Chapter Twenty-Three
Alan groaned and gave a half-gasp when the physician—who had returned early that morning—peeled the bandages away from his wound. Annista, watching carefully from the side of the bed, wondered why she lingered to observe the distressing and, to be sure, horrific spectacle.
Why she’d remained with Alan all night.
To protect him, her heart insisted. In case his demon of a brother came back.
And could she?
Och, aye, she could. If that redheaded sea serpent showed his face anywhere near Alan or Bonnie, she would attack him at once. Put a swift end to his miserable life.
Just as she’d promised her mother.
Whether Alan needed her protection was another matter. A big man, he, and well grown though at the moment sorely battered.
Did she fear for him, truly? If so, why? He was none of her worry. Just because he was her husband—
In name only.
Bonnie, now, Bonnie needed her. But Bonnie remained safe in Annista’s chamber and Cora with her. The connecting door stood open. Annista needn’t worry for Bonnie. But the man in the bed…
“It has bled much,” she remarked when the bandages came away.
Both men looked at her. The physician, aged and gray-haired, looked like he’d seen everything and then some. His hands shook a little, but Annista was glad to see they remained reasonably gentle. She’d seen physicians in the past who handled their patients like so much game for butchering.
The physician, having eyed her, dismissed her from his notice other than to say, “Some claim a flow of blood is cleansing.”
“Ah—aye,” Alan croaked. His gaze clung to Annista’s, kind of hung on it. She wondered if he’d prefer her to leave, if it made him uncomfortable having her witness his distress.
Too bad if it did. She would not budge.
“Is there much damage to the lung?” she asked. When the physician eyed her again, she asked Alan directly, “Does it hurt much to breathe?”
“I can breathe.” Though not without pain, she could see that. “I do no’ ken whether the hurt is due to the stab or Evan’s fists crashing into my ribs.”
“You are young and will heal,” the physical told him.
“How long?” Alan returned, switching his gaze to the physician.
“Who can tell?”
“I should think ye could,” Alan snapped and Annista could not help but smile.
“Each man heals according to his own strength. Ye are no’ to leave this bed until the wound closes.”
“Ridiculous. I maun get up at once. I must find—”
“Out o’ the question. Mistress,” he deigned to speak to Annista directly then, “surely ye can think o’ a way to keep your husband in the bed.”
They both stared at him. Why, that old rascal!
A hectic flush touched Alan’s cheekbones. “I scarce think—”
“There are ways and means, eh?” the old man waggled his eyebrows. “Ye be newly wedded, so I hear. And your wife that devoted, she has no’ left your side.”
Alan said nothing, just gave Annista one scorching look.
A look that spoke volumes.
She sat with her hands folded, in silence, while the physician did his work and left a draught.
Alan’s mother met him at the chamber door. There was a hurried conversation in the hallway beyond, too hushed for Annista to catch the words spoken.
“Well, this is a revolting development,” Alan said in disgust. “How am I to be of help whilst stuck lying here?”
“Ye wish to be of help how?”
“Locating Evan, of course. Quelling him before—before any more harm can be done.”
“Quelling him? No easy task, that.”
Alan glowered. “He needs to be dried out. Denied his liquor. It just fires him up, makes what was always an ill temper that much worse.”
Annista eased back onto the mattress beside him. “D’ye truly believe there’s any hope o’ that?”
“I do no’ ken.”
“May I speak freely?”
That made him look at her again, the smoke-gray eyes connecting with hers in that way they had. “D’ye ever do aught else?”
“I try to be tactful. Indeed, I do. ’Tis no’ in my nature.”
“I ha’ noticed. Pray, say wha’ ye will.”
“I believe Evan to be either mad or ridden by a demon. The devil may well supply him wi’ the whisky, but I do no’ believe denying it to him will help. Indeed—”
“He may become enraged at being denied? Aye, ’tis possible.
” Alan shifted uncomfortably. “It has always been so—he could ne’er accept rebuke as a child and would fly into a temper if he heard the word ‘nay.’ So it came to pass that Father—and Mother also—avoided speaking it to him.
But,” he hesitated before finishing, “I do no’ think him mad. ”
“Aye, ye think it the act o’ a sane man, beating his horse and stabbing his own brother between the ribs?”
“He may become maddened from time to time. He stabbed me because I was about to get the better o’ him. And that he could no’ bear. And that argues a sound mind.”
“Reason it awa’ as ye will. He tried to kill ye.”
“He did no’ succeed. As ye can see, I am far fro’ dead.”
“Still and all, he is a vicious brute.”
“On that, we can agree. Which is why I mean to be on guard against him. Here, help me up.” He shifted again, using his arms.
“I will no’. Ye are to lie there until the bleeding stops.”
“It has stopped.”
“And will start up anew if ye move about like a fool.”
He cocked a brow at her. “Fool, is it?”
“What else might I call ye?”
“Verra well then, I will get up by mysel’.”
He struggled to do so, trying to disguise the resulting grimace.
Annista was around the bed in an instant and lending him her shoulder for support.
He peered down at her. “I thought ye had sworn no’ to touch me.”
“Except for necessity,” she gasped. He was heavy, but even as she struggled to steady him, he straightened onto his two feet.
“I wish to go out and make certain Chieftain is well protected. Should Evan come back—well, he would like naught better than to tak’ out his ire against me on my horse instead.”
“That is a long way to walk. And the stable boys are on guard.”
“Ye think they could handle Evan in a rage?”
D’ye think ye could? But Annista did not say that. A man had his pride, and she did not wish to insult him. “Let us go slowly, then.”
“Aye, so. The only way I may go.”