Chapter Four
Morgan flinched when Emma removed the bandage from his leg and then drew in a breath. She turned her head to study his face, her brow furrowed. “Nay,” she breathed softly.
“Nay? Is it my handsome face that has ye looking so disturbed, Emma?” he joked, though he already sensed that wasn’t the reason for her concern. His wound was throbbing and the pain radiating from it was worse than the ache in his ribs.
Her lips tightened as she returned her gaze to his leg wound. “I’m afraid ye have developed an infection.”
“Aye. So now what?” He tried not to appear afraid. As a warrior, he’d faced death many times, on his horse, with his sword in his hand. He’d never expected to face death lying on his back in an enemy’s healing hut. That was a woman’s death, not a warrior’s. He felt helpless.
“It means I have to take out the stitches to drain the pus, then apply some other, stronger healing salve to it before I restitch it.” She pressed her soft hand to his forehead, then both hands to his cheeks.
“Ye do feel a bit warm to me. The fever is starting.”
“Why now?” Try as he might be full of courage, he could hear the mixture of fear and anger in his own voice. “I’ve been here more than two days already.”
Emma sighed. “I am truly sorry about this. It happens, though no one is sure why. There are some who say it’s caused by an imbalance of the humors in the body, or simply because it is an act of God.”
He frowned. “I’m sure it wouldna have happened if I was with the healer at Clyth Castle.”
Emma drew herself up. “Mayhap. But ye’re not there. Ye’re here with me. And ye ken, sometimes ye canna be sure of these things.”
He huffed. “Yet, ye claim to have the skills to be a healer.”
She leaned into him, almost nose to nose. “I am through with yer remarks and complaints. I use the skills the Good Lord provided me with, and so—whatever happens to my patients, it’s His will, not mine.”
Meaning, perhaps it was God’s will that a bawbag like him would be felled by a little cut, and not a sword.
To his surprise—and probably Emma’s—Morgan burst into laughter. This tiny, adorable woman, one whom inspired many thoughts of what he could do to her wonderful body to keep her smiling, who had stood up to her laird on his behalf, now had no problem giving him the rough side of her tongue.
“Ye always have an answer, lass.”
She took a deep breath and graced him with a smile. “Aye. I generally do. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to examine yer cut to see how badly it is infected. Can ye turn on yer stomach for me?”
“Aye,” Morgan groaned. But it quickly became apparent that between the pain in his ribs and the weakness caused by his rising fever, he was unable to turn.
“I need to get one of the men to help me move ye,” Emma said as she shook her head.
Morgan grinned. “I’m sure any one of the warriors would be most pleased to stick a dirk in my side as they turn me for ye.”
“Nay. I am the healer and they know better than to even think about that.” With those words, she left the hut, hoping she was correct.
She stopped by the kitchen and asked the cook, Jemima, to fix her a tisane to help Morgan sleep once she was finished with poking and prodding his gash.
“Ye are taking good care of the Gunn warrior,” Jemima said, her brows raised.
Not caring for her comment, she said, “Ye ken any person brought into my hut that needs medical attention is taken care of the best I can.” She glared at the cook. “No matter who they are.”
Jemima nodded. “I ken lass. I was just fussing with ye. I will send in the tisane with one of the lasses after it steeps a bit.”
Emma grabbed a container of whisky in case the stubborn mon refused the tisane, and she left the kitchen. Perhaps a draught—or two, or more—would make him sleepy.
On the way, she decided she’d walk to the list where the men were training.
She knew she would not be allowed to speak to anyone, but she could stand on the side until she caught Daniel’s attention, and then inform him of his captive’s condition.
Ordinarily, Gregory would be available since he was the Second-in-Command and trainer, but he was off rescuing his kidnapped wife.
Eventually she caught Daniel’s eye. He walked over, a frown on his face. “What is it, lass? Is the Gunn giving ye trouble? I can always toss him into the dungeon.”
Emma almost stomped her foot in frustration, but since she was speaking with the laird, that was not a good idea. “I need one of yer warriors to help me. ’Tis necessary to turn my patient to look at the gash on the back of his leg. I cannot see it with the way he is laying.”
Daniel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I will send someone in.”
She thanked him, and returned to the healing hut.
Morgan lay with his eyes closed, a slight flush on his face.
She began to gather what she needed to clean up the gash and resew it.
One of the kitchen maids brought the tisane in a wooden mug.
It concerned her when, though he complained about the women’s medicine, his protests weren’t as vociferous as before and he mostly mumbled as he took the mug in a shaking fist.
She helped him to sit up slightly and swallow it, concerned by his weakness.
Emma was just putting the empty container on the counter when the door to the healing hut opened and one of the warriors entered.
“Ye need help with a patient? Do ye need me to toss him into the dungeon? He’s a Gunn, isn’t he? ”
Emma just ignored his remarks. “Aye, he is a Gunn, and nay, I doona want ye to toss him into the dungeon. He has bruised ribs, but also a gash on the back of his leg. He’s starting a fever, so I need to clean the cut again and resew it.
With him being a typically large warrior, I need help in turning him.
” She gestured to Morgan, who now lay still on his bed with his eyes closed.
The warrior nodded and to Emma’s surprise, carefully handled their weakened patient as he turned him onto his stomach without much movement to his leg or pressure on his ribs.
Now that the wound was clearly visible, Emma sucked in a deep breath.
As she’d feared, the gash was festering.
She glanced at the warrior. “Thank ye. It will take me some time to clean him up and restitch the wound. I will see if I can find someone else to help me when I need him moved again. Unless you wish to wait?”
The warrior grunted and left the room.
Well, that wasn’t helpful. Her grumbles turned to gasps of concern when, as she began tugging at the stitches to remove them, Morgan screamed and then promptly passed out.
The heat radiating from his body was alarming. She had to work quickly to stop the infection and bring down the mon’s fever.
She hurried to the kitchen. “Jemima, I need one of the kitchen lads to assist me. I dinna want to keep the warrior who helped me from returning to the list while he waited for me to finish, so I told him I would get someone else to help.”
“Warrior?”
“Yes. I had Daniel send one in to turn the patient for me.”
“It sounds like yer patient is going to be leaving here feet first.”
Emma felt her eyes widen and she drew herself up. “Nay. I willna let my patient die.”
Jemima shrugged. “These things are in the hands of the Lord lass, ye ken that.”
Aye, she did know that and so far she had never lost a patient whom she had treated. A few had arrived ready to die after some battles, but never once after she’d taken a patient into her care.
“Emma, Jemima said ye need help?” A lad’s voice sounded in the doorway. Her requested assistant had arrived. Emma didn’t turn to look at him, but remained focused on her patient.
“Aye, thank ye for coming Enoch. What ye can do for me now is bring me some honey from the kitchen which I dinna ken I was out of here.”
“Honey?”
“Aye. Once I finish sewing the mon up, I will smear some on his wound which will help it heal.”
Shaking his head, the lad left while Emma continued to study the newly sewed gash. The wound was a mess, and she would need to do a lot of work to get him on the path to good health.
Enoch returned with the honey and watched Emma for a while. “I would like to train as a healer one day.”
Emma turned to peer at him. “Yes, ye have followed me around before and I could use the help. I had a helper, but she married and moved into her husband’s bothy. They have a large farm that belongs to her husband’s family that they are very busy with.”
“If I can get Jemima’s permission could I train with ye even though I’m no’ a lass?”
“I doona see any reason why no’. There is a legend of a mon from one of the Highland clans who is much in demand, his healing skills being remarkable.” She looked again at Morgan’s leg. “I think ye would have a better chance if I ask the laird.”
Enoch’s eyes grew wide. “Aye. Would ye do that?”
“As I said, I could use the help, and no one has shown any interest in healing.”
Emma knew the lad to be responsible and caring.
If she could get the laird’s permission, the lad would make a very good healer and helper for her.
Even though he didn’t know whether or not he’d be allowed to be her helper, Enoch watched her carefully.
She hoped she could get Daniel’s permission for the lad to train with her.
It occurred to her that at fourteen years, Enoch was the same age that Emma had been when she had started her work as a healer, training under her Aunt Janet, who’d only passed away a couple of years before.
She turned to the lad. “’Tis glad I would be to have ye helping me because I will no longer need to ask for a warrior to help me with my patients when they are big and heavy and I can’t move them without causing more damage.”
Her point was proven when, with Enoch’s help, she could move Morgan to his back. Emma tried to get her patient to drink the tisane, but since he was still not completely conscious, it only dribbled down his chest.
Since Enoch had not yet been given permission to work with her, he returned to the kitchen until she could ask Daniel about allowing the lad to work with her.
Not long after he left, a soft moan and movement drew her attention to where Morgan lay. She walked over to his bed and rested her hand on his forehead. She frowned. He was growing very hot, and she needed to get his body’s temperature down.
She stopped someone passing by the hut to get Enoch and ask him to get cold creek water for her, and then she returned to the healing hut, where she dipped a clean linen into the cooled water on the counter from before, and began to wipe Morgan’s hot skin.
Despite the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, she truly did try very hard not to admire his handsome face and full lips—when they weren’t snarling at her.
She shook herself. She needed to stop this. He was the enemy of her clan that had just attacked them.
And a member of the clan that killed her da.
So—she felt an attraction. Nothing would come of it.
Taking a deep sigh, she smoothed the wet cloth over the hot skin at the back of his neck. The healer in her admitted that just wiping his face was not going to do as much as it would if he had most of his clothing off.
Her heart gave a couple of extra beats at that thought.
Nay, he was a patient and she the healer. Also, she’d done things like this many times before. She stiffened and adopting her professional demeanor, told herself this would not be a problem.
Since his plaid had already been removed when he’d first arrived, she now pushed his filthy, mud-splattered léine up, making sure his bottom remained covered with a wool blanket that he had attempted to kick off as his fever rose.
She then gently wiped his hot limbs and torso down, rewetting the cloth when his skin warmed it up.
His cold creek water arrived, and she asked Enoch to help her remove the dirty léine from him and replace it with one of the clean ones she kept in the chest in her hut for just such occasions.
Once she no longer needed to work on his gash, she would give him a pair of clean breeches. Now, the two of them worked to get him into the léine and she continued wetting his skin with the new water.
As she smoothed the water over him, she noted the darkened muscled skin from years of exposure to the sun while training. Despite pretending to ignore how it affected her, nevertheless it drew her like a bee to a flower.
Even though he was unconscious, his muscles twitched as she worked. She was fascinated by the dark hair on his chest. Soft and curly.
Emma had seen many patients in the years she’d been healing, but for some reason, this man intrigued her as no other. Maybe because he was the enemy, and therefore off limits.
She rewet the cloth and returned to smooth his arms, both as muscular as his chest. Would his back fascinate her as well?
Thankfully, the door opened to admit Agnes Mackenzie and her elderly da, Adair. The man walked bent over and even though Emma had told him more than once to summon her instead of making the trip to the castle, he groused that as long as he could walk, he would.
Today, with her thoughts wandering where they were, she was very glad to see him. “Good morn, Mr. Mackenzie. What brings ye here to see me today?”
“Canno’ I just come to see a bonny lass?” He cackled and stomped his walking stick.
Just then a groan came from Morgan. She turned to him. “Are ye in pain?”
He frowned. “Nay, why would I be in pain with a bruised rib, a serious cut, and a fever?”
Emma smiled, agreeing he had the right to moan. “Can ye wait a minute or two so I can attend to Mr. Mackenzie?”
Morgan turned his head to the wall, so she considered that his consent.
Grumpy mon.
“What can I do for ye this morning, Mr. Mackenzie?”
He glared at his daughter. “’Tis tired I am of eating food for bairns. All she gives me”—he pointed to Agnes—“is porridge and bread soaked in milk. I’m a mon. I need food.”
Emma took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy, but the life of a healer sometimes wasn’t.
“Mr. Mackenzie, we’ve been over this before. Yer stomach canno’ tolerate heavy foods.” She looked up at Agnes. “Ye might mash up some soft potatoes and dribble gravy over it. We can see how his stomach does with that.”
Agnes nodded. “Thank ye, Emma. My da is a stubborn one.”
He scowled in her direction. “And a hungry one.”
Morgan huffed. “Aye I agree. Our healer is quite skimpy with the food.”
Another country heard from.