Chapter Nineteen
The Scot’s Traitor
Reyna and Wulf
Brenna is asked to treat the man who imprisoned her granddaughter, Wulfstan de Gray. Her healer’s spirit runs true.
Wulf felt like a sheep going to slaughter.
Isla and Grif had every right to be mad at him since he’d locked them in the dungeon.
He had no idea that some of the guards at Carlisle Castle were so cruel.
It had been his first time at that castle, so he had not known any of the regular guards there.
He had been the one to assign them to the dungeon, but he thought they would be better protected there than running wildly amid all the English he’d seen inside the village walls.
Apparently, he’d made a mistake. He’d heard that Grif had taken a small beating so had stepped in and ordered him to be seen by the man with the worst reputation for inflicting punishment on Scots.
But he’d met Steinn along the way and arranged for him to stand in the place of the brute.
Steinn had helped Grif get away, but he hadn’t known he’d been badly beaten.
The job had turned out to be much more involved than he had anticipated when all he’d wanted was coin and a way to get closer to his father in England.
When he’d heard they’d both escaped, he’d been relieved, especially since he’d pulled guards away from that part of the wall just to make sure they would get away safely.
No one knew of his part in that, even Steinn. At this point, it really didn’t matter.
Logan led him into the healing chamber, telling Reyna she’d have to wait until later to talk to the man. She’d gone off with Isla, eager to chatter with her best friend if he were to guess. Before he worried about Reyna, he had to worry about his own safety, hoping no one here would hang him.
Or shoot him in the bollocks. It was her grandmother who had that reputation, wasn’t it?
Once he stepped inside the healing chamber, two tall women stood inside, one looking much like the healer and the other looking like the jailer.
“Greetings, ladies. I would appreciate any help ye can give me to keep me from losing my leg. I love Reyna with all my heart, and I have transgressions to make up for, and I plan to do so because I love her that much. I am in yer hands. I’m sure ye have heard that I am Wulfstan de Gray, no longer a member of the English garrison but proud to be back on Scottish land. ”
Logan said, “Fix him, Brenna. I’ll explain later, but he’s not what everyone thinks. Gwynie knows.”
Brenna looked to the woman he assumed was Gwyneth Ramsay, but she said nothing.
Brenna said, “I’ll do what I can, Logan. Take yer leave and watch over yer granddaughter and grandniece.”
The old warrior left, and the woman said to him, “I am Brenna Ramsay, grandmother to Isla, the woman you placed in the dungeon, but I am first a healer, so I will fix ye to the best of my abilities. Sit here, please, and tell me all ye have that needs fixing. Everything. And this is Logan’s wife, Gwyneth. ”
“Grandmother to Reyna,” Gwyneth added quickly. Her sharp eyes watched his every movement. He didn’t doubt she was a fine protector of all her grandchildren and children. “We’ll chat after Brenna finishes with ye.”
“Agreed,” he said, his strength leaving him as soon as he moved toward the spot she’d suggested for him. “I seem to have lost all my strength.” His legs trembled, especially the wounded one. The pain increased the longer he stood.
Brenna patted the pallet set on top of a table, a long table, while Gwyneth left. “Call me if ye need me, Brenna.”
He sat and began to unwind the bindings around his leg. “I was struck with a sword in two places. Reyna bandaged it for me.”
“When?” Her eyes didn’t betray any of her feelings.
“Three days ago, I believe. Reyna told me it was a dirty sword. How she can tell, I dinnae know.” He knew he was falling back into his Scottish burr, but he didn’t care.
“A clean sword would leave a sharper edge to yer wound. One I could stitch easier. Are ye strong enough to handle stitching?”
“Aye. Reyna put an ointment on it after it happened. Do whatever ye must do.”
“Ye may thank her later. If she hadnae done that, I would probably be cutting yer leg off. I will clean it, which will hurt, but I believe ye will be able to keep it. I will treat the inside of the wound before I stitch it up.”
“Whatever ye need to do. I dinnae wish to lose my leg.”
Then the door opened, and Logan came in, handing him a goblet of the breath of life the Scot’s were so famous for brewing. “Drink this. ’Tis our finest.”
Logan handed it to him, and Wulf swallowed the liquid, enjoying the burn of the golden amber flowing down his throat.
He knew it would help to relieve the pain, and he also knew, as any Scot did, it was only given to valued visitors.
To refuse it would be an insult to the old warrior and patriarch. “’Tis a fine brew.”
Brenna stopped to look at Logan, Gwynie coming in behind him. Brenna gave no inflection to her words but asked, “Why, Logan?”
“Because he did what I asked him to do.”
“What?” Brenna’s look of surprise didn’t escape Wulf, even in his haze of pain and exhaustion.
Gwyneth stood behind her husband and said to Brenna. “Aye. He explained everything to me. Treat him well.”
“I look forward to hearing it all.” Brenna didn’t look up from her work.
“Fix his leg before ’tis too late.” Logan poured him another partial goblet.
Wulf drank it down and asked Brenna, “May I close my eyes?”
“Aye, lie down. I hope ye can sleep through this.”
He didn’t, but the Ramsays made a fine whisky.