Page 50 of The Forest Bride
“Let me see your foot, sir.”
“Insistent little wench.” He beckoned. “I will not have you coming up sick over the sight of a wound.”
Lilias knelt by the stool and began to unwrap the bandages. “I will not be sick. I have seen worse than this,” she said as she pulled the bandages off gently. She had not, but she was not squeamish, either. “They say air is good for wounds and a dry wound may not fester.”
“You cannot possibly know what a physician knows.”
She said nothing as she examined his foot. He winced constantly as she unraveled the fabric strips carefully. “I must ask Dame Brigit to bring warm water and cloths, and some herbs that could help.”
“Woman!” he called. “The lass wants hot water and herbs.”
Lilias looked up. “Please bring willow, comfrey and yarrow, if you have them. Garlic and honey as well, and some strong drink, likeaqua vitaeoruisge beatha. And clean cloths.” She had seen Lady Rowena Keith tend wounds this way, and they cleared up nicely. She could do the same for the sheriff, who was clearly suffering.
Most of his foot looked normal enough, but the heel was swollen and warm to the touch. The wound, a puncture, was deep and dark and curling at the edges. It had not yet begun to smell, but she feared that would develop soon. Dame Brigit came quickly enough with a pot of hot water, a bowl and cloths, and a basket of herbs.
“It needs to be cleaned and treated,” Lilias told the sheriff, and set to work, trying to look calm and knowledgeable in imitation of Lady Rowena. She asked Dame Brigit to stand by to lend a hand.
Sir John winced, jumping now and then as Lilias gently bathed his foot. Setting Dame Brigit to that task, she turned to make a poultice of herbs, honey, and crushed garlic in cloth. Then she wiped the wound with strong spirits, which made him near leap out of his chair and swear under his breath. She soothed it with honey.
Applying the fresh poultice to his heel, she secured it with clean bandage strips. Then she stood, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. “It will heal better now. But you must rest it so that the wound will close itself into a scar. If you want, I can cauterize it for you.”
“I am not letting a wee lass touch a hot poker to my foot!”
“Then wait for it to heal, which will take longer.” She rubbed a little honey on her hands, dipped them in clean water, then dried them. Lady Rowena insisted on cleanliness, a harmless habit.
“It feels a bit more comfortable. I suppose I should thank you,” he grunted. “But I will not pay you a physician’s fee, though I fear you will ask for it. If you do get to Italy and earn a degree, you can ask me for payment then.”
“I will ask for a different payment. Tell me what happened to the others in my escort. Where are my friends and the men of my party?”
“They are being taken care of, I promise you.”
“What of Lady Margaret Keith and Andrew Murray?”
“Who?” He looked startled. “Keith and Murray? I do not know them.”
She did not like the sound of any of this. Something was very wrong, and it was clear she was not a guest here. Fear began to trickle down her spine.
“My fee is that you send me back to my kin and my friends.”
He smiled. “I am your only friend now. You are a remarkable lass, perhaps more valuable than I thought.”
A bad feeling plunged through her. He obviously had a scheme. He was a threat to her father, not an ally as she had first hoped.
“Have some strong spirits,” she said, “and rest your foot. Go nowhere for at least a fortnight.”
“A scrap of a lass ordering a sheriff?” He laughed. “I would send word to your father if I knew where he was. Do you?”
“I do not.” She had an idea where, but she knew by now that her father would not trust Sir John. Suddenly she wished desperately that Sir Henry Keith or Sir William Seton, the good knights who had bid her escort farewell at Kincraig, would learn of the attack and come looking for her and the others.
Menteith drained the liquid in his cup and motioned for Dame Brigit to fill it again. “Lady Elisabeth, you can leave now. I am done with children for the day.”
She spun and walked away, Dame Brigit hurrying after her. Just as they reached the door, it was pushed open. She stepped back.
A man entered the room—Sir William de Soulis again. He looked brawny and huge in a red surcoat over chain mail. He had long dark hair and very dark eyes. He stopped, arching one brow.
“Lady Elisabeth,” he purred, and walked past. “Sir John! You spoke with Bruce’s whelp? What does she know?”
“Not much. A troublesome chit. But she bandaged my foot, if you can believe it.”
