Page 15 of A Wife for the Highland Villain
Her back had straightened. Her shoulders were now squared, and her lips were pursed. The sleep was gone, replaced by a healer’s focus. The thoughtful stare and intense contemplation he’d heard so much about.
They stopped in front of the castle, and Sorcha pushed open the door. The scent of blood mixed with sweat and herbs hit them immediately. Alasdair watched carefully as Lily stepped inside. He noticed the instant her face contorted.
She froze in the doorway, taking in the sight before her.
“God,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 5
Lily stood stillat the threshold, her breath caught in her chest.
From the door to the far wall, rows of makeshift beds lined the stone hall, each one occupied. The wounded lay with their eyes closed, groaning or shifting weakly beneath the thin blankets.
The scent of blood, sweat, old metal, and boiled herbs hung thick in the air, the stifled groans from some of the men providing a disquieting background. A handful of maids moved quietly between the beds, placing wet towels on foreheads or handing over tin cups of water.
Lily shuddered. She’d never trodden a battlefield, but this was far closer than she would have liked. Behind her, she heard Alasdair’s voice.
“As I said, these people need yer help.”
She didn’t respond. Her gaze followed a tall, lean man walking down the center row. He wore a dark apron, spectacles slipping halfway down his long nose, and white streaked the sides of his otherwise dark hair. His gait was slow, and his eyes scanned each cot with a detached, unwavering calm. He stopped by a soldier who was coughing blood and turned his chin up to the ceiling.
“That way, the blood stays in yer belly, where it belongs,” Lily heard him say.
She blinked and turned to Alasdair. “Who is that?”
“That’s Dr. Moseley, the clan’s physician.” Then, he leaned in slightly and whispered, “But between me and ye, I think he’s just as useful as a brick. Most of the ones he touches end up dead. Or worse.”
“Then why do ye let him keep working?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He winced. “Because nay one else kens what to do.”
At that moment, a young maid hurried past them, carrying something long and wrapped in cloth. Lily caught the glint of metal, then saw it.
A saw.
“What in God’s name is that for?” she asked sharply.
The maid paused and turned to her. “Oh… ‘Tis for poor Timothy. The gangrene got his foot, and Dr. Moseley says he’s amputating it today.”
Lily stepped forward quickly, the sound of her boots echoing as she made her way to the bed. The man lay there, his skin pale and glistening. His ankle was bandaged thickly, and a faint groan escaped his lips. He was barely older than her.
Good Lord.
Dr. Moseley, who stood on the other side of the bed, raised the saw to inspect it, then caught her shadow and looked up.
“Should ye nae be handing out towels with the maids?” he asked with a snort.
“Careful how ye speak to her,” Alasdair barked from the doorway.
Dr. Moseley started. “Me Laird? I didnae ken ye were back.”
Lily faced him again. “Now, what exactly are ye about to do?”
“As ye can see, lass, I am about to cut this lad’s foot off,” Dr. Moseley said flatly. “The infection’s sunken deep, and if I daenae amputate his foot, he will die.”
The boy whimpered suddenly. “Please,” he said. “Me wife’s with child. She cannae work, and I need to care for the child. Nay one will hire a man without a foot.”
Dr. Moseley grumbled. “Timothy, I told ye, if I daenae amputate it, ye willnae even live to see the birth of yer child.”
