Page 41 of Kilted Seduction
“Mark the spot and have the woodsmen bring back the log. Ye twain, clear a path for Laird Cameron. Ye keep close in front tae make sure he doesnae slip nor fall. I willnae have the ladyfurther injured in my care. The rest o’ ye, form honor guard. That much is deserved. And Arthur, see that flask is emptied intae the snow. Nae a man drinks a drop until Lady Cameron has been seen by the healer, or I’ll see ye spend the night in a cell, or in the stables!”
Lachlan snapped out orders as he and Mac took up stations on either side of Aedan, careful to stand close enough to aid, but distant enough to avoid jostling the limp body in his arms. The rest of the men did as they were ordered, clearing the path of any obstacle and forming a ring of protection around the four of them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aedan saw the golden hue of aged whiskey splash across the snow. He might have asked for some for Thora, but he didn’t dare risk interfering with whatever treatment the healer might recommend. Nor did he want to take the slightest risk of her choking. Even if it didn’t endanger her life, coughing would hurt. He didn’t want her to feel pain.
The group began the trek back to Ross Castle, moving as fast as Aedan’s feet would allow. He yearned to run, but knew if he tried, he would only risk falling. He wished they had a horse, but they’d decided to trust to their own limbs and strength that day.
He heard Lachlan Ross barking periodic orders and was grateful that someone else was in control of everything. He was free to focus on Thora, on watching to make sure she breathed, and waiting for any signs of waking. Her continued unconsciousness was worrisome. Had the blow to her head caused her serious injury?
Had his blind foolishness done her harm, perhaps permanent harm? He didn’t know, and until he knew, he was determined that no other would hold her or touch her, unless it was the healer.
A minute, a candle-mark, or an eternity - Aedan had no idea how long the journey back to Ross Castle lasted. He had no will to mark the passing of time, no care for anything save Thora, and the bitter recriminations that circled through his thoughts.
This… this is me fault. Mine. I didnae believe her. She had tae come because she kent that I wouldnae heed her warning. She kent I didnae believe her, so she put herself in danger.
If Thora dies, ‘twill be me doing and me arrogance that take her life. Mine and mine alone.
Whatever powers in heaven there be, or elsewhere… please, dinnae let her die. Let her liv, so I may apologize tae her. Let her live, so I may prove I believe in her gift, as well as her wits and her courage.
Let her live.
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…”
