Page 56 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“My brother’s a fortunate man to have you fight for him. I shall defer to you,” he looked around the room, “and I insist every man here does the same.”
Eloise clearing her throat, then explained what needed to be done. Four men held Harald down—two by the arms, and two holding each thigh. Collin took Harald’s ankle. On the count of three he was to use his full weight to pull the ankle and twist the leg, until the bones aligned.
“Ready?” she asked. “On my count. You pull on three.”
The men nodded. Eloise cradled Harald’s head in her hands and brushed her lips against his forehead, ignoring the prick of fear at how clammy his skin was.
“Forgive me, my love, for it will hurt. But I won’t leave you.”
She nodded to Edwin.
“One…”
She stroked his head, caressing the soft downy beard.
“Two…”
A tear rolled down her cheek in anticipation of what he was about to endure.
“Three!”
Colin gave a sharp pull then hesitated as a deep scream roared out of Harald’s chest. His body jerked and spasmed as he writhed in pain.
“Don’t stop!” Eloise cried. “Hold him steady, Collin. Jeanette, clean the wound.”
The old woman worked swiftly, washing the wound with hot water before sprinkling it with herbs. The bone no longer protruded and the bloodflow had eased.
“Edwin, pass the splints.”
Edwin held a piece of wood either side of Harald’s leg while Jeanette wound a bandage to secure the leg in place.
Harald’s screams subsided, and by the time Jeanette finished, he was unconscious.
“What do we do now?” Edwin asked.
“Take him to his chamber,” Eloise said. “I’ll administer a sleeping draught before we move him.”
Jeanette handed her a phial and she tipped Harald’s head up and held it to his lips. He choked but his swallow reflex did most of the work. Eventually his breathing eased, and at a word from Eloise, the men lifted the stretcher and carried Harald outside.
When they reached Harald’s chamber, Eloise instructed the men to place him on his bed and fetch a pallet for her to sleep on. She’d need to tend to him almost constantly. Should the wound fester he, might lose the leg anyway, perhaps lose his life. The next few days would be crucial. It would be a month, possibly two, before he could begin to walk again.
Eloise dismissed the servants, and sat beside her husband. His breathing was labored, punctuated by moans of pain. The trauma of his injury coupled with the nightmares of his past would guarantee a disturbed night.
Chapter 14
Athick fog hung over Harald, but unlike the fog which enveloped the marshes near Hastings, it was hot and oppressive. His head ached, and he couldn’t open his eyes. Once again the vision invaded his dreams—a huge black horse bearing down on him, striking him in the chest. He flew back and a thick, hot shard of pain seared through his leg, pulsating in unison with the sound of a man screaming. Would the memories of Hastings never leave him? Or would they haunt him until the day he died?
Old memories merged with new ones—a gentle hand on his forehead, a voice whispering his name, calling him back from the dead, something pressing against his lips before a cold sensation spread down his throat and dulled his senses, returning him to oblivion.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the Norman tower at Wildstorm. The Normans…
“Norman witch! What have you done to him!”
That shrill voice sounded familiar, though he wanted to silence it. Then a softer voice spoke, but he couldn’t discern the words.
“I care not,” the first voice said. “You endangered his life and gave him pain, yet nobody acted when you poured your poison down his throat. He’s lain here unmoving for a fortnight, while you’ve spun your web of evil. It’s time for him to be tended to those who love him.”
Again, the second voice spoke but was interrupted.
