Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

By the time they reached Ross Castle, afternoon was becoming evening, and Aedan’s arms were aching with the weight of Thora in his arms. He didn’t care.

He barely noticed when Keevan’s father threw the gate open, or when the man fell into step beside him, before Lachlan ordered him to run to the healer. He barely registered the guards, servants and womenfolk appearing at doors and around the walls as he carried Thora through the gates.

He didn’t notice much of anything until he reached the door to the healer’s cottage to find it open and waiting, and the woman herself standing at the threshold. “Bring her this way, me laird.”

He obeyed, his mind as numb as his feet. His heart was heavy as he carried her to a pallet near the fire and laid her down.

Me fault. Me folly.

“Ye have tae let her go, me laird, so I can remove her clothing and examine the wound.”

“I’ll… the clothing… she’s modest.” The words felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, but he had to say them. “Just… tell me…”

“Ye need tae undae or cut away the cloth so I can see the wounds tae her arm and shoulder, and see if there’s any further wound tae her chest, or any broken bones.”

“I… I can… cutting, it would hurt her less?” He asked, if it spared Thora a moment of pain, or made even the slightest bit of difference between her life or her death.

“Aye. So long as ye’re careful nae tae cut the flesh.”

“I will be.” He drew his boot knife, the smallest blade he had, and began to work. The cloth was stiff and near frozen with blood, especially around the wood still lodged in her shoulder. He almost pulled it out, before remembering what one of the old warriors had told him about battlefield medicine when he was a lad.

‘If ye or one ye’re aidin’ is pierced by weapon, dinnae draw it until ye’ve a healer’s hands nearby. Better tae risk shiftin’ in the wound than removin’ the thing and discoverin’ ‘twas stemming the blood tide.’

He hadn’t even thought of it, but he was glad that his body and his instincts had remembered the warrior’s words, despite the fog in his mind.

After what seemed like far too long, he managed to get the cloak, dress, underdress and chemise cut to bare Thora’s upper shoulder, arm and down her side.

The healer probed gently at the wound, drawing more blood, then at the bruising on Thora’s arm and side. After several moments, she sat back. “Yer lady is a very lucky lass, me laird. Bruises aplenty, and she’ll ache fer days. ‘Twill be a seven-day afore she can properly use the arm. But the bones are whole, so far as I can tell. The wood is in deep, but nae fatally so, and it hasnae lodged in the bone or hit anythin’ vital. Only the muscle. So long as we can flush the wound, clean it well, and pack a poultice tae stave off illness or poison in the blood, she’ll recover well enough.”

“An’ her head?”

“’Twill ache fer a day or so, and she may be muddled fer a time. But ‘twill pass. A day, mayhap two, and she’ll be well on that front.”

Aedan thought he might faint with relief. “I thought… she’s been unconscious since she was hurt…”

“Blood loss more than anything, I think. And the shock o’ the pain and the cold all at once. She’s nae a very large or sturdy lass, fer all she’s in good health. ‘Twas simply too much fer her tae deal with, all o’ that at once. But I’ve medicine that will help her body recover, and when she wakes, we’ll give her as much beef broth and wine as she can take. ‘Twill help.”

“Tell the cooks tae start a pot o’ beef broth, rich with blood and thick with juices for Lady Cameron.” Aedan blinked. He hadn’t realized that Lachlan had followed him. He was glad that he’d remembered Thora’s modesty, in light of that.

Someone, probably one of the men-at-arms, or a servant, ran off to do as he’d commanded. Lachlan Ross fixed his gaze on Thora, then on the healer. “Ye will nae fail tae heal her. She will be well as quickly as possible, or I will ken why.”

With that ominous announcement, the laird of Castle Ross turned and disappeared into the chaos of the courtyard. Aedan heard him issuing orders, but they had nothing to do with him or Thora, so he ignored them. The only thing he cared about was the healer beginning to tend the wound, and Mac taking up a guard position by the door.

He couldn’t remove the wood splinters, not with a healer’s skill, but as soon as the last of them was free, he reached out. “Let me. I ken enough tae wash and bind her wounds. Let me do it, while ye prepare the medicines she needs.”

The healer nodded and rose to begin working. She returned briefly to hand him clean water, and a poultice for the shoulder, then a salve for the cuts, and several lengths of bandages. Aedan took them and used them, all his attention focused on his task.

It was easier to think of what must be done next than to think of what had happened, and why. Easier to think of the task at hand than Thora’s still, pale face, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. Easier to think of the things that needed to be done to restore her to health, than of how close he’d come to watching her die.

Aedan worked, following the healer’s directions and his own limited knowledge, until the wounds were packed, the cuts covered in a thick layer of healing paste, and everything was wrapped in a layer of soft, clean bandages. He tipped tisanes and broth and various medicines down her throat, and made sure she swallowed them safely, and tucked blankets around her to keep her warm. He chafed the frozen limbs to be sure her hands and feet would suffer no injury from the stillness and the chill they’d been exposed to.

Finally, everything that could be done had been done. Aedan sank down against the cot, every part of him aching with weariness. He was vaguely aware of the healer putting a tankard of beer in his hand, and a heavy mug of soup, little more than a thicker broth, and another tankard of mulled wine.

The panic had faded, leaving him feeling more drained than he had since the terrible night he’d been told that his father was dead and he was the laird. Despite the soft murmur in his mind that said he needed to get up, needed to go tell everyone that Thora lived, lassitude held him in place.

As the sun slipped from the sky and the healer moved about the cottage lighting her lanterns, Aedan closed his eyes, rested his head on the cot at Thora’s side, and slept.

Warmth. The first thing Thora was aware of was warmth, and a dull throbbing along the left side of her head, her shoulder, and her arm.

The next thing she became aware of was someone’s hands, cleaning her skin and applying something to the areas that hurt, before wrapping her arm and shoulder in strips of cloth.

She wasn’t wearing any clothing. Or she was, but it had been partially removed somehow. She thought she should be embarrassed by that, but she couldn’t find the strength to care, not with the way her head and her side ached.

Gradually, awareness began to filter back. The woods. The tree. The tree had fallen and she’d shoved someone and then, darkness and pain. And cold.

She was warm now. Had they built a fire, or had someone brought her back to the castle?

She felt exhausted, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to sleep, and stay asleep until the pain was gone. But there was another part of her that was curious. A part of her that wondered why the hands that cared for her seemed so large and firm and callused. She didn’t recall the healer having hands so large. Or so roughened.

With what felt like a great effort, harder than anything she’d ever done before, Thora managed to crack her eyes open.

Oh. It wasn’t the healer. It was Aedan, tending to her wounds carefully and gently. He looked terrible, and for a moment she wondered if the tree had fallen on him as well. But he didn’t seem physically injured.

Aedan took responsibility for everything. He’d said that before, standing in the darkness of the terrace. Did he feel responsible for her?

She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to, that she’d known there was danger and insisted on acting, that it was her own fault she hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough. That was the truth after all.

She couldn’t seem to make her tongue work, and the effort made her head ache worse. It took her a moment to remember that she’d been hit in the head.

Head injuries could make speech and thought difficult for a while. And if she thought about it, she could taste the lingering flavors of herbs on her tongue. Medicines, most likely. And something that might be… beef broth?

She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure it mattered. She still felt so tired, and she knew she was safe with Aedan. She didn’t need to worry about that, and her foresight was quiet. No danger there either. She could rest for a while.

Her eyes slid closed, and she drifted in a kind of half-sleep, aware but unable to do much of anything. She was conscious of being given more medicines, and a thick beef broth - blood loss, or to offset the cold? Maybe both, it didn’t matter.

She was vaguely aware of muttering around her, Aedan’s voice alternating with a female she assumed must be the healer. Another man, who might be Mac, or maybe one of Laird Ross’s men? She couldn’t be sure.

The pain was fading, and along with it her desire to try and remain awake. She had a sort of hazy awareness of warmth at her side, and a sense of someone sitting or lying close to her. There was a sense of safety as well, and some part of her thought ‘Aedan’.

Then she stopped thinking and allowed the bliss of sleep to carry her away once more.