Page 120 of Laird of Smoke
Eve held her breath, fearing the worst, while Fonia whimpered beside her.Time churned like an oxcart through mud as she watched the doorway with tearing eyes.The acrid odor of burning thatch stung her nose as flames licked up through the smoky roof.Still he didn’t emerge.
When she finally glimpsed Adam’s broad back, he was dragging a man out through the door and away from the conflagration.Her breath escaped in a relieved whoosh.
Fonia raced toward them, skidding to her knees beside the limp body.“Simon!”
Adam covered a racking cough with his sleeve.His face was sweaty and soot-stained.
Eve spared one glance at Simon.Then her gaze returned to Adam.
The hem of his robe was on fire.
“Adam!”she cried.“Your cassock!”
She charged forward.Together they beat the flames into smoldering submission.
By now, the entire roof was ablaze, roaring with fury.It was too late to save the structure.
Was it too late to save Simon?
Eve crouched beside him and felt his neck for a pulse.He was alive, but unconscious.
His chest was covered in blood from a nasty dagger that protruded from his side.
Eve felt a sudden twinge of uncertainty.She could cure headaches.She could bandage cuts and scrapes.She knew what herbs to use for stomach ailments and bruises and the pain of monthly courses.
But she’d never had to deal with mortal battlefield wounds like this.
Perhaps Adam was right.
Perhaps she’d taken on something that was beyond her skills.
But there was no time to take him to the convent.He’d already lost a lot of blood.And at the very least, if she had to give him last rites, she was qualified to do it.
It would mean revealing the truth to Adam, that she had the authority to deliver last rites.But when it meant saving a man’s soul, it was worth the price.
Fortunately, Adam had seen wounds like this before.When you lived in a clan full of warriors, someone was always getting wounded.
He hunkered down beside Simon to examine the injury.
“’Tisn’t too deep,” he said, blinking the ash from his eyes.“It looks like it missed his heart.If we can stop the bleeding…”
“I have linen for bandages,” Eve said, opening her satchel.
A dagger puncture would require more than just a bandage.The cut would need to be stitched closed first.
“Do ye have a needle and thread?”he asked.
“Aye.”
“And Fonia, do ye have…”
The poor woman was clutching her husband’s hand, trying to massage it back to life.
“Och, Simon,” she wailed.“Don’t leave me.”
Fonia was too upset to be of much help.But Eve was steady as a rock.
“Ye’ll need verjuice and honey as well,” she said, finding them in her satchel.
