Zia agreed that it was a good idea, but at the same time reflected to herself that she might not be in Caithness long enough for it to happen.
Growing tired, she was looking forward to bed, and to being in Artair’s arms. Realizing that she didn’t want to go to bed without him, she wondered if that was not still another reason for them to wed. She almost laughed, but was saved by a wide yawn she covered with her hand.
“Time for bed,” Artair announced, turning away from conversation with his brothers, reaching out and bringing Zia along with him as he stood.
“I agree,” Honora said, looking to Cavan, who quickly assisted her to stand.
Addie stretched herself up, Champion standing as well, at her side. “I’m ready to turn in myself.”
Lachlan laughed. “My night is just starting.” He looked around the room, and finding a serving lass he liked, gave her a wink and held up his empty tankard.
Zia’s legs protested every stair she climbed. By the time she reached their bedchamber, she flopped back onto the bed with a groan.
“I’m so tired,” she said on a yawn.
Artair stood over her. “I can undress you and tuck you in, if you’d like.”
She fought the temptation to say yes. It would be so easy to do so, but she knew that once she surrendered, she would seal her fate. He would demand that they wed, and she wasn’t ready yet. Or was it he who wasn’t ready yet?
Before she could answer him, a pounding rattled their closed door. Artair moved quickly and yanked it open.
It was Lachlan. “There’s been an accident,” he said. “Zia is needed.”
She was up and out of the room in a flash, Artair following her. The frightened wailing could be heard rising up the staircase, and it brought Cavan and Honora out of their room, and Addie a few steps behind.
When they entered the hall, they could see that it wasn’t only a woman’s fretful cries, but that of a young lad no more then four or five. Seeing the blood pouring down the child’s face, Zia immediately took control.
Her first order was to Cavan. “Take Honora out of here.”
Cavan tried, but Honora wouldn’t budge.
“I’m very good with stitches if you should need help,” she said defiantly to Zia.
“Have it your way, and thanks for the offer,” Zia replied, then she turned to Artair. “I need my healing basket, the large one, and the sack of cloths.” She didn’t have to tell him where it was. He was familiar with the cottage and knew where she kept everything.
To Addie, she said, “I need fresh water.”
Addie took off.
“And me?” Lachlan asked.
“Help calm the lad while I calm the mother and find out what happened.”
Lachlan went straight to the task. “What have we here, a mighty warrior who has been injured?” he boomed loudly, taking the lad’s hand.
The child stared at Lachlan, who continued extolling his bravery as Zia took hold of the mother and walked her away from the boy so they could talk.
Between sobs, the mother told her all she needed to know. Samuel and his brother, she said, were playing in bed, and Samuel bounced off, his head catching the corner of the chest that rested nearby.
Zia knew that head wounds could be a problem. It depended how deep the wound was and what had caused the abrasion. Any blow to the head could do damage, and the extent of it would determine whether she would have trouble healing the wound.
Samuel sniffled between a few tears and looked ready to cry aloud when she approached.
“May I look at your wound, brave warrior?” she asked with a soft smile.
“Yes,” he said, though held firmly to Lachlan’s hand, which enveloped his much smaller hand. Only his thumb peeked out.
Zia noticed that blood continued to drip along his forehead, that the wound had yet to stop bleeding. With a tender touch she probed the area and almost sighed with relief. It wasn’t bad, though it would require stitches. Without them, it would continue to bleed and would fill with poison. Three stitches would hold it good, and she would see that the bandage remained clean until it could be removed.
She hadn’t realized that the hall had gone silent, and when she looked up, she saw everyone staring at her as if holding their breath. They were waiting for her to save this child, and it sent a shiver through her. She hated the thought of telling anyone there was nothing she could do, and at those times she worked harder, knowing the decision was in hands far more powerful than hers.
But that wasn’t the case with Samuel, and she smiled. “A few stitches, no running around for a few days, and he should be fine.”
The mother broke into another fit of crying, which sent the lad into tears as well.