Chapter 22 #2
At the sight of the beasts running at Beatrix, Elspet’s paralysis is broken.
She dismounts in an instant and follows; Margaret is beside her, bow raised and an arrow nocked.
As they run, Beatrix lets an arrow fly towards the approaching creatures.
Her aim is true – an arrow pierces the first wolf’s chest. It continues its forward movement but stumbles, taking a moment to realise it’s injured before collapsing.
A second beast takes the lead and Beatrix reaches back for another arrow, fumbling in her hurry.
The wolf grows dangerously close as Elspet and Margaret reach the wall and begin to climb over.
Elspet feels a stab of regret at her lack of weapon – how can she help Beatrix?
She loses her footing in the stones of the wall and when she looks up again, the wolf is down – an arrow piercing its side.
Margaret stands upright on the wall with her bow trained on the fallen creature.
Beatrix is now nocking another arrow and training it on the final wolf. The beast continues its approach, snarling as it stalks forward, urged onwards by a low insistent howl from the hooded figure.
Elspet and Margaret make it over the wall as Beatrix lets her arrow fly.
It ricochets off the beast’s shoulder without piercing the flesh but it is enough to discourage the animal.
The howls from beneath the hood grow frustrated as the beast turns on its heels and trots away, back towards the woods behind the kirkyard – disobeying its master.
The hood is pulled so far forward that even as Elspet looks directly, the face remains obscured. Yet she senses his fury.
Beside her, Beatrix loads another arrow into her bow and turns towards the stranger. ‘Who are you? How did you control those wolves?’
He looks in their direction for a moment, then wheels around in a swoop of black fabric and walks away with surprising speed.
Elspet is about to give chase, to find out who this person is and how they managed this dreadful act, but her attention is drawn to the slumped figure at the other side of the kirkyard.
She runs as fast as she can towards the woman, then crouches at her side.
There’s blood on the ground and a gash in the woman’s flesh.
Gently, she turns her over to get a better look at the wound. It is then that she sees her face.
‘I know this woman. This is Kitty Muirhead. The one who came to speak to Lady Jean.’
‘Can you help her?’ Margaret says.
Elspet is already tearing strips of fabric from Lady Alvah Gordon’s fine gown. Despite the wide pockets Lady Jean has arranged to have sewn into her clothing, she has nothing to staunch bleeding and her eyes scour the ground of the kirkyard for signs of any plant that might help.
‘That looks like bucksthorn.’ She points at a plant with thin green leaves growing near the wall, desperately hoping it has the same properties as the one she uses in Orkneyjar. ‘Pick as much as you can – it should help to staunch the blood. Just the leaves – don’t pull it up from the root.’
As her companions gather the leaves, she carefully pulls back the bloody fabric of Kitty’s dress and presses her flat hands as hard as she dares across the gash in her side.
Beatrix returns first – her bucksthorn leaves are still attached to the roots and earth, soil sprinkled throughout the leaves.
‘Remove the roots,’ Elspet says, ‘and shake the earth free from the leaves – they must be clean.’
Even in a dreadful situation like this where time is of the essence, Mormor taught her to work diligently, not to take shortcuts or become sloppy.
Beatrix does as instructed while Margaret returns with a good handful of the leaves – cut at the base of the stem and free of soil.
Elspet takes them gratefully and presses them into the wound at Kitty’s side, before pulling the strips of fabric around Kitty’s body.
‘Help her sit up so I can bind these dressings.’
As Margaret and Beatrix manoeuvre Kitty into a sitting position and Elspet reaches around her torso, the wounded woman’s eyelids flicker open. ‘He tried to kill me . . .’ she mumbles. ‘That bastard . . . he kens I carry his child – he lied to me.’
‘That was the father of your bairn?’ Elspet says in disbelief.
‘Jamie Bogge,’ Kitty says slowly, her eyes filling with tears. She groans and looks down at her blood-soaked body. ‘I’ll make him regret this. I know him . . . I know him from Dunrobin.’
‘Who is he?’ Elspet asks.
But Kitty’s gaze swims as she loses focus. ‘Am I going to die?’ she slurs.
‘You’re not going to die, Kitty.’ Elspet hopes desperately this is true. ‘But we need to get you to Dunrobin where I can treat these wounds properly.’
Between them, the three women drag Kitty onto her feet and make their way slowly back to the horses. They lift her as gently as they can onto Elspet’s horse. Mounting behind her, Elspet holds the poor wounded woman with one arm and the reins with the other.
‘Go on ahead,’ she says urgently to Margaret and Beatrix. ‘It’ll be better if everything can be made ready. Prepare a chamber for Kitty – and ask Lady Jean to bring in boiling water and more bucksthorn from her garden. She’ll know what I mean.’
Beatrix nods in grim determination and urges her horse onwards. Margaret’s face is blessy with shock but she follows at speed.
Watching her companions gallop towards the castle, Elspet takes a deep breath and, holding onto Kitty as firmly as she dares, starts their slow, steady progress back.