Page 45 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“’Twill keep.” Donall attempted to edge past his friend. “Has the Council gathered?”
“Aye, but… ye need….”
“I need tae get tae the meeting an’ speak with the Elders.”
“Nay. Ye need tae stop fer a moment, drink some fortified wine and get those wounds tended tae properly.” The unexpectedly stern voice caused Donall to look up.
Lydia stood there, her normally soft blue eyes bright with determination. Her hands were filled with a tray containing bandages, wine, food, and a pot of salve from Evelyn’s cottage.
Donall glared at her. “Galen needs the tending more than I.”
“Galen is being tended to by Healer Evelyn. I promised her, and Master Ewan, that I would see to you, my laird.”
“As yer laird…”
“You will forgive me, my laird, but in circumstances such as these, I fear I will be forced to obey Healer Evelyn’s orders rather than your own. And her command was, I believe ‘tell Laird MacEwen tae flatten me foolish laird an’ hold him down, if he willnae take a moment tae stop an’ see sense on his own’.”
The calm recitation with which the lass delivered the admonishment would have made Donall laugh, if he could have drawn the breath.
“Ye have but tae ask, lass.” Alex’s acknowledgment drove his brief amusement away. Then his friend stepped forward and faced him once more. “So, will ye sit an’ allow us tae aid ye, or will ye be a fool an’ add a bruised jaw tae yer injuries?”
Donall scowled, but he limped into a small side chamber and began to shuck his clothing. “Alex, tell the Council I’ll be there soon.”
Alex left, and Lydia bent to examine the gash across his chest. Donall sucked in a breath as she wiped away the blood that had continued to stain his skin, then prodded the wound with careful fingertips. “This is serious, my laird. You should see Evelyn, for I fear this needs a cauter or a stitch, and I have not the training nor skill to judge which.”
“Salve an’ bandage will be fine, an’ I’ll see Evelyn after the meetin’.” Donall growled out the words.
“I will take you at your word. For now, drink your wine while I tend to this.” She handed him the cup of wine. Donall drank it, grimacing at the taste of medicinal herbs that had been added to it to fortify him against blood loss and weakness. Once the cup had been drained, he set it aside, and Alex who was back, handed him some food - bread with fresh-churned butter and honey.
Meanwhile, Lydia smeared the wound across his chest with a healing paste, then bound it with bandages, before securing them snugly about his ribs and chest. Maisie appeared then and offered him a basin to wash his face and hands, followed by a clean shirt, which Donall donned with a sigh of relief.
He finished dressing with a clean sash over his chest and a fresh kilt to hide the worst of the evidence of combat. Lydia moved to hand him something else - a painkilling tonic that he knew would make his thoughts clouded for several candle-marks. Donall brushed it aside and rose to his feet. “I’ll take that after the meeting.”
He leveled a glare at the figures clustered around him. “An’ speakin’ o’ the Council, they’re waitin’ on our report on what happened. I’ve eaten, an’ ye’ve bandaged me up, so let me go.”
Alex still looked as if he wanted to protest, but Lydia nodded, and after a moment his friend stepped to the side and fell in beside him.
The clan Council was waiting for him when he arrived, and Elder McEvoney was first to speak to him. “Laird Ranald. Armsmaster Ewan was telling us ye were attacked on the way to investigate the assault on our watch post near the Cameron borders?”
“Aye. Attacked by at least eight, though ‘tis me reckoning there were more.” Donall eased himself into his chair and fought to keep the wince of pain off his face. Despite the treatment Lydia had given him, his chest still throbbed with every movement, and breathing was painful.
“An’ did ye investigate the watch post?”
“We didnae. The villagers reported the flames were out, an’ there were nay more o’ our warriors left alive - we found the bodies on the road.” Anger roared up in him again, and Donall clung to it, a welcome support against the light-headed weakness that washed over him in sickening waves, like a tide trying to drag him out to sea.
The next candle-mark or so dragged on, with Ewan recounting most of the events, and Donall adding details here and there ashe recalled them, while the Council debated the implications of the attack, and how it should be handled.
All of them agreed it was a clear act of aggression and provocation - the question was whether they should respond in kind, or go on the defensive. Whether they should summon their allies, or request arbitration from the Highland Gathering or the king.
So far as Donall was concerned, the last was the least palatable option and the least helpful. What were the chances the crown would support him, after he’d defied them once already? He would rather have sent a letter stating his grievance, then posted a small troop of warriors on the border as a warning. And if Laird Cameron attacked again - it would be a declaration of war, a call to feud.
He wanted to argue his decision, but it was hard to focus when his chest throbbed and his body felt so heavy, even though his head felt light. Despite his best efforts, occasional waves of hazy gray fog would pass over his vision, and it was only his own willpower that kept him from swaying or slumping in his seat.
By the time the meeting finally ended for supper, he was sweating, hot and cold by turns, and even shifting in his seat made him feel dizzy, as though the earth spun beneath his feet like a child’s toy.
Ewan bolted out of his chair and hurried to his side the instant the last of the other Council members left. “Me laird! Ye’re ghost white.”
“I’m fine.” Just trying to force the words out was an effort, his tongue felt thick and sluggish.
