Page 45 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
“Dinnae fash, Isla,” Tyra whispered soothingly. “He’ll be all right. The healer will attend tae him now.” She could only hope her words were close to the truth.
Once Ewan was positioned on the pallet, groaning slightly, his face now white as a snow rabbit’s fur, Esmé’s nimble fingers unlaced his shirt. She took a quick look at the slash across his chest and wasted no time in slicing away his vest and exposing the wound.
It was a long cut that went from under one arm almost to his waist, yet it was not deep. ‘Tis nae a killing wound, I am most happy tae say. It will repair quickly.”
Loud grunts of relief spread around the infirmary and the lads who’s assisted Duncan headed off to their tasks.
Once Esmé had staunched the blood flow with icy water, she prepared a tincture of healing herbs and honey to cleanse the wound.
“Oh, I cannae watch.” Isla, put her hands over her eyes, moaning softly. Duncan looked up and Tyra signaled to him. He nodded and hurried to Isla’s side.
“There’s naught else we can dae. I believe our braither will be well.” He took Isla’s hand, comforting her and turned to Tyra.
“We can leave him in the capable hands of Esmé,” he said quietly.
Tyra shook her head. “Nay, I wish tae remain wi’ him.”
Duncan nodded. He placed an arm at Isla’s waist, and they slipped away, a trickle of tears on Isla’s cheeks.
Tyra slipped closer. “May I help? I’ve often assisted the healer at me home castle on the Isle of Skye.”
Esmé nodded. “Good. Take this sponge and cleanse the wound, while I prepare a healing salve. ‘Tis well, the lad willnae need stitching.” She went on with melting beeswax and pounding burdock root and mullein with her pestle.
Ewan’s eyes were closed, but when Tyra leaned over him with the bowl and sponge, he eyes flickered open and he granted her the hint of a smile before closing them again.
Tyra dabbed at the ugly wound, cleaning away the already dried blood. She hated seeing Ewan so pale and still on the pallet. Her stomach was churning, fearful for him, and she was suddenly swamped with the sense that this was all because of her.
He’d entered the fray without hesitation. She knew with certainty that those men were not mere bandits, intent on waylaying heedless travelers bound for the castle.
They were MacDonald’s henchmen. She’d recognized one of the men who had led the attack as one of the soldiers who stayed by her fiancé’s side at Scorrybreac. They could only have been present near the causeway because they had trackedherfrom the castle and were carrying out orders to either kill or abduct her.Ewan, along with his brother and sister, had been put at risk of harm or even death, because of her.
Any doubts she’d harbored about Harris being responsible dissolved.
Once Tyra thoroughly cleansed Ewan’s wound, Esmé carefully smeared it with the freshly-made salve and bound it with strips of linen.
“The laird is strong. This wound will heal quickly.”
By now Ewan’s eyes were open. He raised himself to a sitting position, wincing, yet to Tyra’s relief, much brighter. She wrapped a hand around his shoulders, careful not to disturb the new dressing.
He shook his head. “Dinnae fash, lass, I’m all right.”
Placing his hands on the side of the pallet he lifted himself, standing a trifle unsteady. Tyra was quick to take his arm, helping him as he straightened.
Esmé handed Tyra a small jar containing the remainder of the salve.
“Reapply this tomorrow. If there is fever call fer me at once.”
Straightening, but with Tyra still holding him steady, he took several faltering steps toward the door.
“I am greatly relieved that ye are alive. I ken the ambush would nae have taken place if I had nae been in yer company.”
He leaned a little on her and she braced to give him what little support she could. The press of his body sent a deep ripple of wellbeing through her – the sense that she was where she should be, by Ewan’s side, lending him her strength.
Fortunately, Duncan reappeared at that moment, and her concerns about Ewan’s ability to make it up to his chamber vanished. Duncan lent his strong right arm to assist his brother, despite the expected protestations that no help was required.
“I can manage on me own.”
Duncan snorted. “Just mind yer manners big lad and allow others tae lend their help when they can.”
