Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Maither!” she shouted over her shoulder, her voice sharp with urgency. She hooked her arm beneath his, trying to drag his weight into the cottage. The man groaned faintly, his head lolling as she strained to move him.
Claire appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene.
“Saints above! What’s happened here?” she gasped, rushing forward to help Annabeth. Together, they heaved the injured man inside, his boots dragging across the floor as they maneuvered him toward the small room at the back.
“He’s losin’ blood fast,” Annabeth said breathlessly. “We need to get him up onto the bed. Quickly now!”
“I’ll fetch some cloth to stop the bleedin’,” Claire replied, already moving toward the cupboard.
Annabeth shook her head firmly. “Nay, I need yer help gettin’ him up first. He’s too heavy for me alone.” She struggled to adjust her grip, her arms trembling under the weight of the unconscious man. “Go call one of the lads from next door. They’ll help.”
“There’s no time for fetchin’ help, lass!” Claire snapped, hurrying back to her side. She placed a hand on Annabeth’s shoulder, her voice softening. “We’ll manage between us, aye? Just hold him steady.”
Annabeth frowned.
“Nay, this willnae do!” Annabeth protested, her breath hitching from the effort. “He needs to be fully on the bed if I’m to see to that wound proper.” She gripped the man’s tunic, her face flushed with exertion. “Please. Fetch the lads. We cannae lift him alone with yer back troubled.”
Claire hesitated, her brow furrowing with worry as she glanced between her daughter and the injured man.
“Och, fine,” she relented, moving toward the door. “But daenae ye let him bleed out while I’m away, ye hear me?” Her voice wavered with urgency, and she didn’t wait for a reply before rushing out.
Annabeth sagged slightly as her mother left, her fingers pressing against the cloth she set on the man’s wound to stem the flow of blood.
“Just hold on,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to him. The sight of his pale face and the deep gash on his side sent a pang through her chest, a mix of fear and determination. “Help’s comin’. Ye’ll nae die here. Not if I can help it.”
Annabeth pressed firmly against the wound, her hands trembling as blood seeped through the cloth she held. Her gaze drifted to the man’s face, seeking any sign of who he might be. He was tall, even slumped as he was, with broad shoulders that suggested strength.
His black hair was disheveled and damp, likely from sweat or blood, and a neatly trimmed beard framed his sharp jawline. Her eyes caught on a pale scar that ran along his right cheek, old and faded but unmistakably earned through violence.
“Saints preserve me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He wasn’t anyone she recognized from the village or the neighboring lands. That alone unsettled her—strangers weren’t common, especially ones arriving battered and bleeding.
The villagers have been murmuring about raiders attacking travelers and isolated farms. Could he be one of them?
The thought sent a chill through her, and she instinctively leaned back, though her hands remained pressed to his wound.
“What if he’s brought trouble to our very doorstep?” she murmured, her brow furrowing.
Her thoughts spiraled, imagining scenarios where he might awaken and turn violent. But then she glanced at the blood-soaked cloth in her hands, the life seeping out of him, and guilt prickled at her.
“If he were truly a raider, would he be ridin’ alone an’ so gravely wounded?” she reasoned aloud, trying to still her nerves.
Annabeth tightened her grip on the cloth, willing herself to focus. Whoever he was, he was bleeding to death in her care, and she couldn’t just let that happen.
“Ye’ve got to calm yerself, Annabeth,” she muttered though her voice quivered.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, longing for Claire to return with the lads. Every moment she was left alone with this man felt like an eternity, her unease growing with every ragged breath he took.
“Please, just stay alive,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her free hand hovered near his face for a moment before she hesitantly brushed a lock of hair away from his brow. His features were striking even in their pale, battered state, and something about him tugged at her thoughts.
“Who are ye?” she murmured softly, her curiosity cutting through her fear.
But then her eyes returned to the scar on his cheek, a stark reminder of the violence he might be capable of.
“If ye’ve done harm to others, then I would be a fool to help ye,” she said under her breath though the words felt hollow.
Annabeth glanced toward the fireplace where the kettle hung empty. She needed to boil water and clean rags to properly tend to the wound, but she couldn’t risk letting go. A sense of helplessness crept over her as she felt the warm stickiness of his blood coating her fingers.
“What if I cannae stop the bleedin’?” she muttered, panic creeping into her voice. “What if…”
She shook her head, forcing the dark thoughts aside. Claire’s voice echoed faintly in her mind, reminding her of the healer’s oath they both lived by:
Do no harm, no matter who stands before ye.
“Ye’d best nae be a threat,” she murmured, more to herself than to the man.
Her fingers pressed harder against the wound as if urging his body to stay strong. She’d made her choice—for better or worse—and now, she could only wait for her mother to return.
The two lads, Bruce and Murray, appeared at the door with Claire.
“Boil some cloth, now!” Annabeth shouted to her mother, her voice sharp with urgency.
Annabeth tried not to let her panic take over as she guided the two brothers.
“Aye, pick him up gentle now and place him on the bed. Easy does it,” she instructed, her hands trembling slightly.
With their help, the man was finally positioned on the bed, and Annabeth moved to his side, focusing on the wound that could decide his fate. She didn’t allow herself to think beyond the task at hand, every second feeling like an eternity.
Annabeth worked quickly, her fingers steady despite the pressure, cleaning the wound as best as she could. As she bent over him, she caught a sharp scent on the air that made her pause for a moment.
“What is it?” Claire asked, noticing her sudden hesitation.
Annabeth’s eyes met her mother’s with a look of deep concern as she spoke in a whisper. “I smell wolfsbane.”
“Wolfsbane?” Claire repeated, her voice laced with fear.
“Aye, it’s poison was likely on the blade that made this wound,” Annabeth confirmed, her hands trembling as she carefully tended to the man. “We’ve nae time to waste. Prepare a concoction of tea and clay to draw the poison out.”
“I’ll do it, lass,” Claire said, her voice tinged with determination as she moved to gather the necessary items.
As Claire moved to prepare the tea, Bruce and Murray hovered at the edge of the room, their curiosity piqued.
“Who is he?” Bruce asked, looking down at the unconscious man.
Murray, who had been standing near the door, added, “There’s a horse grazing outside, lass. The beast looks well enough.”
“I do nae ken who he is,” Annabeth replied, her voice strained. “All I ken is he came to me door, and as a healer, I cannae turn anyone away who’s in need.”
Annabeth’s hands moved deftly, cleaning the wound further, her mind still reeling from the unsettling discovery of the wolfsbane. She glanced up at Murray, who was standing near the door, looking between her and the man on the bed.
“Murray,” Annabeth said quickly, “see to the horse and take care of it until he’s well enough. We cannae leave it roaming.”
He nodded without hesitation and made his way outside to the animal.
Claire, meanwhile, had set up a small station near the hearth and began pounding the clay into a thick paste.
“Come help me, Bruce,” she called out, her voice calm but urgent.
Bruce hurried over to her side, his brow furrowed as he took the bowl from Claire’s hands.
Together, they worked quickly, mixing the ingredients with practiced motions as Claire poured hot water into the kettle.
The room was filled with the sounds of the crackling fire and the quiet murmurs of Annabeth’s instructions, all of them working in unison to save the stranger in their care.
Annabeth worked with a steady rhythm, focused solely on the man’s survival. Her mind was still clouded with thoughts of wolfsbane, but she couldn’t afford to let that distract her. She glanced up from the wound to see Claire and Bruce working together with the tea and clay, moving with urgency.
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her composure, knowing that one wrong move could be the difference between life and death.
She had been a healer long enough to trust her instincts, but this felt different—there was something strange about this man, and the poison coursing through his veins was not a typical village ailment.
As Annabeth continued her work, she could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The pressure to save the man, to keep the village safe, was overwhelming. But even in the midst of all the fear, there was something inside her that refused to give up.
I’ll see this through no matter who this man is.
She could feel the man’s life slipping through her fingers, but she refused to let him go without a fight.
Annabeth carefully applied the clay to the wound, pressing it gently to ensure it would draw out the poison.
She moved with practiced hands, wrapping a clean bandage cloth around the injury and tying it tightly with a strip of cloth.
The moment the pressure was set, she exhaled, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her but knowing the work wasn’t done.
She checked the bandage one last time, making sure the cloth was secure, then stepped back. The man still lay motionless, his features calm despite the severity of his injury. With a weary sigh, Annabeth turned to Murray and Bruce, who had been waiting nearby, ready to leave.
“Thank ye for yer help,” Annabeth said softly, her voice tired but grateful.
Bruce nodded, and Murray gave a quick glance at the injured man before speaking. “Aye, lass, we’ll leave ye to yer work. Should anything change, come get us.”
Annabeth gave them a small smile. “I will, thank ye again.”
As they left, closing the door behind them, Annabeth sat down in the chair beside the man’s bed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on her. She rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the stranger’s face, her thoughts a swirl of concern and curiosity.
Claire entered the room quietly, glancing at Annabeth before speaking in a soft, motherly tone. “Ye need sleep.”
Annabeth shook her head, her eyes never leaving the man. “I cannae leave him. What if he needs something in the middle of the night and moves? That wound will open.”
Claire’s expression softened as she walked over, placing a gentle hand on Annabeth’s shoulder. “Ye’re a good lass,” she said, her voice full of warmth and pride.
Annabeth felt her heart swell at her mother’s words, but the weight of her decision kept her rooted to the chair.
“I just… I cannae rest easy,” Annabeth murmured, shaking her head. “I willnae sleep until I know he’ll be alright.”
Claire smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of Annabeth’s hair behind her ear. “Aye, I ken ye’re worried, but ye’ve done all ye can, lass.”
Annabeth smiled faintly in return though her thoughts were still on the stranger in her bed.
“I just want to make sure he’s alright. I’ll stay here with him,” Annabeth said firmly, her voice low but resolute.
Claire studied her daughter for a moment then sighed. “Very well, lass, but ye’ll need rest soon, else ye’ll be of no use to him—or yerself.”
Annabeth nodded but didn’t move, her gaze fixed firmly on the man. Claire kissed her forehead gently as she had done so many times in her life.
“Sleep, love,” Claire whispered, stepping away from the bed, her words full of quiet understanding.
Annabeth remained where she was, her tired body aching but her heart unwilling to move.
She wasn’t sure if it was the care for this unknown man or the exhaustion pulling at her, but she stayed by his side, watching over him.
She couldn’t help but wonder who this man was and how he had come to her doorstep.
His presence weighed heavily on her, but it was also a strange comfort.
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening as she watched him breathe. This was her duty now, and she would see it through. She had always been taught to care for others, to do what she could, and this man needed her help.
Whatever his past, whatever brought him to me door, I will nae abandon him.