Page 37 of Rebellion's Fire

She began to eat without paying much attention to what was in her mouth. She waited until her husband drew breath from boring Alys—or flirting with her, she rarely noticed which, since Alys’s reaction to both was much the same smile and admiring glances. Then Christian asked, “Will you ransom your captive?”

“When I’ve decided what I want for him,” William said, wiping his sleeve across his mouth and reaching for his cup.

“Our supplies are short,” she observed. “Silver would be useful.” She turned her gaze on him. “So would the land of Knockalsh that adjoins Tirebeck.”

William turned his head and stared at her. The inevitable disparaging comment formed on his lips but never sounded. His eyes narrowed. “Knockalsh would improve our security here… You think we’d get both land and silver? Just for the MacHeth’s boy?”

“I don’t know,” Christian said honestly. “But we should keep him alive in the hope of it. The alternative is an attack we can’t hold off for long.”

William nodded thoughtfully before he remembered who was talking to him and scowled at her instead. “Of course we can hold off a few savages!” He turned back to Alys.

When Christian had forced down the food before her, she rose from the table, bade her husband and anyone who was listening a polite good night, and left the high table once more. Alys tripped after her as she always did, and the other women joined them from their own table as they passed, Felicia clutching the medicine box.

“Thank you,” Christian said, taking it from her. “Good night.”

“We would stay and help,” Felicia said in a rush. Behind her, Alys wrinkled her nose.

Christian smiled at the other two. “Thank you. But it won’t take long.” She nodded dismissal and walked across to the captives, sinking to her knees in the straw by Adam’s shoulder.

There was a wary set to his face. “Don’t look so worried,” she said lightly. “I’ve spent most of my life dressing the wounds of injured soldiers.”

“Did they live?” Adam inquired.

“Some of them,” Christian replied. “The ones who didn’t give me any trouble.”

“Then please, Cailean first. Since you haven’t given us away.”

“Yet,” Christian said, watching Cailean unwind the bandages from over his torn tunic and shirt.

Adam’s breath hissed in what might have been laughter. For some reason, that lightened her spirits, as if mirth made his death less likely.

Although close in position to his heart, Cailean’s wound was minor, shallow, and clean, so she merely applied some ointment and rebound it. He thanked her humbly, blushing slightly when she patted his arm.

Adam MacHeth was a different matter. He tried to untie his own bandage, and Christian was forced to catch his hand. He didn’t withdraw it as he had that first time. It didn’t even jump in hers, and his eyes never left her face. The combination unnerved her before she began.

“Be still,” she snapped, although he already was. She snatched her hand from his, and, trying very hard not to think of the body beneath, she removed his tunic and untied the bandages for him. Beneath the mud and moss he must have rolled in, the gore caught at her breath. She’d seen men die of lesser wounds. But at least whoever had dealt with it had cleansed it well. A good beginning.

Laying aside the bandages—a roughly torn shirt—she poured a poppy tincture into the empty wine cup.

“Drink this,” she instructed Cailean first. “For the pain.”

“What is it?”

“Opium tears.”

Cailean took a couple of mouthfuls and passed the rest to his “servant.”

Adam hesitated. “Will it make me sleep?”

“It willletyou sleep,” she retorted. “Why do you care? Do you have an urgent engagement?”

“You have a sharp tongue for a ministering angel.”

“I have a sharp tongue for anyone. And I’ve had a tiring day.” She stared at him, at the half smile forming and dying on his lips, until he raised the cup and drank it all. Then she set about closing and anointing the ugly wound to prevent corruption. She didn’t know if the torn muscles beneath would repair themselves.

He never winced under her ministrations, although his flesh occasionally flinched, an involuntary reaction he seemed unable to prevent. For the rest, although he had whitened under his mud and there was a certain tightness around the corners of his eyes, his face showed few signs of pain or distress. He seemed to distract himself by watching her face as she worked.

She wondered what he saw there and came to the conclusion that he simply had to look at something. He’d learned well the first lesson of a leader, to show no weakness.

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