Chapter 15 #2
“Take heart,” the older woman said. “I know the poison they used. The plants grow common around here. In small amounts, they can keep a patient still whilst ye work on a painful hurt. Yer bog mertle root started drawing it out. Now I’ve put on a strong drawing ointment.
We’ll need to change the dressings often so’s not to have the poison go back into the wound.
Or, worse yet, to get something else in it so’s it goes septic. ”
Skye nodded to show that she understood.
The two women fastened the poles to Iona’s saddle, with the ends dragging on the ground.
Twice on the way to the cottage, they had to stop, readjust the contraption, and even add some cross poles to keep from dragging Arran on the ground.
Each time they stopped, they changed the dressing.
At first, the wound seeped a vile, stinking liquid.
But by the third change, it was lighter.
For a wonder Devil trod along beside them docilely, as if he understood the gravity of the situation.
When they reached the cottage, a young boy waited for them. “Mistress Nelda!” he called. “Mam says tha baby’s coming, an’ to step lively or ye’ll miss it.”
“I’ll be there directly,” Nelda said. “Ye run back and tell her I’m on the way, then I’ll have another errand for ye.” Then she turned to Skye.
“I’ll leave the poultice and tea makin’s with ye. Ye can rest in tha shade behind the house. There’s a well there, an’ there’s a pen for the horses. I’ll send the boy with a message, if ye’ll tell me where it should go.”
“Castle MacArthur,” Skye said. “I thank ye kindly for yer help.”
Arran felt as if he were on fire. Someone kept pouring a bitter liquid down his throat. The taste was repulsive, but it seemed to quench his thirst and keep the fire at bay.
Once he thought he heard Devil’s distinctive neigh. He felt Skye’s gentle touch on his arm, over and over again. Once, he felt something wet splash on his face. Then he started up, or tried to, for he heard men’s voices. No men should be anywhere near his Skye. Not without him, anyway.
Strong arms lifted him, and Magnus said, “Easy there, easy now, Arran. Ye’ve been sair wounded. Nae one is goin’ ta harm yer Skye. She’s safe, yer safe.”
Skye rode into Castle MacArthur in a farm cart with Arran on a pallet of straw in its bed.
The two saddle horses were tied on behind, while an elderly farm hand drove the team of mules that pulled the cart steadily up the long road to the drawbridge.
The gates had barely closed behind them when Magnus and Ramsey, their faces etched with concern, rushed to meet them.
“Skye, what happened?” Magnus demanded, his eyes wide, looking at Arran’s gray face and limp form.
“It was an ambush,” Skye explained breathlessly. “Two of Blackwell’s men attacked us just outside Aberray. Arran fought them off, but he was injured. The blade was poisoned.”
Ramsey wasted no time. He reachedown and scooped Arran up as if he weighed no more than a stripling lad.
Arran mumbled incoherently.
Ramsey replied, “Ye are home, me Laird. We’ll get ye fixed up in nae time.”
The commotion drew everyone’s attention. Helena rushed forward, her expression a mix of fear and determination. “What’s happened?” she asked, her gaze darting from Arran to Skye. “Skye, are ye all right? Tell me, Daughter, are ye hurt?”
Skye reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I am fine, Maither, but there’s nay time to explain,” she replied quickly. “We need to get Arran to bed, and his wound will need to be cleaned and rewrapped soon.”
“Magnus, I’ll need hot water and clean cloths,” she barked.
“Already collectin’ them, me Lady,” Nellie yelled from the kitchen.
“Maither, I’ll need yer help. Ramsey, take him up to our chamber.”
It was a feat, but Ramsey somehow managed to carry Arran slowly up the stairs. He carefully laid him on the bed. Nellie followed with a stack of cloths, and two servants carried a bucket of steaming water.
Arran looked terrible. His skin was clamme, and his breathing was shallow. Skye set to work immediately. She removed Nelda’s last poultice and blanched when she saw the dark veins still spreading from the wound.
She cleaned the wound again, this time with the cloths soaked in hot water, hoping this would draw out more of the poison. When she was satisfied, she made another poultice, applied it to his wound, and then wrapped it tightly.
“Maither, help me get his clothes off,” she instructed.
Helena nodded, her hands steady as they removed Arran’s kilt and torn shirt. Skye used the remaining hot water to wash the dirt and sweat from his body. Once clean, she pulled a warm blanket over him.
Astrid suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Here is fresh water, me Lady. And some broth.”
Skye thanked her and then asked, “Can ye send up Magnus or Douglas, or even Callum? I need an errand run.”
Magnus came, nearly running. “What do ye need, Skye? How can I help?”
“I need someone to go to Braewell. It’s been near six hours since Arran was hurt. I’m doing all I know how to do for him, but I need Ava. If anyone can help him, she’ll know how to do it.”
“I’ll go at once,” Magnus said.
Meanwhile, Skye went to war against the poison that tried to claim her husband.
She sponged Arran’s fevered body with cloths soaked in cold water, coaxed him to sip broth, and reapplied the poultice religiously. The poison coursed through him, causing his fever to spike and then subside, only to rise again.
Arran thrashed in the bed and often called out for her and his kin. Her heart broke when he called for his father, then for his mother.
“Let me sit with him, Skye,” her mother urged.
But Skye refused to leave his side.
So, Helena and the servants did what they could by bringing more clothes, food for Skye, and broth. But nothing seemed to help. Arran’s fever raged, and he remained unconscious.
At midnight, Skye broke down.
“He isnae getting better, Maither! I fear we will lose him. Has anyone heard ought from Braewell?”
“Nothing yet,” Nellie said, as tears ran down her cheeks. “Nothing yet.”
Skye kept on with the treatment. Once she thought the dark streaks had retreated. But then, another time she thought they grew longer. In the flickering candlelight it was hard to tell for certain.
Toward dawn, Helena came to check on her daughter. She found Skye kneeling by Arran’s bed, her head resting against her clasped hands. Helena eased down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Skye turned to her mother. “I’m afraid I’m losing him,” she sobbed. “And we’ve scarce had a chance to see how we are together.”
“Ye’re doin’ all ye can,” her mother comforted her. “Will ye let me watch with ye for a while.”
Skye nodded. “If ye can. I’d be grateful.”
The sun was just peaking over the horizon, when Ava came into Arran’s bedchamber.
She unpacked her bag, laying out a variety of herbs, powders, and tinctures. She mixed a potent concoction and carefully administered it to Arran, her hands steady and sure.
“Now we wait,” she said, her voice soothing. “The medicine is strong. If it’s going to work, we will see improvement soon.”
The hours ticked by. Skye fell asleep in the chair again, her body bent over the bed. She woke up just as the afternoon sun shone through the windows, and saw Arran’s face covered in a sheen of sweat.
His fever has broken!
By evening, he’d sipped some broth, and Skye gave him a warm sponge bath. His skin, though still pale, had regained some color. As she gently stroked his limbs with the warm cloth, she whispered words of encouragement.
A soft sound came from his lips.
Her heart leaped, and she leaned in close. “Arran, can ye hear me?”
He didn’t open his eyes, but the smile on his face grew wider. Ava’s medicine was working, and for the first time in hours, Skye allowed herself to believe that he would live.
Ava entered the room. “Is he doing better, Skye?”
Skye nodded. “He’s through the worst of it,” she said softly.
That night, she slept beside Arran, and she slept soundly. She opened her eyes at dawn to see his own eyes fluttering open.
“Good morn, wife,” he whispered.
“Good mornin’ to ye, husband,” she replied. “I’m glad ye are fully awake.”
Arran looked around, seeming confused. “How many days since we went to Aberray?”
“It’s been almost two,” Skye said solemnly. “Arran, ye were very sick. Ye almost died.”
Arran’s eyes widened. “Almost dead? Really?”
Skye nodded her head.
“Well, I dinnae feel almost dead now,” he drawled, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he looked down at her through mischievous eyes.
Skye’s mouth dropped open, but she had no words. Arran pulled her close by her hips and moved his hands to her breasts, squeezing them gently. He breathed on her neck, knowing that the sensation drove her wild, and pressed himself against her.
“Arran Gilroy.” Skye laughed in shock. “Ye have been lying in bed, near death, for two days, and this is how ye wake up? Ye should be thankful that ye are breathin’!”
He leaned back, his face serious. “I hae a terrible need, Skye.”
“Ye have a terrible need to rest, me Laird.”
She sat up, but he only pulled her back into his arms.
“That’s nae what I need, Skye,” he said in a smooth voice.
Skye wanted to whack him on the head, but she allowed him to pull her in for a kiss. And it didn’t end there. Her need for his touch surprised her, and soon her hands were roaming over his chest and down his abdomen. But then she stopped.
“Arran, ye havenae recovered. Ye shouldnae be exertin’ yerself. It might nae be best for ye right now, no matter how ye feel.”
Arran looked disappointed, but then he gave her a devilish grin. “I guess me beautiful wife will be me motivation for recovery. I cannae wait to have ye again, me darlin’.”
A few minutes later, Ava knocked at the door. She found Skye sitting decorously beside her husband’s bed.
“Go,” she said. “Get some breakfast, take a walk in the garden. I’ll sit with our patient until ye return. One full walk around the garden, mind. No less.”
“Must I?” Skye asked.
“Ye must,” Ava insisted. “Else we’ll have two patients instead of one. Go, eat, rest. Then ye can come back.
Reluctantly, Skye went down to the kitchen where she got some bread and cheese to take with her as she walked.
She finished eating, and stopped by the fountain for a drink. As she rounded the next corner of the garden, she found her mother in her usual spot. But her embroidery lay on her lap.
Helena looked up as Skye approached. “How is he?” she asked.
“Better. Much, much better,” Skye replied, sitting down on the bench beside her mother. “Well enough that he wanted…” she felt her cheeks grow warm.
Her mother laughed. “That is generally a good sign. Did he take no for an answer?”
“Reluctantly, but yes, he did. Then Ava came, and told me to go eat and walk in the garden.”
Helena nodded. “She told me that she might. Ye’ve labored long and hard to save Arran’s life. Ava says that without yer work and that of the healer, Nelda, it would have been unlikely that he would have lived until she arrived.”
“But what I did was not enough,” Skye protested. “Oh, Maither, I would ha’ lost him.”
“Would it trouble ye sae much?” Helena asked.
“Yes, I think it would. Maither, what does it feel like to love someone truly?”
“I’m not sure I can tell ye that,” Helena temporized. “It’s different for everyone. Losing yer father was the hardest thing that ever came to me. For a time, I feared I would lose ye too. That would hae broke me for sure.”
“I love ye, Maither,” Skye said, giving her a hug. “But this is different. It’s like, oh, I don’t know. Like pulling on a glove on a cold winter day, and realizing ye needed it, and just didn’t know it. Or like taking a drink of cold water when ye are thirsted near to death.”
“If ye truly love him, ye’ll be able to care for him through the thinnest of times. An’ ye’ll not hae to aske yer tired old mother what it feels like to love.”
“Oh, Maither, ye’re not old,” Skye protested.
“How else could I be with a grown-up daughter who has a husband?” Helena teased.
“Oh, ye!” Skye laughed a little. Then she went on, “I think I should be getting back. Ava should be finished with dressing Arran’s wound by now.”
“Ye do that, dear child,” Helena said. “I’ll just go back to me embroidery.”