Chapter 7
What She Does
The young man described the road in pieces.
A broken stone wall at the first bend. A narrow stream crossed by boards. Tall pines on the north side. A house with thatch burned at one end. Then a long climb to the MacNair holding.
Diana listened without interrupting. When he finished, she asked him to repeat the part about the stream.
"Were the boards whole?"
"Two. The third gave way in the middle."
"And which way was the water running?"
The young man pointed right.
Graeme frowned.
"Does that matter?"
"It matters because there are two roads to the holding. The southern one follows the water. The western one crosses the stream higher up, near an abandoned quarry."
Dugald came into the shed in time to hear it.
"How do you know that?"
"I passed through that country with Penelope last summer. The carriage took the southern road because the other was too narrow."
Alistair set his back against the wall, still pale under the fever.
"How many men?"
The messenger swallowed.
"I saw six. There may have been more behind the house."
"Horses?"
"Four."
Dugald came to the table, where Graeme had spread a piece of leather and was marking lines on it with charcoal.
"If we take the western road, we come down through the quarry and reach the side of the holding."
"The road is narrow," Diana said. "Men on foot will pass. Horses, with difficulty."
Graeme finished the line on the leather.
"Better. We leave two men at the stream to close the retreat to the south. We come in from above."
Alistair looked at Dugald.
"How many can we take without leaving the shelter exposed?"
"Eight, counting Graeme and myself."
"Seven," Graeme said. "One stays at the north passage."
Diana studied the drawing.
"There is a stone wall behind the house. If it is still standing, it covers the approach down the slope."
Dugald turned his face to her.
"You have done enough."
"There are still wounded there."
"Iain stays here with ours."
"And I am going with you."
The silence that followed was short and hostile.
Alistair spoke first.
"No."
Diana faced him.
"There are three confirmed wounded, an old woman, and children. If you wait to bring them here before treatment begins, some of them will not arrive."
"The road isn't safe."
"That part has already been established."
"Diana."
The way he said her name carried an order that would have moved most men back a step. She only pulled the case closer.
"You decided that I would remain as long as there were wounded who needed me."
Eliza, by the door, tipped her head.
"Technically, that's exactly what he said."
Graeme hid a movement of impatience badly.
Dugald did not try.
Alistair kept his eyes on Diana. The fever darkened the green without weakening the attention.
"You'll go behind the men. Not in front."
"I did not intend to take Graeme's sword. It appears very heavy and rather ill-tempered."
Graeme raised an eyebrow.
"The sword?"
"I am still deciding."
Iain handed Diana a cloth bundle with small bottles inside.
"Ground bark for pain. The root we used with Màiri. Clean honey. And this for bleeding."
She opened the last packet and caught the acrid smell.
"I do not know the plant."
"It grows by the high rocks. Crush it before you use it. A little."
Diana put it all in the case.
"See to his fever."
Iain looked at Alistair.
"I'll try to keep him in bed."
"There's no need to be that ambitious," Eliza said.
Half an hour later, Diana was following Graeme, Dugald, and five men up the western track.
Eliza had stayed at the shelter to help Iain and watch Alistair, though she had declared that the second task required more staff and better rope.
Old snow had hardened in the shadows. The wind carried the mineral smell of the quarry before the quarry appeared through the trees: a wide wound in the slope, abandoned blocks of stone, cart ruts cut into the ground.
Graeme raised a hand.
Everyone stopped.
The MacNair house lay below, half hidden by pines. Two armed men watched the southern road. Another stood near the door. Nothing moved in the windows.
Dugald marked out positions with his fingers. Two MacLeods went down the left side, and the others followed Graeme in behind the wall.
Diana stayed where she had been told, crouched among the rocks with the case against her body.
The first shout came quickly.
Then metal on metal.
A horse bolted down the road with no rider. A man tried for the trees and Dugald cut him off. Graeme came up at the door of the house, put his shoulder through the guard, and disappeared inside.
Inside the house, a woman screamed.
She waited.
Another clash of blades. A shot went wide into the trees. Powder smoke came down the slope.
Graeme appeared at the door.
"Diana!"
She ran.
The inside of the house smelled of blood, cold ash, and spilled milk. A woman lay by the hearth with a hand pressed to her side. A boy of perhaps six was crying near the wall. At the back, an old woman sat in a chair, her face white and her eyes fixed on nothing.
"The woman first," Diana said.
She knelt and moved the bloodied hands off the dress. The cut came from a blade, below the ribs, shallow at one end and deeper at the other.
"What is your name?"
"Moira."
"Moira, look at me. The blade went in and came out. I need to close the cut, but first I want to know whether you can breathe without pain here."
Diana pressed lightly above the wound.
Moira groaned.
"There, yes."
"And on this side?"
"Less."
Diana called one of the men.
"Bring warmed water. Not boiling. And clean cloths."
The man did not move.
"Now."
He moved.
The boy went on crying. Diana pointed at Graeme.
"Take him outside."
"Me?"
"He is frightened, and you appear too occupied to argue with a child."
Graeme looked at the boy, who drew further in on himself.
"Come."
The boy stayed where he was.
Diana took a small pair of scissors from the case and put them in Graeme's hand.
"Show them to him. Tell him I need someone to hold them for me."
Graeme stared at the scissors.
"This is absurd."
"It works better if you do not say that part."
Minutes later the boy was following Graeme out the door, holding the scissors in both hands.
Diana cleaned Moira's wound, stopped the bleeding, and started the stitches. Dugald came in with a man held up between two MacLeods. His breathing came short and uneven.
"Ball in the shoulder," Dugald said.
"He waits."
"I'm not waiting," the wounded man said. "Take it out now."
Diana did not look up from the stitching.
"You will be able to continue arguing once you are breathing again."
"I am breathing."
"Barely. Sit against the wall and do not fall. That would make everything more laborious."
Dugald walked the man to the wall. Near the door, someone let out a short sound and put it away again. Diana did not look to see whose.
She finished Moira's stitches and covered the wound.
"Do not try to get up yet."
"My mother."
Diana looked at the old woman.
There was no wound on her, but her lips were dry and her hands shook on her skirt.
"I will go to her."
She knelt in front of the chair.
"Mistress MacNair?"
The eyes took their time finding her.
"They took Calum."
"Who?"
"My son."
Dugald answered behind her.
"Calum was in the barn. He is alive."
The old woman did not react.
Diana took her hands. They were cold.
"Your son is alive. I need you to drink a little water before you see him."
Nothing.
Diana leaned closer.
"Mistress MacNair, look at me. Your grandson is outside with Graeme MacLeod and a pair of scissors he should never have been given. Someone must prevent the two of them from making decisions together."
The woman's eyes moved.
"Graeme?"
"The very same."
The lined mouth tightened.
"He doesn't understand children."
"That was precisely my conclusion."
The old woman took the first spoonful of water.
Outside, one of the men called for Dugald. There was movement on the road.
Diana finished wrapping the wounded man's shoulder and went out.
A cart was coming up slowly, driven by a traveler in a brown coat. He looked too long at the armed men and at the broken door.
Dugald put a hand to the hilt of his sword.
"Leave it to me," Diana said.
She took off the bloodied apron, folded it over the case, and walked out to the road before anyone could stop her.
The traveler pulled up.
"Has there been trouble?"
Diana let the English voice come back in full.
"A horse brought down part of the wall and injured two people. These men came to help."
He looked at the tartans half hidden under dark coats.
"They look too well armed for quarrymen."
"On the northern roads, even quarrymen must preserve their tools and their lives."
The man smiled without trusting her.
"I know some faces out of Inverness. I don't know theirs."
"Then today's journey has enlarged your experience."
She put a coin in his hand.
"There is a damaged bridge on the southern road. Go back by the eastern track and tell whoever you meet."
The traveler's eyes went from the coin to the house.
"And if they ask who was here?"
"An English companion with little patience, an injured family, and men attempting to repair the damage."
He closed his fingers over the coin.
"I saw nothing else."
"An excellent memory."
The cart went on.
When Diana came back, Dugald was watching her differently. The suspicion was still there, sharing room now with calculation.
"He may talk."
"He may. He may also prefer not to explain where the coin came from."
Graeme appeared with the boy in his arms and the scissors through his belt.
"We're moving them."
The move took more than an hour.
Moira went on a litter. The man with the ball in his shoulder rode sitting up in a small cart found in the barn. Diana walked beside the old woman and kept her awake with simple questions about the house, the grandson, and a bread recipe that appeared to require negotiations with the entire family.
By the time they reached the sheltered track, Mistress MacNair could hold her own cup.
The boy walked next to Graeme. He still had a fistful of his hem.
Dugald came up beside Diana.
"Moira says you are a healer."
"I am learning not to contradict wounded women."
He nodded once.
Farther up, the man with the ball in his shoulder called out.
"Fraser!"
Diana turned.
"When we get there, will you take this out?"
"If you are still breathing."
"I will be."
"Then you will be able to complain throughout the procedure."
This time no one hid the laugh.
Near the shelter, Calum MacNair recovered enough to speak. He had a cut on his forehead and dried blood in his beard.
"I saw Malcolm yesterday," he said to Dugald. "In Inverness."
Graeme stopped.
So did Diana.
"Where?" Dugald asked.
Calum put a hand to the bandage.
"Coming out of the warehouse by the river. And he wasn't alone."