Chapter 7 #2
There was a little silence after her speech. Struan cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders. Was it a trick of the light, or was there a pale, worried look in his eyes?
“Fine,” he spat, at last. “Ye can wash out the cut if ye think it’ll do any good.”
That was a victory. Una gestured for him to come and sit back on his straw bed, and she brought the candle closer. The light was faint, but she’d need all the light she could get.
He sat very still while she washed out the wound.
There was dirt in it, and it was a lengthy process.
He didn’t wince or fidget, but now and then, when she probed out a particularly deep bit of dirt or scraped out another tiny piece of stone, a muscle would jump in his jaw.
The door stood open behind them, and Una was aware that if anybody came to peer in at them, this would not look good for her.
She kept her eyes on Struan’s muscled shoulder and concentrated on her work, refusing to allow herself to glance up at his face.
“That’s as clean as it’ll get,” she remarked at last. “Now for the stitches. This may sting a wee bit.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “If ye say so.”
She got to work, and instead of the mildly reassuring sound of water sloshing and a wet cloth sliding across skin, the nasty sound of a needle and thread pulling through flesh crept in instead.
“Ye are good at that,” Struan said, quite unexpectedly. She glanced up, not able to stop herself, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring blankly at the wall opposite.
“Sewing up skin? It’s no different from sewing a torn seam,” she responded at last.
He snorted. “Ye and I both know that’s a lie. It’s like saying that killing a wee rabbit for the pot is the same as murdering a human in cold blood. There are similarities, but only a fool believes it’s the same.”
“If ye say so.”
“So, then. If these aren’t transferable skills from yer work as a seamstress, how did ye come to learn how to treat a wound? The nuns, I suppose?”
It would have been easier to say that the nuns taught her. In fact, Una was not quite sure why she didn’t jump on that explanation immediately.
“No, before,” she found herself saying. “I learned it at Keep Dickson, as a matter of fact.”
Struan glanced sharply at her. She felt his eyes on her like a weight.
“Our Keep?” he responded at last.
She nodded tightly. The cut was almost sewn up now. In four or five days, it would be healed up enough for her to snip the stitches with a sharp pair of scissors and draw out the thread. Only a thin scar would be left.
“Many orphans were brought from my village,” she found herself saying, the words stuttering out of her mouth almost without her knowledge.
“And from all the villages after. I had to be kept alive because of my name, but the others didn’t have the same protection.
There were beatings, punishments… I’ve lost track of all the cruelties I saw in that place.
Some of the bairns died of their wounds.
Nobody cared. Their bodies were thrown to the dogs or to the pigs if the dogs were too full.
Pigs will eat anything, ye know. Ever heard a pig crunch through human bone? ”
She could hear her own voice getting more and more angry, pitching higher. She tied off the end of the thread and used her knife to cut it.
“Aye,” Struan said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him. “Aye, I do know what it sounds like.”
Una glanced up at him, eyes widening. She found that her mouth was dry. Clearing her throat, she looked away.
“Anyway,” she continued, her voice strained. “I learned gradually. My skills, such as they are, have served me well over the years. There, ye are done. Let me put a wee dab of this poultice on yer cut. It’ll help with healing.”
Her fingertip swiped across his skin, the savory scent of medicinal herbs filling the air. Struan was still looking at her, and she found that she couldn’t meet his eye.
“There,” she said brusquely, wiping her hands off on a spare cloth. “All finished.”
She hesitated, about to get to her feet, and found herself looking at him once more.
“Laird Dickson was—is—a danger to all of us,” Una stated, holding his gaze. “Even to his bairns. Even to ye and Kyla.”
Struan closed his eyes at the mention of his sister. “Una…”
Once again, her name in his mouth made Una shiver. She told herself it was a draft running through the cold room.
“I know ye hate Kyla,” Una pressed on, not sure where the words were coming from, “But—”
“I dinnae hate her,” Struan burst out. That muscle was tick-ticking away in his jaw again. “I dinnae hate Kyla. I never could. The thing is, I always wished… I wished that she could have taken me with her.”
There was a silence after this. Una found that she couldn’t look away from Struan’s face, his profile turned towards her. His brow was heavily furrowed, his jaw tight.
“Cowardly to hear, eh?” he murmured, with a harsh laugh. “A grown man, a warrior, wanting his baby sister to save him. She escaped, and now her life is a good one. She’s earned it, but…” he trailed off, but it didn’t matter.
Una knew what was coming next.
“Ye resent her for being the one who escaped,” she whispered.
He flinched, turning to face her properly.
She gave a wry smile, but the corners of her mouth kept fighting to turn downwards.
“My brother, Kai, escaped, where I did not,” she explained, her voice wavering just a little.
“I suffered for so many years, and he was just… just free. Well, not as free as he could, but it was nothing compared to what I went through. And now he is married to a wonderful woman, and he’s Laird Kenneth, for heaven’s sake, and I just…
I just wonder what my life would have been if we’d gone together. ”
His gaze rested on her face. She felt that if she looked up and met his eye properly, something would happen. She didn’t know what. She didn’t intend to find out.
It seemed to take a lot of strength, but Una abruptly hauled herself to her feet, turning away from him.
“Kai and I have a difficult relationship,” she said tightly, “but it improves every day. It improves because we both want it to improve. Ye and Kyla need to be no different. Now, ye have a trial of sorts coming tomorrow. I am going to argue for ye to be released.”
Struan made a choking noise. “What? Released? Me? What for?”
She hurried over to the door. The air seemed to fill her lungs better out here. Somehow, when Struan was near her, she couldn’t quite breathe properly.
It’s because I know he’s a threat, she told herself sternly. It is my instincts keeping me alive.
This is only my duty.
“Well, if ye dinnae want to die anymore, then ye have something to lose that ye care about,” she responded bluntly. “Yer life, and yer sister. That’s leverage for us. It’s time for ye to help us.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, eyes large in the darkness, and she could not make out their expression.
“Ye want me freed?” he said at last. “Ye are going to have me freed?”
For some reason, those words made Una uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and turned away, already closing the door.
“I can do nothing but argue in yer favor,” she muttered. “It’s up to the council whether ye will be freed or not. It is them you’ll have to convince.”
The door closed with an echoing bang, and Una stood in front of it for a moment or two, out of breath, staring at the iron-studded wood.