Kate stood for a moment, confused by his quick departure. What would it be like to kiss Shane? She’d come so close to finding out. What had prompted his desire to kiss her and his reluctance to do so? She frowned. She wasn’t sure what to think. Shane was warm, caring, and funny. And so handsome, he made her knees weak.
There was no sign of Shane during the noon meal as Kate ate quietly with the others. She looked for him as soon as she had entered the hall. She did think it a bit odd but as no one made comment she thought only briefly about his absence. Occasionally one of Shane’s men would speak to her briefly before they returned to their own conversation. Kate replied politely but did not concentrate on any one conversation. She was aware of the admiring regard she was receiving from Shane’s men and the scowl on Iain’s face; reminding them she was a lady and a protected guest.
Kate considered once again of her choices. She was in the Highlands, days from anywhere, certainly on foot. She weighed her situation as well as the predicament Sidney had left her in and came to the conclusion she had few options. The most attractive right now was to stay and let the situation unfold for itself.
Last night in the confusion, Kate had not noticed there were few married women living in the castle. As she dined, she glanced around the hall. She saw some men with wives at their sides. Apparently Shane did not have a wife either, as a lady of the house had not greeted her upon her arrival or since. Again, her stomach fluttered. Kate admonished herself for her attraction to him. What am I doing? Admit it. The man was dangerously handsome and not the least bit interested in me.
The women she’d seen in the hall at the meal had retired to a sitting area in the corner to talk and sew. None had come to invite her to join them so she chose to go her own way and not intrude.
Kate finally went to her room. She was surprised and pleased to find a book of poems had been left on the mantle of the fireplace. Sitting on the spacious chair near the fire, with her legs curled up and a quilt tucked around her, she passed a very pleasant afternoon.
The evening sky blazed reds and oranges from the window onto to the pages when Merta knocked and entered.
“M’lady, the MacGregor has left the castle. He dinna say when he would return.”
“I’m confused. When we spoke, he said he would see me this evening,” Kate said.
“I canna tell ye more.”
Merta solemnly closed the door.
Kate sat mulling over this news until irritation set in. She straightened in the chair. She crossed her arms and legs, her toe tapping. Did she miss something? Their morning had been wonderful. She enjoyed his company. He left for God knew how long without giving her leave to return to her home. How long was this expected to go on? She did not fear the MacGregor, simply because of what Merta said to her the night before. However, she also had not received her apology from him as Merta said nor had she been sent home.
Merta returned a bit later to bring Kate a supper tray as she noticed Kate had not come down for the evening meal. Kate was pacing the room, chewing on her fingernail.
“What can I do to ease yer mind, m’lady?” Merta inquired. “I canna tell ye the MacGregor’s plan. He has not shared it with me. I have been warned about speakin’ out of turn. I got myself an earful from him.”
Kate stopped. “Oh, Merta. I am so sorry you were scolded on my behalf. He was wrong.”
Merta held up her hand. “Nay, he was right. Though, he has never said a cross word to me ‘til today.”
Kate nodded and ceded the point.
“Tell me about yourself. Since we must wait upon him, we might as well learn more about one another.” Kate sat down and urged Merta to do the same.
“There is not much story to tell. I come to the MacGregors with my husband. Lord tell ye, must be forty years or so ago. He was the steward. When he died, I took over.”
“Surely there was some difficulty there. Losing your husband and having to run this massive operation,” Kate said with sympathy.
“Aye, there were moments.” Merta wiped a tear from her eye. “I got them all workin’.” Merta gave a watery chuckle.
Kate smiled. “Tell me more about the family.” She wanted to get some idea about the laird and his family. She didn’t want to admit it but she was intrigued with Shane.
“I was with Shane’s mother, Elizabeth, when Shane was born and again when the next boy, William came into the world. I helped Elizabeth when she gave birth to a wee boy fifteen years ago. I stood with Shane, William, and their father when they buried the bairn and his beloved mother.”
“Oh, my.” Kate put her hand to her mouth. “Such heartache.”
Merta wiped away more tears. “'Tis a hard thing, to lose family.”
“I lost my mother a few years ago,” Kate shared. “You go on with life but the sorrow never quite leaves you.”
Merta leaned over a squeezed Kate’s hand.
“I watched the lads grow into the men. Shane has never raised his voice to me until today. I worry on him. He is carrying a tremendous duty. Enough.” Merta stood. “Ye must eat. Ye are too thin.”
Kate chuckled and sat down to the table. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Merta, for keeping me company.”
Merta winked. “Yer a good lass. That’s the God’s honest truth.” She left, closing the door behind her.
Kate finished her meal and moved to a comfortable chair. She stared at the fire well into the night until her foot fell asleep from having been tucked underneath her for so long. She got up to relieve the ache in her leg and ankle. She walked about the room to ease them when she heard a low moan. Hobbling to the door, she opened it quietly. The passageway was silent and dark. The castle had gone to bed some time ago. She was surprised to discover how late it had become. So deep in thought as to her current situation with Shane, the time had crept by. Kate listened to the quiet around her. A groan came from down the hall. She ducked back into her room and grabbed a quilt to wrap around her shoulders, as the air was chilly away from the fire. Kate took the candle from the mantle and walked out the door and toward the sound. The metal of the candlestick warmed her hand. The numbness in her foot brought the prick of many needles with each step.
She turned away from the dim light shining from the great hall and journeyed into the dark passage. Kate walked until she came to the end and she had a choice to continue to her left or right. Something shuffled across the floor and another groan told her to turn left.
At the end of the passage, a door hung ajar. The moonlight from the small window inside the room allowed Kate to see movement as she neared. She set the candle on the floor and crept closer, peeking in. A putrid smell hung in the air. There she saw a man doubled over and trying to walk around the bed, holding his arm against his chest. His long, grey hair hung in wet strands around his face, the sheen of sweat obvious on his face and arms. His gasps of breath were tortured and each one sounded as if it would be his last. Kate ran into the room and put her arms around the man to help him back to bed. The man, startled by her touch, jumped.
“Good God, have ye sent me a haunt?” he cried then promptly fainted.
Chapter 9
When the big man’s knees gave way, Kate stumbled but was able to guide his fall onto the bed, the quilt around her falling to the floor. Lurching with the burden of his weight, she eased him down. She bent down and grunted as she picked up his legs. She rolled his body farther into the bed. She darted into the passage and retrieved her candle. Shielding the flame, she set the candle on a table next to the bed.
She turned and surveyed the man lying before her in the candlelight.
“Oh, dear God. What has happened to you?”
The man wore a blood-stained, sweat-soaked shirt and plaid. Kate could see his stark white face in the candlelight. His forehead was hot to her touch.
The smell
of urine and pus overwhelming, she gagged.
With the bodice of her gown held to her nose, Kate did a quick examination of the man, flicking open his torn shirt and tartan. She saw what appeared to be a deep wound on his chest and several smaller wounds on his shoulder and stomach. From what she could see, a purplish bruise started beneath the man’s arm and ran down his side to where his plaid gathered at his waist.
“I believe this bruise goes down his hip.” Her brow puckered. “I will have to strip him to assess any further damage.”
She was not a young miss and had seen a man’s naked body before. The injured man was in no position to be concerned with modesty. She doubted he would even realize she was unclothing him.
Kate hurried back to her own room. She stripped her bed, gathered her herb bag and a pitcher of water. She raced back to the ailing man.
“These people are barbarians. To let a man suffer like this is absurd. His wounds are not even properly bathed!” Kate took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This is cruel.”
She began removing the offending clothes.
“Disgusting. I’ll have to cut the clothes off him.” In places, his shirt was glued to his body where the blood and pus dried.
She retrieved a small knife from her bag. As she cut and peeled the garments away from the wounds, they began to bleed once again. She went to work tearing the plaid into squares and washing the blood, sweat, pus, and urine salve from his body.
“Disgraceful. To leave a man to die, there is no excuse for it,” she muttered.
Kate dipped her rags into the bowl time and again, gently cleansing his body. She rinsed and wiped and rinsed again, using the water in her pitcher until it was bloody and thick.
Looking around the room, she noticed another pitcher and bowl on a stand in the corner. Kate hurried over to it, tripping briefly on the quilt she foolishly left on the floor. Grabbing the quilt, she threw it into a corner. She returned with the bowl and pitcher, carrying them back to the bed.
When Kate glanced down at the man, his eyes were open and he was staring straight at her.
“Aye, ye are a ghost or an angel?” His pain was evident in his short, gasping breaths.
She remembered she wore the white nightgown and robe Merta had given to her.
She peered into his eyes again and said, “I am here to help you. My name is Kate. I am a prisoner here. Who are you, and what were you doing out of bed in your condition?”
“Ah, lass, I am Seamus, the old laird of this castle and clan. I come away scathed by the damn Campbells.” Seamus drew a deep, rattling breath and coughed violently, his body retching. When he regained control, he said, “I was seeking a wee drink of water.”
“Sh-hh,” Kate whispered. “No more for now. I am cleaning you up. We need to get your wounds to stop bleeding.”
Seamus looked at her, his eyes wet with tears.
He patiently lay on the bed while Kate put a cup of water to his lips and held his head up so he could drink.
She set the cup down and continued to clean the wounds to his chest, shoulder, and stomach. As she cleaned, she inspected his various bruises focusing on the one beneath his arm and down his side.
“Och, lass, careful with an old man,” Seamus hissed in pain.
“Oh, I am sorry. I have to lift your arm to see.”
Seamus grimaced, pain etched on his face. Kate finished washing him. The bedclothes were filthy.
“Seamus, you and I are going to get your bed clean.”
He shot her a skeptical glance.
“I am going to roll you to one side of the bed and change the blanket. We will do the same on the other. Are you ready?”
Bracing himself, Seamus nodded.
Dawn was making a slow appearance in the eastern sky through the solid pane window. Birds started to sing. Had she really worked the whole night through?
Once he was clean and in a clean bed, Kate took an assessment of Seamus’ injuries. Several of his ribs appeared broken. A blow must have caused the bruise down his side. She and Seamus struggled to sit him up. She wrapped strips of plaid around his chest area and under his arm to hold the ribs tightly in place while they healed.
The smaller cuts on his stomach were superficial but not healing properly. The shoulder wound was small, deep and infected. The wound in his chest however was appalling. As far as she could tell, no vital organs had been hit. The area oozed blood and putrid-smelling pus.
Kate dug into her herb bag. She pulled out basil and garlic. “I am putting crushed basil on your wounds. It will stop the bleeding.”
Seamus nodded.
She made a plaster of ground garlic and water.
“I’ll spread a paste on your shoulder and chest. It is going to sting, but will draw the infection out.” She would need better light to examine the chest injury further and decided to wait for later in the morning.
She shook out one of the quilts she found on Seamus’s bed and laid it over him.
“This will make you feel better. Clean and dry.”
“Aye.”
Kate stepped over to the fireplace and stirred the embers adding wood for a blazing fire. Placing dried Valerian and Willow bark in a pot with the last of the fresh water, she went to the bed and spoke to him while she waited for it to boil.
“I’m preparing a warm tea for you that will bring down the fever and help you to sleep.”
Seamus smiled at her and shivered under the thick quilt. “Bless ye, lass. I am cold.”
“The tea will help to warm you. I will add another quilt if you would like.”
Seamus nodded.
Kate brewed the medicinal tea, allowing it to steep. While she waited, she gathered what was left of the shirt, tartan, and the soiled washing cloths and made a pile near the door. She straightened the room and stoked the fire once more. When the tea was ready, she helped Seamus sit up enough to drink. When he finished, she laid him back down, covering him once again.
Seamus smiled at her and closed his eyes.
Kate gathered her things and quietly left the room. She went to her chambers. Setting down the candle and her herb bag, she stretched her arms high above her head and let them fall. The night had been long. Merta had left a saffron shift and a brown skirt, both of which fell to just above Kate’s ankles. Kate left the stays as she couldn’t tighten them alone and went down the stairs for the crowded morning meal. On her way, she paused when she saw Merta.
“Merta, there is an injured man upstairs. I am shocked to find this man in such a state. I have no idea who has been caring for him in the past. I do not need to know. However, I will be taking over now,” Kate told her, brooking no argument.
“After I’ve finished my meal, I will be returning to his room to see how he fares. In the meantime, if you will send up a pitcher of fresh water and a clean cup to be placed on the table next to his bed, I would be grateful. Please fill the cup so if he wishes, water is available to him.
“I have left a pile of soiled bandages and clothes on the floor near the door, if you would be so kind as to have them removed. The clothes should be burned. Please have the bandages boiled and laundered as I will have need of them again.”
“Aye, m’lady. What brought ye to his aid?”
“His request for a simple cup of water.”
“I will do as ye ask. If ye have need of anything more, come to me.”
“Seamus is very ill. His life is in the balance. It will be some time before we know how he will fare.”
Merta spread the word that the old laird was resting easier. The people gave a collective sigh of relief.
“Thank ye, m’lady, for savin’ our laird,” a man said as he approached Kate. “Let me take yer hand.”
Others approached Kate, giving their thanks for
her efforts in regard to their old laird.
By helping Seamus, she’d quickly earned a certain respect.
“I must be quick to remind you, Seamus’s condition is very grave, indeed. My help may have come too late,” Kate warned. “However, his pain has lessened. He is resting comfortably.”
Dawn Annis Page 7