. Just as she had expected, Stewart was going to be a difficult patient. Well, she had plenty of experience with those.
"Oh? My apologies. I didn't realize you'd already had it cleaned and dressed this morning. Or that you already knew what to do to keep out infection. Or that you understood all about the dangers of gangrene and losing your leg. In that case, I'll trouble you no more."
She walked to the door but before she reached it Stewart called, "Wait."
Eleanor looked over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Fine. Do what ye must but be quick about it.”
Ignoring his curt tone, she bade him sit back. Kneeling by his side, she unwound the bandage and inspected his wound. It looked clean and had no smell. She quickly cleaned it with the supplies she’d used yesterday then wrapped a fresh bandage around the cut.
"It's healing well and the stitches should be ready to come out within the week."
Stewart glanced at her. His dark, cold eyes held a wary look, as though he was suspicious of her motives.
"Ye may go."
Eleanor didn't move. "Actually, there is something else."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You have a camp full of fighting men outside these walls and no physician to take care of them. How many wounded do you have in your ranks?"
"That isnae any concern of yers," he snapped.
"I'm a doctor!" she snapped back. "Would you let your men die for lack of a physician?" His nostrils flared in anger and she wondered if she'd gone too far but she plowed on anyway. "Let me tend to your wounded. I might be able to save some of them."
Stewart said nothing. She could see his thoughts turning behind his eyes. He didn't trust her—she doubted he trusted anybody—but he was weighing this against the possibility of having more fighting men to throw against the MacAuleys.
"Hound!" he bellowed. "Get in here!" Finlay stepped into the room. "Ye will escort the lady to the camp. Take her to the hospital tent and see that she has all she needs." He leaned forward, his grip tightening on the arms of his chair. "And Hound? Ye will see that she doesnae cause any trouble."
Eleanor heard his implicit threat—see that she doesn’t try to escape.
Finlay's eyes flicked to Eleanor’s then back to Stewart. "Aye, my lord."
Stewart waved them both away irritably. Eleanor followed Finlay out the door.
"I dinna like this," Finn muttered. "Do ye know the type of men ye will be administering to? Murderers, rapists and thieves most of them."
"That may be," Eleanor replied. "But it's not my place to decide who deserves medical treatment and who doesn't. I took an oath to help any who need it—even Stewart’s men."
Finlay led her to the manor house’s large door. Eleanor paused on the landing outside, looking out over the busy courtyard below. It felt good to be outside again, with the wind tugging at her hair and the fresh smell of the Highlands filling her nostrils. Even so, she balked at the sight of so many fighting men, men that carried weapons, men wound almost to breaking point with the thoughts of the coming battle.
Finlay glanced at her, raising his eyebrow in a question. She nodded, took a deep breath, then followed him down the steps into the courtyard. Finn paused long enough to call two of his trackers down from their guard duty on the wall and then instructed them that they were to guard Eleanor whilst in the camp. Eleanor recognized Donald and Finlay introduced the other as Rob. More dour that Donald, he didn't smile, but gave Eleanor a respectful nod.
Finn led the way to the main gate, striding by Eleanor's side with Donald and Rob falling into step behind. The gate guards didn’t challenge them as they passed through and Eleanor guessed that Lord Stewart's command to allow her into camp had already reached them.
As she walked towards the camp Eleanor put her shoulders back and lifted her chin, forcing herself to walk as though she was confident even though nerves wriggled in her stomach. She tried not to stare as they passed the hut that served as a brothel, even though the line of men waiting outside watched her with hungry eyes as she went by. Finlay glared at them, his hand resting on one of his daggers and so the men did no more than stare.
They entered the camp proper. It was a muddy, messy place full of dirt and unpleasant smells. The avenues between the tents had been churned into a quagmire and the tents themselves were ragged, damp things that no doubt did very little to keep out the Highland weather. Men sat outside their tents either singly or in small groups, sharpening weapons, playing dice or swigging from whisky bottles. Their hard gazes sprang to Eleanor as she passed and she had more than one ribald comment shouted in her direction.
Finlay though, was a solid presence by her side and his glare kept the men in check so she arrived at a larger tent without mishap. This tent was set a little apart from the others and there was a wide ring of open space around it as though the men were reluctant to go any closer.
Finlay ducked under the tent flap and held it open for her. As she stepped inside the stink of infection hit Eleanor almost like a physical blow.
Placing a hand over her mouth, Eleanor looked around. The interior was dimly lit by a single brazier standing in the corner and in the dim light she made out twelve crude pallets laid out around the tent. Each held an occupant.
Some of the patients were unconscious, others awake and moaning in pain. Eleanor’s stomach tightened. The old, familiar self-doubt came racing to the surface.
I can't do this, that voice whispered in the back of her mind. I'm not good enough. I'll do something wrong and somebody will die. This was a terrible idea.
Whenever she’d worked on trauma before there had always been an older, more experienced doctor supervising and decisions that might mean the difference between someone's life and death hadn't been hers to make. She’d shied away from having that responsibility ever since...ever since that day.
She turns around. Her mom has gone pale, clutching at her chest...
Eleanor gritted her teeth, pushing the memory away. You can do this, she told herself resolutely. You have to. There's no one else.
"Eleanor?" Finn said. "Is something wrong?"
Eleanor realized that she'd closed her eyes, curled her hands into fists against her sides and was gasping for breath. She opened her eyes, forced herself to relax. "Fine. Everything's fine. Who's in charge here?"
A man walked from the far side of the tent. Eleanor recognized the dour, bearded face of Angus, the man who'd been in charge of the group who captured her.
"What are ye doing in here?" he demanded, wiping his hands on his blood-stained apron. "What’s going on?"
"Lord Stewart has given the care of the wounded into my hands," Eleanor replied.
Angus looked her up and down. "Ye? A woman? Is this some sort of jest?"
>
Finlay stepped up beside Eleanor, his hand on his dagger hilt. "Are ye questioning Lord Stewart’s orders? The lass is a physician. Stand aside. That’s an order."
Angus looked from Finlay to Eleanor, his face folded into a scowl. He untied the apron and threw it to the floor.
"Whatever ye say, sir. If ye can do aught for these poor bastards, I wish ye luck. They’re beyond my skill to heal. I only did a little barber surgeon work under my da. These need a proper healer."
With that, Angus stomped out of the tent.
Eleanor looked around and drew in a breath. “Okay. First, open the tent flaps and pin them back so we can get some fresh air and better light in here.”
As Donald and Rob ran to do her bidding, Eleanor rolled up her sleeves.
“Right. Let’s get started.”
FINN WATCHED ELEANOR in fascination. She worked confidently, diligently, assessing each patient in turn using something she called 'triage' and then treating them in the order of severity. Finlay stayed by her side as she cleaned wounds, stitched gashes, set broken bones, gave pain relief, and quietly but confidently gave instructions for ongoing care.
Who was this woman? There was no trace of the uncertain, frightened woman he'd discovered running from Angus and his men. This woman was confident, self-assured, utterly in control as she quietly issued orders to Donald, Rob and even Angus who wandered back in and who, for a wonder, obeyed her instructions without question.
Finlay had never seen anything like it. At Dun Ringill they'd had a healer, old Morag, who was well versed in the setting of broken bones or the delivery of a babe, but even she didn't exude the quiet confidence that Eleanor did as she concentrated on her patient, her expression intent, her lips pursed slightly as she went to work on fixing the problem before her.
It was highly unusual for a woman to have such skills. As far as he knew only the great Italian universities might equip somebody with the knowledge she exhibited and yet only men were admitted entrance to those hallowed halls, and only the very rich could afford the services of those who graduated from them. Yet here Eleanor was, ministering to the lowliest soldier in a renegade army.