Page 29 of Sutherland's Secret
For the first time Eleanor slept dreamless, falling into an abyss of darkness that was fully welcome. But her sleep was not for long. Shouts from outside her window had her sitting up in bed, then racing to throw the shutters back.
In the bailey below, torches danced about, causing a macabre scene. Warriors were shouting to one another, and men were running about, trying to catch the horses that had been abandoned when their riders hopped off.
For one terrifying moment Eleanor thought the English had returned.
But no, there were no red-coated soldiers, just Highland warriors, most of whom were wearing the distinctive blue and green plaids. Eleanor leaned farther out the window. They were gathered around something lying on the ground. As a whole, they lifted whatever it was up onto their shoulders.
When they passed torches highlighting their burden, Eleanor gasped, her hand going to her mouth. They were carrying Brice. His feet and legs were supported by four warriors, his torso by two more, and his head by Lachlan. His eyes were closed, his skin a deathly pale.
“No,” she whispered, grasping her throat. “No!” She turned on her heel and raced to her door, fumbling to lift the bar in her haste. She nearly fell out the door. Her guard pushed away from the wall with an oath of surprise, but she ignored him as she flew down the steps, her feet barely touching the cold stone.
“Please, please, please, please,” she whispered, not even able to get the entire prayer out, unable to utter the words that would devastate her.Please don’t let him be dead.
The great hall was brightly lit. One of the serving girls raced from sconce to sconce, lighting the wicks. Hannah was giving orders to other girls, telling them to awaken Cook because they would need hot water.
Hot water was good. Hot water meant he was alive, right?
The men gently placed Brice on one of the tables. He didn’t move and he didn’t make a sound. Eleanor pressed against the wall, not wanting to get in the way but desperately wanting to go to him.
“We need the healer,” someone said.
“That’s at least a day’s journey,” Lachlan said grimly, looking down upon Brice. “There is no time.”
The men fell silent as they stared at their leader. MacLean stood to the side, his expression one of devastation. His shirt and tartan were covered in blood. It was on his hands and his face. He raised his head, and the bleak look in his eyes propelled Eleanor forward.
“I…” Her voice cracked and faded. She swallowed, forcing the words out. “I can help.”
Lachlan scowled at her. “How canyehelp?”
She ignored his acerbic tone, well aware that he neither liked nor trusted her. That was fine, just as long as he let her help.
“I’ve tended to…w-wounded soldiers.”
Colin’s head shot up and Lachlan threw her the coldest glare she’d ever seen.
“Please,” she whispered, her gaze going to Brice’s white face.
“We have no choice,” Colin said, coming to stand beside her.
She wanted to hug him for his support, because the warriors were now looking at her in curiosity rather than distrust.
“She’s all we have,” Hannah said into the silence.
After a moment’s hesitation, the warriors moved aside for her to approach. Eleanor stepped up to the table and took a deep breath. In Edinburgh, she’d helped the other wives tend the sick and wounded soldiers, but it had been nothing like this. They’d performed simple tasks, leaving the more complicated ones to the doctors. But Eleanor had watched a few surgeries.
There was a spreading pool of blood coming from the area of Brice’s shoulder, staining his yellow shirt bright red.
“He was shot,” Colin said beside her. “Pistol.”
She nodded and, with trembling hands, reached for his shirt. “We must…get this…off.”
Colin produced a dagger and cut the shirt down the front, being mindful of the part of the shirt stuck to the blood.
“Move out of the way. Let the lass work,” Lachlan commanded, forcing the men to move away from the table.
Eleanor shot him a grateful look. Now she was able to breathe and wasn’t so conscious that every eye in the room was watching her every move.
“Hot water,” Hannah murmured, setting a bowl on the bench beside her. “The girls are gathering linens as well.”
