CHAPTER 8
“I hurt.”
Gwendolyn paused in her story and regarded David with concern. “What do you mean?”
He sat up, then flopped restlessly back against his pillow. “I mean I hurt.”
“Where?” she persisted, trying to understand him.
His small brow furrowed with irritation. “Everywhere,” he replied shortly, as if he thought it was obvious. “My back, my legs, my arms—everything hurts.”
Gwendolyn drew down the plaid and sheet covering him and gently lifted his arm. “Does this hurt?” she asked, slowly moving the twiglike limb from side to side.
“No.”
She bent the arm at the elbow, then opened it again. “What about this?”
“No.”
She eased him onto his stomach, placed her hands on his back, and began to lightly massage the bony surface. “Does it hurt when I rub your back?”
“No,” he murmured, sighing into the pillow. “It feels better.”
Gwendolyn pressed a little harder, making slow, firm swirls over the narrow swath of his back.
Not an ounce of excess flesh padded the tight cage of his ribs, and each bone formed a hard ridge that resisted the soothing motion of her touch.
Gradually she shifted her hands to his shoulders, his neck, his arms, and finally his legs, kneading his aching flesh with firm gentleness, bringing movement and blood back to the stiff muscles.
David did not complain of pain as she touched him, but instead his body gradually relaxed, indicating he found relief in her ministrations.
It did not surprise her that his body was aching.
After being a prisoner in this bed for so many months, it was inevitable that his muscles and limbs would start to weaken and pain him.
Her mother’s notes had strongly advocated that the body required fresh air, sunlight, and, if a patient was well enough, a reasonable amount of exertion.
Too little activity, her mother had warned, was as debilitating as depriving the body of food.
“Other than your body hurting, how are you feeling today, David?” Gwendolyn asked, working her hands along the thin length of his calf.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Is your stomach bothering you?”
“No.”
“Does your chest ache?”
“No.”
“Do you feel tired?”
“I’m tired of lying in bed,” he complained. “I’m tired of doing nothing.”
That seemed a good sign to Gwendolyn. She continued to massage him, considering. Finally she asked, “How would you like to go outside today?”
He turned onto his back and regarded her in confusion. “Outside of this chamber, or outside of the castle?”
“Why, outside of the castle, of course. It’s a fine, bright day, and even I find myself growing weary of being inside since my fall.
We’ll bundle you up nice and warm, and I’ll ask Cameron to carry you into the courtyard.
I’ll even bring a basket of food, and we can sit on the grass and have some lunch.
A little fresh air and sunshine will do us both a world of good. ”
A glint of pleasure lit his eyes, but he still regarded her doubtfully. “My father won’t like it,” he warned.
“Your father has entrusted me with your care,” Gwendolyn returned. “And I believe you will benefit from a small excursion from this chamber. If we see him, I shall make him understand.”
She began to rifle through the neatly folded garments in the chest by his bed, searching for something to dress him in.
She was not entirely certain MacDunn would support her decision to take David outside, but if the lad fared well enough, she did not think his father would deny him the pleasure of being outdoors.
Within a half hour David was dressed, wrapped in a heavy woolen plaid, and comfortably ensconced in Cameron’s strong arms. Gwendolyn followed the burly warrior and her charge down the staircase, carrying a large basket in which she had packed fresh milk, several wedges of cheese, some cold meat and fish, and some boiled eggs.
She was hoping the fresh air and modest exercise would help to stimulate David’s weak appetite.
“Great God in heaven!” sputtered Owen, staring at the trio in astonishment. “Do forgive, my dear, but what in the world are you doing with that sickly lad?”
“We’re going outside to get some fresh air, Owen,” Gwendolyn replied. “Would you care to join us?”
“You can’t!” protested Reginald, clearly horrified. “MacDunn would never permit such a thing.”
“But he did.” She was only stretching the truth a bit. MacDunn had given her the authority to care for his son however she saw fit. Today she saw fit to take him outside.
“That’s a heavy-looking basket,” Lachlan observed, eyeing it mistrustfully. “What heinous things are you planning to do to the lad?”
“I was thinking of feeding him, Lachlan.”
“I think you had best wait until MacDunn returns from inspecting the southern border,” Owen fretted, rubbing his gnarled hands together. “Yes, I’m quite certain that’s the best thing to do.”
“But we don’t know when he’ll return and the sun is shining brightly now,” Gwendolyn pointed out. She pushed open the heavy front door, letting a brilliant shaft of light into the dark foyer.
The three elders gasped in shock and raised their hands to their eyes.
“By God, she’s blinded me!” Lachlan bellowed. “The witch has burned my eyes!”
“And mine as well!” shouted Reginald. “They’re melting in their sockets!”
“It’s only sunlight,” Gwendolyn assured them, wondering when they had last ventured out of the gloom of the castle. “It cannot hurt you.”
The three elders hesitated, then slowly lowered their hands and blinked.
“She’s right,” Reginald decided after a moment, immensely relieved. “I can see again!”
“But there are spots everywhere,” said Owen, gazing about in fascination. “Like large colored balls.” He swatted at the air, trying to capture one.
“The witch has cast a spell on us,” Lachlan insisted, grinding his fists into his eyes. “I know it!”
“You will be fine, Lachlan,” Gwendolyn promised. “The spots will disappear in a moment.” She stepped outside, leaving Cameron and David to follow.
A veil of stinging smoke was spewing from the bake house.
There was also a sour, earthy aroma fouling the yard, the source of which became clear as Gwendolyn watched young Eric emerge from the stables and heave a shovelful of fresh manure and urine-soaked straw onto the enormous brown mountain he was building.
The hot smell of livestock and the garderobes that emptied along the walls of the castle added another element to this amalgamation of scents, creating a stench that was quite overpowering.
“This won’t do,” she informed Cameron. “Let’s walk over to the crest of that hill, where we can sit down and enjoy our meal amongst the grass and flowers.”
Cameron shook his head. “MacDunn won’t like us taking the lad beyond the castle walls.”
“I can’t stay here,” David protested, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “It smells like a dragon’s rotting entrails.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Gwendolyn agreed, marching toward the gate. “We shall have to remember this disgusting smell for one of our stories, David. Come on, Cameron. I promise we won’t go far.”
The MacDunns working in the courtyard stopped and stared at them in surprise as Cameron reluctantly followed Gwendolyn to the gate.
“Stop her! Stop the witch!”
Gwendolyn turned to see Elspeth racing toward them, her pinched face twisted with fury.
“Take the lad back to his chamber at once!” she commanded. “He is far too ill to be outside!”
“Cameron, would you be kind enough to carry David to the other side of the wall and wait for me there?” requested Gwendolyn.
Once she was certain David and Cameron were well away, she turned and confronted Elspeth with cool authority. “David is in my care now, Elspeth,” she said firmly. “MacDunn has told you this.”
“You will kill him,” Elspeth hissed. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. Despite what you may believe, I am trying to heal him. A little air and sunlight will do him good.”
“He will catch a chill and die, just like his mother.”
“David is not his mother. Her illness began when she lost two bairns. Whatever killed her is not what is ailing David.”
“It doesn’t matter. He shares his mother’s delicate constitution.”
“How do you know?”
“One need only look at him. But of course, that is something you couldn’t understand. He is the very image of her!”
“The fact that he resembles his mother does not mean he shares her physical frailties,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “David is also of MacDunn’s flesh and blood, and MacDunn is powerful and strong.”
“You may have fooled MacDunn with your talk, witch, but you cannot fool me. Your evil clings to you like a terrible caul!”
Gwendolyn flinched inwardly. It was clear Elspeth hated her, and Gwendolyn knew she could do nothing to change that. Long years of being feared and loathed by the members of her own clan had taught her that such deeply rooted animosity could never be overcome.
“Believe what you will, Elspeth. It does not change the fact that I have come here to try to heal David, not to harm him.”
With that she turned and walked through the gate, struggling not to let Elspeth’s harsh words further erode her already vulnerable composure.
“…and that cloud over there is a stout little man with an enormous belly,” Gwendolyn continued, shading her eyes against the sun as she studied the sky. “Actually, it looks somewhat like Munro. Do you see him, David?”
He did not answer. Gwendolyn glanced at him and saw he had fallen asleep.
“I see it,” said Cameron. “But I’m thinking it looks more like my great round ball of a wife.”
“That’s a very gallant observation,” Gwendolyn remarked wryly. “I shall be sure to tell Clarinda you said so.”
“She won’t mind,” Cameron said, pillowing his head in his enormous hands. “She’s too happy to finally have a bairn inside her again to take any notice of her shape.”
Gwendolyn regarded him in confusion. Clarinda had never mentioned having another child. “Again?”