Thoughts of his love turned his mind to the Comyn clan. Now more than ever he and Mairen would have to take care not to be discovered. Once the Comyn laird learned of Malcolm’s retribution in Nairn, he’d know for certain he harbored a spy within his holding.
Fearing for Mairen’s safety, Liam had taken steps months ago to plant someone he trusted in the Comyn keep to watch over her. And even though Mairen had not been the source of Liam’s information, the Comyn laird would take his frustration out on his only daughter. Just as he’d done with Mairen’s mother, until the day she died. He’d killed his own wife, and none would convict him. ’Twas a beating gone too far, one too many times.
The setting sun sent golden beams of light through the trees surrounding her clearing, alerting Alethia it was time to pack it up for the day and return to the island. She and Hunter were loading the boat when the warning horn sounded in the village. Two tones.
It had to be Malcolm and his men!
Alethia threw their things in a heap on the bottom of the dingy, helped Hunter in and shoved the boat off the shore in a rush. Only two tones had sounded. Did that mean there were no wounded? She rowed for all she was worth, aiming the small boat like a missile for the island. Once there, she dragged it into the brush, grabbed what she could carry and started for the keep, confident that Hunter would follow with whatever he could manage. She’d return later for the rest.
The moment she entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to her. The concern emanating from them nearly bowled her over. “What is it?”
“It’s Malcolm, lass.” Molly walked over and took the bundles Alethia held.
“Where is he?” Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and her mouth went dry. She’d known. All along she’d known something would happen, and now it had. She tried to swallow past the lump and couldn’t.
“In the great hall being tended by his men. He’s been hurt. I’m boiling water as ye said to if there be wounded.” Molly gestured to the cauldron in the hearth. “What would ye have me do with it, my lady?”
“Fetch my basket for healing and bring it to the great hall. You know which one I mean?” she signed to Hunter. He nodded and was off in a flash. Alethia ran. As she reached the great hall, the sight before her froze her to the spot. Angus approached Malcolm’s bloodied body lying prone on one of the plank tables, a knife glowing red hot in his hand. Alethia gasped in horror. “Stop! Don’t you dare touch him with that!”
Angus froze, startled by her shout, and Liam took her by the arms, turning her away from Malcolm. “True, we must stop the bleeding. His wound is deep, and he’s lost too much blood already. ’Tis certain to cause fever if not cauterized. This would have been done in the field if Malcolm hadn’t insisted he be brought home first.”
“It must be done quickly.” Angus moved toward the table.
She jerked herself free of Liam’s hold and placed herself between Malcolm and the glowing blade. “I want to see him.” Cautiously she moved closer. Malcolm was deathly pale, his clothing soaked in blood. His eyes found hers. She swallowed the sob threatening to escape and bent to examine him just as his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.
His wound had been unwrapped to sear. He’d been cut open from his left clavicle to the bend in his elbow. Alethia could see exposed bone at his shoulder, and the deep cut through the bicep oozed blood. “If you sear him with that blade, his arm will be damaged forever.”
“If I dinna, he could die from blood loss or fever, lass. Give way.” Angus took her forearm to move her from her place. For the first time, she noticed the others in the hall. Lydia and Elaine stood frozen in place as Alethia stood firm. “Lydia?” Alethia met her eyes. “He’s your son. Will you let me try to help him?” Lydia nodded, and relief washed through her.
“Beth, get me hot water from the kitchen.” Hunter ran to her side with her basket. “I need light.”
Elaine responded immediately, bringing lit candles close and placing them on the table. Alethia’s hands trembled as she rolled up the sleeves of her chemise. What did she know about stitching flesh? Nothing. She only knew the wound needed to be cleaned and disinfected to prevent fever, or worse, gangrene. This was Malcolm. She couldn’t fail him. Surely this was the moment for which she’d been brought to this time and place.
Beth returned with hot water, and Alethia washed her shaking hands and arms with the soap she’d tucked away. As she began the daunting task of cleaning Malcolm’s wound, thoughts of tetanus from a rusted blade flitted through her mind. Dear God, so much could go wrong. She fought the urge to retch, and inhaled deeply several times and forced the fear out of her mind. Stitching skin together couldn’t be that difficult. Certainly not any more difficult than sewing deer hide.