Chapter 7 #3
“A word, if I may?” she asked the MacCurran. Her aim was polite nonchalance, but the words came out a tad breathless. Eyeing him from a distance never had the same effect as standing next to him. Even when Daniel’s warnings were fresh in her ear.
He took her elbow and led her a short distance away. “I may have misspoken earlier,” he said.
“How so?”
His blue eyes met hers. “The dog yet lives, but its injuries are very grave.”
“I would see him, if I may.” Gorm had given her so much comfort after John’s death; she owed him whatever solace she could provide.
“Nay.”
“But,” she protested, “he is mine.”
“If he survives the night, you can see him in the morn.”
“Why would you keep me from him?”
He pointed to the ruin. “You already have a patient. Since you insisted on tending him, go tend him. I will inform you of the hound’s progress.”
“Daniel is fine. I wish to see Gorm.”
“Go.” His already fierce face took on a darker cast. “Do not test my temper over this.”
The fear that had consumed her when she first met MacCurran resurfaced in a flash.
Her heartbeat fluttered like a startled bird in her chest, and she had a very intense urge to run.
But she did not. MacCurran had sworn that he would never strike her, or any woman, even in anger.
And despite her renewed conviction that he was involved with her brother’s death, she still believed that to be true.
She had no idea why she believed it, but she did.
“I do not wish him to die without a familiar face to comfort him,” she said quietly.
The grim look on his face eased a mite. “I understand, but I cannot allow you to see him now. To ease your fears, I will check on him. Now go.”
Isabail hesitated.
“Go,” he repeated.
Reluctantly, she went. She returned to the inner close, but did not give up her hope of seeing Gorm. There was no reason for MacCurran to refuse her request to comfort the dog in his last hour. He was simply being cruel. Punishing her for her bitter words of condemnation.
But he underestimated her determination.
MacCurran had promised to check on Gorm.
That meant he would visit the dog, hopefully in short order.
Isabail grabbed one multihued blanket from her bed and wrapped it about her waist, hiding the pale blue skirts of her gown.
Then she took a second blanket and wrapped it about her head and shoulders.
Anyone close to her would know immediately that it was she, but it was not intended to be a perfect disguise.
Just enough of a veil to encourage the MacCurran’s glance to slide past her.
Now toasty warm, she joined the other women in front of the central fire pit.
And waited for the MacCurran to enter the close.
* * *
As Aiden entered Ana’s hut, she looked up. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. “The hound died,” he determined grimly.
“Nay,” she protested, pointing to the piled blankets in the corner. “But neither does he show signs of recovery. I’ve tended the wounds and healed his hurts, but he lies still and unmoving.”
Aiden crossed the room and stared down upon the animal. Blood still crusted the dog’s blue-gray coat in several spots, but he could no longer see any open gashes. Linen bandages covered sections of its belly and legs. “Its breaths are deeper.”
“Aye.”
“Surely it just needs to eat.”
Ana shook her head. “I’ve attempted to feed him, but he will not take food.”
“Water?”
“Nothing.” She handed Aiden a small wooden bowl and a spoon. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”
Aiden stared at the bowl of broth. He had far more pressing things to see to, like training the men, checking on the patrols, and solving disputes between members of his clan.
But he did not want to return to Isabail with the news that her hound had passed.
Nor could he send her here to Ana, the woman who had been tried and convicted of poisoning her brother.
She would be furious to discover he’d sought the healer’s help at all.
He crouched beside the dog.
Its head lay at the far side, close to the wall, making spooning anything into its maw near impossible. Aiden placed the bowl on the floor and scooped up the dog, once again amazed by its size. “How did you get the beast from your table to the floor?”
“Niall,” she said, smiling.
Aiden repositioned the dog, then sat on the ground next to its large head. He reached for the bowl, then halted. The dog had lifted its head and laid it on Aiden’s thigh. All without opening an eye.
“Och,” said Ana softly. “That’s a good sign.”
Aiden put his hand on the dog’s snout, surprised to find the wiry fur was soft and smooth. “There’s a lad,” he said encouragingly. “You’ll eat now, or I’ll take you to task.”
He spooned a little broth into the animal’s mouth.
It swallowed, then licked its lips in a silent request for more.
Ana looked on, amazed. “I tried the very same thing only a few moments ago, to no avail.”
“He’s a wise dog. Knows better than to refuse his chief.”
She snorted. “Were you, perchance, the one who carried him here from the forest?”
“Aye.”
Ana nodded. “He remembers your scent. He knows it was you who saved him.”
For some reason that pleased Aiden. He spent the next while happily plying the beast with soup and talking to his brother’s chosen woman. When he had emptied the bowl and set it aside, he was rewarded by a damp lick on his hands and a contented rumble in the dog’s throat.
As he carefully shifted the dog and rose to his feet, he asked, “When will he be hunting rabbits again?”
The healer laughed. “One step at a time. Let’s get him on his feet first.”
“But he will recover?” he asked seriously.
She nodded. “Although, it would be best if you returned a few more times to encourage him to eat.”
He frowned.
“Do you wish him to heal swiftly?” Ana prompted.
“Of course.”
“Then spare him a few moments of your time.”
Strangely, Aiden was not insulted by the request. A stable boy or young Jamie would have been better choices, but the task had been oddly rewarding.
He nodded.
“You did well to heal him,” he acknowledged. “I will return.”
* * *
The instant MacCurran stood up and showed signs of leaving, Isabail scurried away from the door to Ana Bisset’s hut. She wasn’t quite sure what to think about what she’d just seen, but one thing was certain—she did not want to be caught spying.
Darting behind the other roundhouses, she kept to the shadows and circled the central fire to the door of MacCurran’s hut. Once inside, she tossed the blankets onto the mattress and ran a quick hand over her hair to flatten any hairs gone astray. Just in time, as it happened.
MacCurran entered the roundhouse a moment later.
Isabail watched him as he closed the door.