The Best of Brenna Grant (Highland Highlights #3)

Many Years Ago at Clan Grant

Clan Grant, a few years before

Rescued by a Highlander

Elizabeth Grant opened the door and peered into the courtyard at all the men who needed tending. Her clan had battled against a band of reivers seeking to steal cattle, men who rarely came this far into the Highlands.

“Da, there are so many.”

Her father stood by the hearth, warming his hands. “We can handle it, lass. Brenna can help us. Wee Jennie is sleeping.”

“I hate it when we have to tend to men after battle. It saddens me so much,” Elizabeth said, leaning her head against the door frame.

“We cannae let them suffer, and we know the work better than any other in the clan. ’Tis the fighting ye regret more than the healing, I think.

” Brenna stood near the hearth and watched the interplay between the two healers, always fascinated.

She’d always admired her mother, but most of all when she stood her ground against Brenna’s grandsire.

The door opened and John Grant yelled to his wife. “Elizabeth, I have ten or more coming in. We cannot lose these men, wife. You must heal them.”

Her father approached the door and held it for his son-in-law. “John, stop putting pressure on her. Ye know we do the best we can with every injury.”

John sighed. “Aye, but there are too many this time. Bastards caught us unaware.”

Her father arched a brow but said naught. “Bring them in, one at a time.”

“Cannot do it. You’ll have two at a time,” John declared, closing the door in a huff.

“Brenna,” her mother called out as she moved toward the end of the hall where they dressed the injuries. “We need you here. Jennie will sleep for a while.”

Brenna had listened to the conversation between her parents and Grandda but said nothing, taking it all in. She wished to ask if her dearest brother Alex was hale or not.

Her mother moved back to the door and shouted, “John!”

Her father seemed to read his wife’s mind, which ran the same way Brenna’s had. “Aye, he’s fine. I would tell you if any of our bairns were injured, Beth.”

“Come along, Brenna.”

Brenna covered Jennie with another fur where she slept on the small pallet not far from the hearth. At two years, she still napped for much of the afternoon. Brenna doted over Jennie, so pleased to have a sister instead of another bothersome brother.

“Coming, Mama.”

She followed her mother toward the healing area while her grandfather headed out the door.

“Come quickly, lass,” her mother said. ““I wish to test my idea, and you can help me.”

“What idea?” Her mama was the best healer Brenna knew, and she often had new ways of doing things.

“I think people would heal faster if we kept our hands clean. You know how I like to have our kitchens clean. I think the healing area and materials should be the same, though Grandda disagrees with me. If we can prove it, he’ll listen.”

“How will we do that?”

“Wash your hands with the sliver of soap before you touch a warrior’s wound. Grandda won’t wash his, so we’ll see. If you and I keep ours clean, then he won’t be able to argue with me if it proves to be true.”

Brenna gave her mother’s words careful thought, then whispered, “You think the dirt causes the fever?”

“Aye. Could be the dirt or another man’s blood carried on our hands from one to the next or many other things, but I think clean hands could help.”

“But what about the dirt in the wound? Do you mean the dirt on our hands causes the fever or the dirt in the wounds, Mama?”

Her mother stared at her and said, “My word, lass. You are correct. We will have to clean the wounds and our hands. Grandda won’t do either unless there are large stones inside or part of an arrow.”

The front door opened across the hall, and the moans of men in pain carried to them as the hale brought in the injured.

“Hush now. Say naught to him.” Her mother waved a hand at her.

Grandda entered leading two men inside, both bleeding heavily.

“Put one on each pallet,” her mother said.

Two more walked through the door, moaning. One had a wound on his arm and the other a deep wound on his leg.

“We don’t have room for you.” Her grandfather’s hands settled on his hips as he glared at the men. “You’ll have to wait.”

Brenna said, “I can take care of them on this table, Mama. Their injuries do not look too bad.” She pointed to the trestle table closest to the healing chamber, then said to the two men, “Sit and I’ll get my supplies.”

Brenna stepped into the healing area, surprised to see her mother and grandfather both working on one man, her mother’s hands clean and her grandfather’s dirty.

She shrugged and grabbed her supplies: a basin of fresh water, linen strips, linen squares, and a poultice to help prevent the fever.

Taking her supplies over to the table, she worked on the man’s arm, then cleaned and bandaged the next man, nearly finishing before three more men entered.

Brenna pointed to stools and said, “I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”

She continued to work on the men, cleaning their wounds as her mother had instructed, washing every injury and her hands whenever they needed it. There were so many injured men that she lost count after a while.

One young man sat down, smiling at her rather oddly. “The laird’s daughter. I am pleased to get this close to you. Marry me, lass.”

Shocked, Brenna stepped back and cast her best glare at him. “Stop talking like a fool.”

“I’m not. Say aye and I’ll marry you on the morrow. My wound will be fine.”

His friend laughed and said, “He’s always had his eye on you, lass. He’s quite serious, but he knows you have noble blood and he does not.”

The lad continued, “I’ll love you until the day I die, sweet Brenna. Give me three lads and I’ll never mistreat you.”

“And if we have lassies?” She gave him the best frown she could while she stitched his wound.

“You willnae like it if you give me all lassies.” The look in his eyes told her he meant every word. “I want lads.”

Brenna made sure to shove the needle in a wee bit deeper for the next stitch.

“Ow!” he bellowed. “Be careful.” His free hand came up as if to hit her.

Brenna stood up so fast that he nearly fell off the stool, his hand falling to his side. She whispered, “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll stab you in the eye next.”

He chuckled, his hand reaching for her hair, but she pulled back out of his reach. “You’d never be able to hold me down. You’ll see when I steal you away.”

Alex appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the boy’s hand, and twisted it. “Nay, but I could hold you down. Touch her and see what happens to you.”

The young man yanked his hand free from Alex’s grip and ran out the door. “Never mind. I’m fine,” he called out over his shoulder.

“My thanks to you, Alex.”

Robbie came up behind Alex and said, “I wanted to see you stab him in the eye. He deserved it. I thought he was about to hit you, Brenna.”

Alex gave his brother a shove. “Go help the men. There are more wounded to bring in. Brenna has work to do.”

Brenna stitched until the wee hours of the night, exhausted, but pleased with her work. She thought back on the foolish lad who had offered marriage to her. It was not worth her effort to tell him her true feelings. She’d never marry.

Men were too dirty.

***

Nearly a sennight later, her mother called her inside from the apple orchard. “Come, Brenna. I wish to visit the men we treated. We’ll see how they fare, take out some stitches if we can.”

After visiting the men, her mother turned to her, her eyes bright. “Are you seeing the pattern yet, lass?” she asked.

Brenna shook her head. They’d seen some who were healing well, but many others had the fever and the green putrefaction that needed to be washed out. Brenna had lost track of which men she’d treated, just because she’d seen so many wounds. “I don’t think so, Mama.”

“I do. I’m certain of it, and I cannot wait to tell your grandsire that I was right.” She hummed to herself, but then said, “Even though I know he’ll require more proof of my claim, ’tis a start, at least.”

Brenna scowled and crossed her arms, trying to decipher her mother’s cryptic words.

Her mother’s eyes danced with that look that only came from discussions about healing. “Do you not see, lassie? The ones who are doing well were your patients. I never saw any of them. Grandda worked with me so I couldn’t keep washing my hands, but you did, did you not?”

“I did, Mama. But not because I remembered but because it felt like the right thing to do. I’ve always wished to wash one person’s blood from my hands before going to the next.”

“That’s my lass,” she said, leaning over to give Brenna a quick hug.

Her mother thought for a moment and said, “I do believe it to be true. The ones without the dirt healed better. We’ll be keeping everything cleaner from now on.

Your grandsire will insist on more testing, but he’ll soon see the truth that we do.

The dirt must cause the putrefaction. I cannot wait to tell your grandda.

He won’t believe me, but he cannot refute this. ”

Brenna looked at her mother with admiration. “I don’t know why Grandda doesn’t believe it, Mama. It just seems right to be clean, does it not?”

Her mother hugged her tightly. “That’s exactly right, lassie. Remember this. Keep things clean and you’ll have fewer toes and fingers to amputate. And you know how I hate that.”

Brenna didn’t say what she was thinking. She’d have to keep things clean, because she would never amputate anything on anyone.

The thought of it made her ill. Keeping things clean would be much easier—and better for her patients and herself alike.