Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(199)

Shanna sat up with a start, looking to her clock, and saw that it was nearly three hours into the afternoon. In dismay she snatched a piece of oat cake from the tray and fled out onto the balcony, slipping quickly past the lattice barrier that separated the areas. Pitney had produced a deck of game cards and was playing with them on a small table when Shanna returned. He glanced up and leaned back in his chair, regarding her disheveled appearance.

“Your father dropped in for a moment but left.” He gestured to the cards. “He thinks them evil and cannot abide them. But of the two,” Pitney nodded toward Ruark who still tossed and mumbled as before, “I thought these less disastrous to his nature.”

Shanna found no words to reply and hurried to Ruark. His brow had not cooled even the slightest. Lifting the sheet, she gasped at the sight of the red streaks which had crept almost to his hip and heavily marked the lower leg. Pitney came to stand beside her, and he frowned deeply as he reached out a finger to test the swollen flesh.

“He’s likely to lose it,” he commented ruefully. He had seen enough—and heard many gory tales—of the barber’s surgery. It was a shame to have it practiced on a man. “ ‘Tis a pity your Mister Ruark is not a horse. We could practice some of his cures on himself. The mare is well healed, with hardly a mark on her.”

Shanna wrinkled her nose, remembering the sight and smell of the balm. “A horse remedy,” she scoffed. “That stuff would be enough to take his leg off. Rum and herbs which could make a man howl—”

Abruptly she stopped as a memory came flooding back. The leaves Ruark had picked for her heel had also stung when applied to the cut, but the pain soon ebbed, and he had said it would draw the poison.

Her jaw set in grim determination, Shanna faced Pitney. “Fetch Elot. Send him after the leaves Ruark made the balm with. We’ve strong black rum to add.” As Pitney hurried to the portal, she flung over her shoulder. “And tell Hergus to fetch fresh linens and hot water.”

The door slammed behind the hulking man, and Shanna bent over Ruark, carefully uncoiling the wrappings from his leg. She was amazed at her calm and clearheaded purpose as she gently washed the area around the ragged flesh. For modesty’s sake she draped a cloth over Ruark’s hips so Hergus would not be unduly shocked. It was enough to have Berta clucking in disapproval without upsetting Hergus as well.

After an unbearable wait, Pitney returned with Elot’s find. New coals were added to the warming pan, and Shanna crushed the leaves into a small amount of water and set it to steam. Soon the chamber filled with a pungent odor. Cloths were steeped in clean, hot water before being placed on the wound to soak away the gore. This brought a renewed thrashing from Ruark, as the pain seeped into his delirium. Pitney laid broad hands on the leg and held it still while Shanna worked, cleaning the oozing holes.

With a silent prayer running through her mind, Shanna mixed the herbs and rum and slapped the warm paste onto the leg. It drew an immediate reaction from Ruark. He cried out with the first touch of it and twisted away in agony as the caustic herb and warmed rum penetrated the torn flesh. Shanna worked all the faster, while Pitney held him down, and Hergus stirred fresh herbs into the kettle. Shanna trickled rum from the bottle over the whole of it and then repeated the process. Over and over again she cleaned away the poultice when it cooled, replacing it with the warm. She did not count the hours she remained at his side doing this. An ache began to grow at the small of her back with her constant bending, and her hands became red from molding the hot poultice around the wound. It was well into night before she paused long enough to realize that Ruark was resting easier. His lips had ceased their endless movement, and he no longer tossed like a man placed upon a rack of torture. Touching his skin, she knew the fever ebbed.

“Fetch my needle and good, strong thread,” Shanna bade the maid. “For once in my life, I can see the need of good stitchery.”

Hergus was perplexed but hastened away on the errand, returning shortly. The maid stood at the end of the bed watching Shanna painstakingly close the gaping wounds with rum-soaked thread and the needle. It was with some pride at her own fine handiwork that she finished the task and remarked:

“ ‘Twill hardly be a scar left to even boast about.”

Hergus grunted. “As if ye should be fretting about a scar on a man’s leg.”

“Let the poultice cool on his leg,” Pitney offered. “He’s through the worst of it.”

Agreeing with him, Shanna covered a new batch of the mixture with fresh strips of linen around Ruark’s leg and piled towels on either side to hold it all against any movement.