Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sleep evaded Helena that night. Only once she was purely exhausted was she able to rest. Curling up in their bed, his scent on the pillows was the only comfort she could find.
The servants must have been instructed to let her rest because no one came to wake her for breakfast, and when she woke up, it was nearly noon. Dressing quickly, she wandered to the kitchen to see if there were any remnants of breakfast to be had, bumping into Alice on the way there.
“I’m glad ye finally got some rest. I heard ye were up most of the night,” Alice told her quietly as they reached the kitchen. She signaled to a maid before instructing, “Gather a small basket for us to take to the garden—we could both use the fresh air this morn.”
“Aye, Me Lady.” The maid nodded, scurrying about the kitchen to do as she was asked.
“I’m sorry if I kept ye up. I didnae realize ye could hear through the wall,” Helena offered, her mind wandering to the time she and Alexander had kept each other awake well into the night. She blushed. “I, um… Well, I…”
“Tsk, dinnae look all abashed now.” Alice had recognized exactly where her sister-in-law’s thoughts had wandered.
“Ye are married, and I have two braithers. Both of them are very much grown men with needs. That nay longer keeps me awake at night. Just dinnae tell me about it—I dinnae want to ken a thing about either of me braithers’ nocturnal activities. Aye?”
“Aye,” Helena agreed with a laugh. “’Tis fair.”
“Good.”
The maid returned with a small basket of food and a water skin, handing both over to the ladies.
“Thank ye, Sara.”
They wandered to the rose garden, where they laid out a blanket beneath the warmth of the early afternoon sun and sat down.
“The sky nay longer weeps. Perhaps that will bring good fortune and they can return even sooner,” Helena commented hopefully, her eyes closed as she tilted her head back to bask in the sunlight.
They chatted about inconsequential things while munching on shortbread and dried fruits that Sara had packed in the basket. Most of the day was spent that way, with the two women just enjoying each other’s company and welcoming the distraction.
Just before dusk, they were visiting Acco in the stable yard as she zoomed around.
The filly had outgrown the confines of the barn stall and had been moved outside with her mother.
To her credit, the mare now ignored her antics, not bothering to lift her head until she ran into the fence when she failed to stop, sliding in the mud like a boulder down a hill.
The mare gave a concerned nicker, pausing long enough to watch the filly regain her feet with a loud squeal, then resumed eating once more.
The sound of the horse munching on her hay and the antics of the filly lifted Helena’s spirits.
Until the sound of several hooves striking the cobblestone of the courtyard drew her attention.
Several horses, moving fast—she could tell from the noise.
She rushed to see who had arrived in such a manner.
“Nay.”
She wasn’t prepared for what she came upon. Frync and Michael were hauling Alexander off his horse and into the hall, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
Inside, they laid him on a long table, chaos all around them. The men who had accompanied them stood by the door to watch, and several servants rushed in and out with supplies. Alice was there, shouting orders, covered near to her elbows in her brother’s blood as she attempted to staunch his wound.
“Helena, come here! I need yer hands,” Alice yelled.
It wasn’t a request; it was an order.
Helena’s body moved even when her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening around her.
“Put yer hand here. Hold this as firmly as ye can. Whatever ye do, dinnae let go.”
She did as she was told, confused by the sight before her.
Frync held down Alexander’s legs, and Michael held down his shoulders. Alexander’s face was pale and contorted with pain, but he still fought them. Blood oozed from his side, seeping through the rag she pressed against his ribs.
“What happened, Michael?” Helena asked, her voice pleading.
Her mind reeled. She had already lost Broderic, Ian, and her mother; she couldn’t lose Alexander too.
“I… I dinnae ken. One minute he was beside me, injured but standing on his own, and the next he was bent over, blood spurting from his wound. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it wouldnae stop, so we rode to the keep as soon as possible.”
“It wouldnae stop because this,” Alice interjected, holding up a short-tipped arrow, “has been dipped in some sort of poison. It’s preventin’ the blood from clotting.
I’m goin’ to have to scrape the wound to get it out of his system.
Michael, ye remember that time Faither had ye take care of Alexander when ye were about twenty? Would ye please do so again?”
“Aye.”
Michael squinted at his sister, comprehending what she was asking. He swung back his arm and struck Alexander in the temple, knocking him unconscious.
The hall was silent except for Alexander’s ragged breathing.
Helena stood motionless at the end of the long table, her slender frame stiff with tension.
Michael’s sudden punch had left her stunned, her mind reeling from the scene.
She couldn’t reconcile the image of the fierce Laird with the vulnerable man before her, unconscious and bleeding from the poisoned wound.
Alice, her hands already busy mixing herbs at a nearby table, broke the silence. “Helena, I ken it seemed harsh, but it had to be done. He’d have thrashed about, made everythin’ worse, and we dinnae have the time for that.”
Helena turned her head sharply. “Ye didnae have to hit him so hard.”
Michael, who was standing near the door now, glanced at his sister before responding, his voice steady but defensive. “There was nay other way. Ye dinnae ken how stubborn he is. If he was awake, he’d have fought us every step of the way. I’d do it again if it means savin’ his life.”
Helena clenched her jaw but said nothing. She wanted to argue, to lash out, but the truth was undeniable. Alexander’s life was more important than her pride or her discomfort.
Alice, sensing Helena’s turmoil, softened her tone. “I’m goin’ to make an antidote now. The poison came from the arrow, and we’re lucky to have it. I ken what I need to do.” She looked over her shoulder at Michael. “I’ll need yer help.”
Michael nodded without hesitation. “What do ye need me to do?”
Alice grabbed the bloodied arrow from the table. “Come with me to me workshop. I need specific tools, and this arrow will help me make the antidote faster.”
Before leaving, Michael turned to Frync, who had been pacing near the door. “Go to the men and make sure that they ken Alexander will pull through. They’ll need that reassurance.”
Frync nodded, his face tight with worry. “Aye. I’ll see to it.”
As Frync hurried out of the hall, Michael and Alice disappeared into the castle’s depths, leaving Helena alone with Alexander.
Helena approached the table slowly, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall. She hesitated, then reached for Alexander’s hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, yet they felt unnervingly cold against hers. She clasped his hand tightly as if her grip alone could anchor him to life.
“Ye’d better nae give up,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. “Do ye hear me, Alexander Gordon? Ye’re too stubborn to let somethin’ like this take ye.”
He gave no response, his chest rising and falling unevenly. A pang of fear clawed at her chest, but she refused to succumb to it.
She leaned closer, brushing a strand of his dark hair from his sweat-slicked brow. “Alice will fix this. She’s brilliant, and she’ll be back soon. Ye just have to hold on.”
Her gaze softened as she studied his face, even in its pale and bloodied state. The scar on his cheek, the lines etched by years of responsibility—it all told a story of strength and resilience.
She dabbed his sweaty forehead with the hem of her skirt. Then, she hurried to fetch a small bowl of water from a side table. She wrung out a cloth and pressed it gently to his skin, cooling him as best as she could.
Minutes felt like hours, and the silence gnawed at her nerves. When the heavy doors of the hall finally creaked open, she spun around to see Alice and Michael walk in, breathing a sigh of relief.
Alice was carrying a leather wrap filled with clean instruments and a small vial of green liquid, while Michael was carrying additional supplies.
“I’ve made the antidote,” Alice announced, unrolling her tools on a nearby table. “It’s goin’ to be painful to watch. Are ye sure ye want to stay?”
Helena lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m nae leavin’ him.”
Michael stepped closer, his expression grim. “I’ll hold him down, just in case.”
Alice nodded. She poured whisky liberally over the wound, the sharp scent filling the air. Blood mixed with the alcohol, streaming down Alexander’s side. Helena’s stomach churned at the sight, but she refused to look away.
Alice picked up a small, sharp instrument and hesitated for only a moment before scraping the wound.
The sickening sound of metal scraping flesh made Helena’s grip on Alexander’s hand tighten.
She focused on his face, watching for any sign of consciousness or pain.
His body remained limp, though his breathing hitched occasionally.
“He’s strong,” Alice muttered, her hands steady despite the gruesome work. “Most men wouldnae have lasted this long.”
Helena didn’t respond. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Alexander’s face, silently willing him to hold on.
When the wound was finally clean, Alice set the instrument aside and poured the antidote into Alexander’s mouth, tilting his head gently to ensure he swallowed.
Then, she began sewing the gash with precise, practiced movements.
Helena’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will he…?”
Alice glanced up briefly. “He’ll be fine. The poison didnae work because we acted quickly. But he needs rest. A lot of it.”
Michael left the hall to find servants and something sturdy to carry Alexander upstairs. Meanwhile, Alice spread a poultice over a clean cloth and secured it around the wound.
She wiped her hands on a rag and turned to Helena. “Stay by his side. He’ll need someone familiar when he wakes up.”
Helena nodded, her resolve unwavering. “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
The doors opened again, and Michael entered with two burly guards and a thick, old blanket. Together, they folded the blanket into a makeshift stretcher and carefully transferred Alexander onto it.
“Easy,” Michael instructed, his voice firm but calm. “We cannae risk reopenin’ the wound.”
Helena followed them as they carried Alexander toward the stairs, still holding his hand.