Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
T he evening meal had come and gone hours before.
It was late into the night and the women in the kitchen including her grandmother, had long since set the pots for the morning fire and then left to join their men, or retired for the night.
Others who had returned with Malcolm MacKenzie and Robert DeBrus had made their pallets in the hall, laying side by side or end to end, like so many pieces of wood, silent except for a mumbled curse, then the air filled with snoring and other sounds of men who slept wherever they found an empty place, exhausted, yet their weapons just under the hand if the need arose.
Alix could not sleep, moving among them, offering a tincture, salve, or linen bandages if needed.
There were only a few scrapes and injuries among them in spite of the weather and several mishaps when their horses took a misstep in the snow and had gone down under them, and the usual snow burns from the wind and cold, their cheeks ruddy above the scruff of beards, lips cracked with a brief smile of gratitude.
She rose from the last man, a DeBrus warrior, his cheeks chapped from the long ride in the cold.
"Me thanks, miss." His hand closed over hers in a brief contact meant to comfort.
"Dinna fash yerself, miss. It's possible the fire didna take him. Just because we didna find him, doesna mean he isna still out there."
She knew the words were meant to comfort her and give her hope. But she also knew it was almost impossible that he had survived. If he didn't die in the ruins of Cu Lodain, then injured with no food or shelter the weather might have taken him.
There were no words to thank him, they were caught in her throat. She gathered the bandages and salve that were left and returned to the kitchen.
It was steeped in shadows, her grandmother looking up from the food she prepared for the morning meal.
"Aye, so ye've finally returned and the last man well bandaged." She looked at Alix then, and set aside the wood ladle.
"Come, sit before the hearth. Ye've worn yerself out seeing to others, and not even eaten. I've a bowl for ye."
Alix shook her head. She had no appetite.
"Ah, lass, " she said, wrapping an arm about Alix's shoulders and pulling her close.
"Ye are strong. Ye've had to be with no mother or father, only meself to care for ye as best I could here at Lechlede. And these past weeks, after what happened... "
Alix tried to pull away, but Morna held on gentle but firm.
"Ye are strong," she began again. "Ye have that fire in ye... the same as yer mother. Ye must hold onto that now. Come sit. Ye look as if yer asleep on yer feet."
Alix tried again to end the conversation but Morna would not be put off as she gently pushed her down on a bench before the hearth.
"Everyone has their wounds, ye ken? Things that have happened, that they've endured. Aye?"
When Alix simply nodded, she smoothed her hair with worn, calloused hands strong from years of lifting heavy pots, wood for the fire, and countless trenchers of food for the chieftain's table.
"Ye didna know yer father though I've told some about him. What ye didna know is that he had wounds that never healed right, though Maisel did what she could for him. " She gently stroked Alix's hand.
"There was a dreadful fire at the village. It started from McGinley's forge, was said. It doesna matter. The way of it, is that it spread to the other places. What ye see now of the village are the places that were rebuilt, with stone to prevent such a thing happening again.
"Yer father had just returned from a long ride with the other men. The old chieftain, Ruari's father, sent them to help put out the fires." She saw the girl's reaction at the mention of his name, the way she struggled with her emotions in the expression at her face, the way she looked away.
"The fire was a fierce thing, women and children standing out in the snow, the men from the village doin' what they could, ye see. There were some that were caught inside, including a wee boy that hid from his mother and was left behind. Bran, yer father, went in after him though the cottage was well gone, the roof afire.
"He found the bairn and was bringing him out when the roof went, fell in on the both of them. He covered the child with his own body, protecting the wee thing. The others pulled them both out. The child was safe but yer father was badly burned--part of his face and back.
"With Maisel's help, yer mother cared for him, day and night, like ye cared for Ruari. The wounds healed slowly, the scars they left were a fearsome thing to see. But not for yer mother. She loved him fierce, like something I've never seen afore, until now, in you." Morna nodded as Alix looked up.
"Aye, I've seen it in ye," her grandmother continued.
"Just as I saw it in yer mother. The fever took them both, aye, her caring for him until she was exhausted. Then it took her. That part ye know."
Alix shook her head. She didn't want to hear any more of it, but Morna would not be put off.
"She loved him, in spite of the wounds, in spite of the scars, because she knew the man inside that scarred body--the man who would risk his life for a bairn not even his own, a man with a fierce but gentle heart. Do ye ken my meaning, girl?" she asked.
"We all have wounds we carry. It's what we do in spite of them that matters. Ye have wounds but ye also have a fierce heart. I've seen it since the day ye were born. It's not in ye to let the wounds kill what is inside ye." Morna let go of her then.
"When ye have a chance at something that is good and true, take hold of it, lass. Ye ken?
Her grandmother turned then toward the hallway that led to the smaller chambers off the kitchen.
"Think on that a while." Then, " One of the women heard that the chieftain and his men will be riding out when the storm breaks And don't forget to set the batter for the morning cakes, aye?"
She did think on that a long while, all of it, as she set the batter then worked at her table, the cold and snow making it near impossible to return to the cottage.
There she pounded leaves and roots into powder with the mortar and pestle, Blackwood's face an image that she pounded until her arm ached, and the tears came.
"Alix?"
A small voice, tentative, uncertain, brought her head up.
She frowned as a small figure emerged from the edge of the shadows. By the size the shadow she knew who hid there.
"What are ye about, young miss, so late at night?" she asked, catching the gleam of dark red hair so like another's.
"Ye must help," the chieftain's young daughter, stepped from the shadows, the blue of her eyes as dark as a storm over the loch.
"Ye must," she repeated, her bottom lip trembling. "Or she will die!"
Such drama was usually brought on by something one of her brothers had done. But they were asleep hours past. What could possibly have brought the child near to tears as she was now?
"What is it then?" Alix asked, always amazed at the drama the young girl got herself into.
"Who is it that will die?"
The child slowly unwrapped the bundle she was carrying, and revealed a small furry face.
"Whatever do ye have there?"
"One of Oona's pups that's been injured, and doesna eat... " the child's voice caught on a sob.
"If she doesna eat, she will die. Can ye mend?"
In the midst of death and chaos the past weeks, Alix was aware the only hound to survive the attack had provided Lechlede with a new generation of the long-limbed, shaggy haired hounds that were so highly prized by the clan. A good half dozen strong one of the women had informed them, but apparently one that was no.
Mend it? Such a simple thing to a bairn, but it was obvious this small one was almost too weak to move and would probably be dead soon. A heartbreaking reality for one so young and tender, in spite of her fiery temper.
It was nature's way, she knew and had seen too often, that the weak often did not survive. It was a sad but harsh reality. Still the expression at young Eleanor's face tore at her.
"Ken ye help her? Please, Alix!"
Wounded things. And here was a wee thing, with wounds, that might not survive. Eleanor's breath caught and she bit at her lip, her eyes wide, dark pools of sadness.
"Ye can heal anything. Ruari said so."
Ruari, the sound of his name and her own tears very near the surface.
She felt helpless when the men had returned and he was not among them--helpless and devastated. She had wanted to ride out into the storm, to find him, to tell him that nothing that had happened mattered, if only he was alive and safe.
If only...
He was not with the other men, and there was nothing she could do and it tore at her that he might be lost to her
Oh, Ruari!
She brushed a tendril of red hair back from the child's wet cheek.
"We will do what we can," she assured her. "First, ye must keep the wee thing warm."
Eleanor nodded. " I will stay here all night and do what ye say for Loie."
Loie.
" So, ye've named her."
It was a mistake, she knew, when the poor thing might not live. But not one that could now be undone.
She'd never known the chieftain or his father before him to name an animal, nor the horses in the stables, or any of the hounds.
"Aye, she must have a name," Eleanor replied. "That way she knows who she is. And when I call her, she will come to me."
It was just that simple for a child who loved a small thing even though the pup had no way of knowing it.
" Loie it is then," she told her. "Now, come, bring her nearer the hearth and we will see what may be done."
For there was no doubt that stubborn, red-haired, young miss, like another she knew, would not be parted from the wee, scraggly bit of fluff that she'd named.
One of its legs was bent at an angle, the long bone broken as she felt the length of it, possibly during birth or after as the mother moved about tending the other pups. It happened, and in that way of things, one of their kinsmen would undoubtedly take the poor thing away and see the matter done quickly for there was no use of a crippled hound.
"The leg is broken," she said gently.
"Ye can mend it."
It wasn't a question, but a certainty filled with such emotion and determination that her heart ached.
"Like ye mend the bones fer our kinsmen... The way ye mended Ruari."
"Tis not the same... " Alix tried to explain.
"It is," little Eleanor blurted out. "Ye can heal her, I know ye can. Ye healed Ruari even after he lost his arm. Then ye helped him find a way to use it again. Ye can mend the leg and she will be fine."
The simple faith of a child, there in the depths of those blue eyes, and in the stubborn angle of the small chin.
"We will try," she told her.
Eleanor nodded. "I can help. Ye must tell me what to do."
"First, we must make a bed for her in front of the hearth. She will need to be kept warm."
She had set a fair amount of bones, first with Maisel's guidance, then on her own. It was one thing to set the arm or leg bone of one of their kinsmen, but quite another when it came to a wee pup. But it was obvious the child would not be put off.
She used one of the slender wood spears that Morna used for pheasant at the spit, cutting off the sharp end so that it was the length of the pup's leg. Then she tore narrow strips of linen to bind the leg with. Eleanor frowned.
"Will it hurt?'
"Nay so much. This will keep the bone straight and give it a chance to heal."
"Like the others that ye mend?"
"Just so." Alix prayed it would work, for the child's sake. The loss of something loved was a terrible burden to bear.
"The other pups were mean to her," Eleanor said softly. "They push her away."
It was the way of animals, Alix knew. The strong survived , but not the weak often drive off to die.
"She must have bruises from the other ones, like the bruises at yer cheek, but ye can heal them too."
Bruises that eventually went away...
"They will go away in time, and she wilna remember them."
"Just as you won't remember your bruises?"
Alix nodded.
"What is the matter?" Eleanor asked. "Are ye crying for Loie?"
She took a deep breath, and gently wrapped the pup's leg using the wood spear for a brace. She smiled past the tears.
"Aye, for Loie."
When it was done, she sat back. Only time would tell if the leg would mend or not.
"The bandage will need to be changed as she grows, at least for the next few weeks. You must take care of her," she explained to the child.
"Can ye do that?"
Eleanor nodded vigorously. "Aye, and I won't let the other pups bother her."
"She should stay away from the others for now. But away from her mother, she'll need food."
"I'll share my food with her." It was as simple as that to the child that looked up at her, determination shining in her eyes.
"She needs different food now while she's so young," Alix replied. "Goat's milk with honey, like for the wee newborns when their mothers canna feed them proper."
She'd used it more than once with a tiny babe when it's mother's milk hadn't come in right, or a babe with discomfort of the belly.
They worked together, side by side. Eleanor made a bed near the hearth for the wee thing, while Alix warmed the goat's milk and honey.
The child leaned against her shoulder as they sat together at the stone floor, the pup cradled in Eleanor's lap while she gently stroked the pup's tiny mouth open then dripped some of the honied milk down its throat; again and again, as the milk dribbled out the side of its mouth until the puppy finally swallowed.
It was a small victory, then another and another until it had taken a good amount, and then slept in a ball at the child's lap, the splinted leg sticking out.
"Will she live?" Eleanor whispered.
Alix would not lie to her. "She has a long way to go, and she must eat again in a little while. Her belly is small and doesna hold very much. Little ones eat and sleep a lot. Tis the way of small things."
"Like me brother?" The child frowned. She'd been sorely disappointed at another one and had made her disappointment know in that honest, forthright way of children.
Alix smiled. "Aye, like yer wee brother."
Eleanor nodded, very serious for one so young. "Loie will live now that ye've healed her."
If the child's will alone could make it so, it would be that way.
"Ye must get yer sleep, as well," Alix told her. "This little one will need yer care. She depends on ye now."
"Ye will teach me how to care for her so that I can change her bandage?"
Alix nodded. "Aye, but ye must be patient and gentle, and soft with yer words. Can ye do that?"
Her answer was an emphatic nod of the child's head, followed by a yawn.
"Come now. Tis way past yer sleep time."
She settled the child on a thick fleece before the hearth, the puppy curled beside her.
Eleanor nodded sleepily. "Ruari says ye have the special gift that heals. Like ye healed me mother when me brother was born, even though I don't like him verra much."
Alix smiled. Miss Eleanor with her red hair was a spirit unto her own. Like another one she knew.
"Does ye now?"
Eleanor nodded. "I think he likes ye, verra much."
"Go to sleep now." Alix replied, those simple words very near to bringing her to tears.
"Will ye stay close by? If Loie needs you?"
"Aye, I'll stay close," she promised.