Chapter 11
“What have ye been doing?” Niall sat up as Jamie entered his chamber. “Ye look fair forfochen.”
“I am spent, aye. Most recently, from helping the laird’s heir,” Jamie told him and rubbed his elbow. “Broken in careless swordplay on the practice field.”
“Ye are doing too much, ye ken. If ye are no’ careful, someone will notice. Someone like Aftyn.”
“I was careful. I wasna going to do anything, but Aftyn’s determination to help him—even sending lads for buckets of cold water from the loch to bring down the swelling—convinced me I couldna let the lad suffer for weeks. Or lose the use of his arm. He’s to be laird, and he will need it.”
Niall stood, poured a cup and handed it to Jamie. “Aye, well, just be careful, aye?”
Jamie took a sip. Ah, good, sweet cider, not ale or whisky. “Anything left on yer tray to eat? Somehow I missed another meal.”
Niall brought the remains of his meal, a slice of bread and hunk of cheese and a small apple.
“Thanks. That will help.”
“How soon do ye think I can walk out of here for good?”
“Bored, are ye?” Jamie took a bite of cheese. “With a cane, this evening. If ye can limp convincingly, ye could join the rest for the evening meal in the great hall.”
“For the sight of something other than these four walls, aye. I’d crawl, if need be, but ye are a few hours late. I did that this morning. I was quite convincing, judging by the sympathy I got from the serving lasses.”
Jamie could imagine how Niall had enjoyed the female attention. He finished the last bite of bread and held out the cup for a refill, then gulped that down, too. “Did Rabbie find ye a cane? Or a stout branch to make one?”
“He did. He’ll be here soon. Ye go get more to eat from Cook, then rest a wee. I can see yer arm still pains ye.”
“I will. Yer bandage is secure, aye?” Jamie looked forward to his bed and the dreams that would accompany his sleep this night. Aftyn in his arms, her lips under his, had been even better than the fantasies that inhabited his dreams up to now.
“Aye.” Niall tapped it. “And the wound is nought but a shallow trench, well healed.”
“I’ll see ye for the next meal, then.”
Before Jamie could reach the door, it opened. Niall fell back on the bed, then sat up again as Rabbie entered, anxious and out of breath.
“The abbey’s roof is afire,” he told them, then focused on Jamie. “Ye’ll be needed,” he added.
Jamie nodded and tucked the apple in his shirt. “I’ll get my bag and join ye in the bailey. Niall, ye stay here,” he added as Niall stood.
“I could help.”
“Nay,” Rabbie interjected. “Ye would be questioned. Best ye stay put.”
“Very well,” Niall answered, but his expression made it clear he did not agree at all. “I’ll stay here and count the stones on the wall for the hundredth time. Or more.”
Jamie clapped him on the back and left him glowering.
The bailey swarmed with activity. Jamie quickly spotted his men on horseback, ready to go. His mount was saddled and waiting with them. He mounted and nodded to each, acknowledging their good work. “Let’s go.”
They followed some of the Keith warriors through the gate and the nearby woods for a mile, coming quickly to a glen with stone structures built near a burn.
The smell of smoke and the sound of men shouting to be heard over the roaring fire assaulted him.
The kirk’s roof still burned, flames shooting into the sky.
Acolytes in loose robes risked catching fire themselves.
They climbed to the surrounding roofs to pour buckets of water on them, trying to keep flaming bits of thatch that flew through the air from spreading the conflagration.
Others passed up filled buckets as the men on the roofs tossed down empties.
A line of younger acolytes passed buckets from the burn.
Billowing smoke briefly blocked Jamie’s view, then he saw several clerics run out of the burning kirk with holy objects, parchment rolls, benches, and anything else they could carry.
Jamie’s gut churned at the thought of what might happen when the kirk’s roof came down. As it surely would. “Tell them to stay out of there!” He shouted to the Keiths ahead of him. “The roof willna last much longer.”
One of the Keiths waved and Jamie took that to mean he’d heard and understood. By unspoken agreement, several of the Keiths and Lathans climbed to nearby roofs to relieve acolytes doing the wetting down. Jamie found the abbot directing his men.
“Are any of yer people hurt?” Jamie asked, skipping the usual protocols for addressing a high kirk official. “I’m a healer,” he added.
“Aye, I’ve had them moved over there.” He pointed to a spot near the burn but out of the way of the men passing buckets hand-to-hand.
“I’ll go make myself useful,” Jamie told him.
“Bless ye, lad,” the abbot said and made the sign of the cross over him.
Jamie bowed his head, then moved to the injured.
He was relieved to see only a handful of men sitting or lying on the springy turf.
He checked each one, but all had superficial injuries, surface burns, scratches, and a few deeper gouges, and most had dark rings from smoke and soot smudged around their noses.
None appeared life threatening. He did what he could with his store of poultices and bandages.
He dared not do too much until everyone was safely on the ground and the kirk’s roof collapsed.
There might be more serious injuries to deal with later that would require more of his skill and energy.
Rabbie came by when he finished. “Are ye well?”
Jamie nodded. “So far, but I’d be happier to see them,” he said and indicated the loose-robed acolytes, “away from the flames.” He looked around, and noticed Aftyn and Neve arriving with more of the Keith’s men.
Good, they could take over the care of the lesser injuries.
He gestured toward her. “Get the lasses over here,” he told Rabbie.
“I may be needed soon for worse than these.”
“Aye.” Rabbie ran over to where Aftyn and Neve were dismounting. Jamie was glad to see she’d brought more supplies, judging by the packs one of the Keiths took off of the back of their horses. Rabbie pointed toward Jamie and everyone started his way.
“’Tis good ye are here,” he told Aftyn as soon as she got close enough.
She looked so fresh, so lovely, she seemed entirely out of place.
Yet she could help. She and Neve. He pulled his gaze away from Aftyn.
“These men need little care, but worse may follow. Stay near the burn, aye?” He would worry about her.
If the fire spread, everyone would be in danger.
Neve knelt among the men, checking on them and speaking to each.
Aftyn regarded the burning kirk, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Is this everyone?”
Men still passed buckets as fast as they could, but Jamie hadn’t seen anyone come out of the kirk in a few minutes. Perhaps by now they’d removed everything they could. “So far.”
“How did this happen?”
Aftyn’s question pulled his attention back to her. He’d been wondering the same thing. “I dinna ken. When we arrived, everyone went to help. There wasna time to ask.”
The height of the fire suddenly increased. With a booming crack and a roar of flame and wind, crashing filled the air, drowning out shouting voices. The kirk’s roof caved in, shooting sparks into the sky.
“Please, God, dinna let anyone be in there,” Aftyn said in a fervent tone.
“Damn,” Jamie swore as one man stumbled out, robes afire, pulling his cowl away from his face with one frantic hand, a large gold crucifix clutched in a wad of cloth in the other.
Jamie ran for the man, as did several others.
In seconds, Jamie knocked him off his feet and others poured water on him, dousing the flames.
“Father Bertram,” the abbot cried as he joined them. “How bad…?”
Jamie knelt and extended his talent under cover of adjusting the man’s burned clothing, searching for injuries. Then he shook his head. “Bad enough.”
Aftyn gasped as Jamie charged into the burning man, knocking him off his feet. Buckets of water poured over him soon put out the fire. Aftyn feared Jamie had hurt himself, and that the man would not survive the injuries he must have.
She approached the group surrounding the man on the ground, Jamie kneeling by his side. She heard what he told the abbot, and clasped her hands over her belly. She needed to do something to help, but had no idea how.
“Let’s move him near the others,” someone said. Jamie stood and moved out of the way as several men bent to lift Father Bertram’s still form and carry him by his arms and legs, clasped wrists supporting him under his torso.
Jamie watched for a moment, then took a step to follow.
Aftyn reached him and put a hand on his arm. “Are ye hurt?”
“Nay, the lads dumped water on us so fast, the fire barely touched me.”
Thank God. She gestured toward the priest being carried closer to the burn. “Is he alive?” She hated the thought that filled her with cold dread. He might be better off if he died.
“Aye, for now he is. I’ll do what I can.” He started toward the injured man.
“How can I help?” She kept pace with him as he followed the group carrying the injured man.
“Find Rabbie or one of the other Lathans and send them to me. Keep the others away. Ye and Neve help anyone else who’s hurt. I… I will do what I can for the father.”
Aftyn nodded and ran to find another Lathan. She spotted Fearchar carrying two buckets toward the kirk. “Jamie needs ye over there,” she told him and pointed. Without a word, he handed the buckets to two other men and went.