Chapter 1 #2
She ran her hand over his leg until she found the exact place it had broken; to her relief it felt to be a clear, simple break.
She tore three strips of cloth from her petticoat, set them by her side, and reached for his leg.
The deep moan he gave as she worked to straighten his leg nearly made her stop, but she closed her ears to his sounds of pain.
The bone had to be put back together to heal.
She then wrapped the leg tightly to hold the now aligned bone in place better.
Once she had the sticks tied on either side of his leg, she sat back and took a deep breath before looking at him.
He was pale and sweating but still conscious.
Bethoc was astonished by his stamina as he was a lean man, his muscles clear to see but not bulky.
Setting his leg had caused a lot of pain, excruciating pain, yet he clung to consciousness.
After a few deep, slow breaths, he appeared more at ease.
She hoped it was because most of the pain had now passed.
He looked at his leg and then gave her a smile. “A fine job, Mistress Matheson.”
“I thank ye. Now, I fear there is more trouble ahead.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs. “I need to get ye somewhere ye can rest and regain your strength in safety.”
Callum tensed, not sure he could trust her. “Why would I need to be safe?”
“Sir, I ken weel the marks of a beating nor do I believe ye hurled yourself into the water. A mon who wants to die doesnae struggle as hard as ye obviously did to get to shore. Someone tossed ye in there. Someone broke your leg ere they did so, which means they planned on ye drowning.” She lightly touched the marks on his wrists and ankles made by the men holding his struggling body.
“Ye dinnae need to tell me the why of it, but I ken I need to leave ye somewhere safe. That means a wee cave just up the hillside.” Bethoc pointed up the hill that ran down to the edge of the water.
Staring where she pointed, Callum grimaced. His leg throbbed with pain and he seriously doubted he could make it even partway up that hill with only one leg. The lass had been a great help but he doubted she could carry him.
“My horse,” he said, and looked at her. “Did ye see my horse?”
“Nay, sir, I didnae. Mayhap the ones who did this took the beast. A good horse would be tempting to steal. It could bring them a good price.”
“They wouldnae be able to hold him. Stormcloud is a hard mount to hold on to.”
“Stormcloud? A fanciful name.”
“It suits him in both look and temperament. Unless they were verra alert, the horse would get away from them, and they didnae strike me as being verra quick-witted. Brutish, aye, and good at what they do, but nay more.”
“I shall look for him but first we must get ye to the cave.”
“Ah, weel, I was thinking that would be where my horse might be of help.”
Bethoc thought a moment on having a look for his horse. She could see nothing in the area, not even the shadow of an animal. She looked back at Sir Callum and sighed.
“I cannae leave ye here as I search, sir. I doubt those who attacked ye will return but one can ne’er be certain and ye are unable to defend yourself. I think it best if we get to somewhere safe first. Aye?”
Callum hated to agree, dreading what needed to be done, but what she said made too much sense to argue with it. “Aye,” he agreed, and almost smiled over how sulky he sounded.
“I will find ye a stick to help ye walk. Ye will nay be able to set that foot down just yet.” She grimaced. “Probably nay for quite some time.”
He watched as she returned to the fallen tree.
She was not a big woman but he had no doubt she was strong.
She moved easily with a child on her back and whatever was in the pack she carried.
What puzzled him was that she spoke well yet her clothes were those of a poor crofter, neat but subtly ragged, signs of many patches easy to see.
The other thing that puzzled him was why she was helping him at all.
Most women, especially with a child to watch out for, would have fled, not wishing to risk getting caught in the middle of any trouble.
She had stepped right up, dragged him out of the water, and tended his wound.
Yet she had to have considered the possibility that his attackers might return.
A small raven-haired woman would be no obstacle to them.
Callum used the time she was distracted to indulge in a close inspection of his rescuer.
It was not easy to judge her figure when she had a child on her back but he could see that she had a small waist. The way her skirts were bunched up made it impossible to judge the curve of her hips but it did reveal strong, well-shaped legs.
He smiled, thinking that few women would see that as a compliment.
It was her face that fascinated him, however.
There was gentleness there, a calm that soothed him, and something that reminded him of someone else.
Callum puzzled over that for a moment then decided he was too tired and in too much pain to care.
He fought the urge to close his eyes and give in to his weariness, to gain some respite from his pain through sleep.
She needed him to remain aware for a while longer, he thought, even as he closed his eyes.
Bethoc finally found a thick branch that had a fork at the top.
She took the small axe she had brought with her to collect firewood out of her bag and removed the branch from the dying trunk.
As she walked back to Sir Callum she hoped it would be the right height.
She also wished she had a blanket at hand so she could make a litter for him.
Dragging that up to the cave would be a chore, but a lot easier than helping a barely upright, hobbling man.
Once back at his side, she tested the length of the stick, needing to take off only a small bit at the bottom. The man looked to be asleep and she hated to wake him but knew she had to get him hidden away as soon as possible. Kneeling by his side, she gently shook him until his eyes opened.
“We have to try and get to the cave now,” she said.
Callum wanted to say no, to just leave him to sleep, but knew she was right.
It was not safe to stay out in the open.
He did not really think the men would return but he could not be absolutely sure.
Careful not to put any weight on his broken leg, he took the stick from her and settled it under his arm.
It was awkward, but he suspected it would still work.
“’Tis nay such a long walk to the cave, sir,” she said, “but I fear it is nay a smooth one, either.”
“Then we had best get started.”
“Margaret, sit up,” she ordered her sister, and then put his arm around her shoulders plus her arm around his waist. “I will try to pick the smoothest parts of the trail.”
“Just pick the quickest,” he replied, and gave her a brief smile before adjusting the stick beneath his arm.
“All I ask,” she said as they began to move toward the hill, “is that ye tell me if ye think ye are going to stumble for I will be walking close to the edge of the path and could fall.”
He made a sound of agreement that was more of a grunt and she knew even the current easy pace they did was paining him.
The cave opening was only partway up the hill but she knew it was going to be a long, slow climb for him.
Bethoc held him as tightly as she dared, trying to give him as much support as possible, as they began their way up the rocky path to the cave.
The fact that she only reached his armpit made that a difficult chore.
It felt as if hours had passed before she got him to the cave.
Every step had to be taken carefully and progress was slow.
A few times he had nearly stumbled and, although he had warned her as she had asked him to, her heart had leapt into her throat.
She could all too easily see herself tumbling down the rocky hillside, a fall that could easily prove fatal.
Carefully propping him up against the rocks at the mouth of the cave, she removed the brush she used to hide the entrance.
Not only did it keep her father from finding her hiding place but, she prayed, it also kept her safe from men like those who had beaten Sir Callum.
Bethoc helped him inside and settled him on the pallet she had made of old blankets and leaves.
The moment she was certain he was simply recovering from the journey, she hurried to pull the brush back into place.
Kneeling by his side, she quickly checked his leg to be certain the bracing sticks and bandages were still in place.
Bethoc wished she knew more about broken bones.
She had little idea how long he would need to heal.
He could be trapped here for weeks. She did not know if she would be able to hide helping him for that long.
“Do ye wish for some food and drink?” she asked as she brushed his hair from his sweaty face, forcing that worry from her mind for she had no choice.
“I suspicion I will soon but dinnae trouble yourself.”
“T’would be nay trouble at all.” She set down the pack and began to pull out some food, a little surprised at how much she had packed.
Callum almost smiled. “I begin to think ye have one of everything in that pack.”
Bethoc felt herself blush and avoided his eyes.
She always kept the pack ready, stuffed with all she would need if she could ever make herself desert the others and flee the house.
“I try to be prepared.” She did not wish him to know that he was hiding in her special secret place, her private haven, if only because he might ask why she felt the need for one.
“Sensible.” He struggled to sit up and felt her wrap her arm around him to help.
She carefully set a small plate of bread and cheese on his lap and then poured him a tankard of cider.
Sitting back on her heels she watched him eat.
His clothes were drying out but they would never return to the obviously fine attire they had once been.
Bethoc had to wonder exactly why such a gentleman would be riding around the countryside on his own.
Most of the ones of his ilk avoided this area or had a strong, well-trained guard with them.
Thieves abounded in the area and the river was frequently used for smuggling.
A fine-looking gentleman on what she suspected had been a very fine horse would be too great a temptation to let ride away.
As soon as he was done, she took the plate and tankard, cleaned them off with a rag, and stuck them back in her pack.
She turned to help him lie down again, trying not to breathe in his scent too much for it made her stomach clench and she was not sure why.
Fighting a blush, she briskly told him where the chamber pot was and then where he could find a little more food and drink if he wanted.
“I need to return home now,” she said as she idly straightened her skirts and tried not to resent the loss of the quiet respite she had planned on. She got too few of them. “I will do what I can to find your horse.”
“If he gets loose, he will come back here so I wouldnae trouble yourself o’er it too much.”
“That would be helpful. Sleep, sir. That is the best of medicines. No salve or potion can do better. I will try verra hard to return on the morrow.”
Callum was about to ask her why she was even coming to this place, why she did not just take him to her home, when he realized she was already headed out the opening.
He cursed softly and stared up at the stone ceiling.
There had been nothing to give him for the pain but he decided that was probably for the best. He was crippled and alone.
It would not do to be unconscious as well.
He was easy game with his leg broken and saw no point in making himself even easier game by being unconscious.
Why had she not offered to take him to her home?
he wondered again. His eyes widened as he suddenly recalled the bruises he had seen.
He had assumed they had come from wrestling his body out of the water but now he was not so sure.
Now that he was no longer consumed by his own pain and worry about his attackers, he could see the bruises for what they were—the marks of a fist, the injuries of man’s hard grip, and the signs of abuse.
Bethoc did not take him to her home because someone there was hurting her.
He pushed aside the anger that always filled him with when he recognized such abuse.
As Payton was fond of telling him, he could not save the whole world and had to learn to be satisfied with his small part of it.
But since she had been so kind to help him, he could not help but worry about her.
It was a fruitless exercise though, he thought crossly.
If nothing else, he was in no condition to do anything about it.
Nor had she asked him to, although that was no deterrent his rage would heed.
When he recovered enough to move around, however, he would find out who had put those bruises on her and why she felt the need to have a hideaway.
Then he would see to it that the one who hurt her paid for every bruise on her fair skin.