A Laird's Promise (Highland Heartbeats Book 1)

by Aileen Adams

  During the few days he had been gone, his brother had grown worse, his features pasty white, even in the gloomy darkness of the room. His breathing was labored and raspy, as if he had to struggle to breathe.

  “Agnes, could you please open those curtains?”

  Agnes didn't move.

  Phillip looked at Sarah, who also looked up at him as if expecting her request to be granted without question.

  As it should be.

  He nodded a silent understanding between them. In this situation, when it came to aiding his brother, she would provide the guidance.

  He looked at Agnes and nodded.

  He spoke softly, but with firm resolve. “Agnes, you will do as Sarah asks as it pertains to the care of my brother. She is not to be questioned or argued with in that regard, is that understood?”

  Agnes cast an uncertain glance at Sarah, but moved to do what she requested. As the drapes were pulled back, Phillip saw the dark shadows of the mountain looming.

  “Open one of the windows,” Sarah requested.

  “But it's damp and chilly outside—”

  Sarah gently interrupted Agnes’ protest. “Just for a few minutes, Agnes,” she said. “We need to air out this room. This air is not good for Jake.”

  With a sigh, Agnes moved to the window, unlatched it, and then pushed it open a few inches.

  Almost immediately, a cool, refreshing air swept into the room.

  Phillip stared down at his brother, appalled. When he got his hands on Ceana—

  “I'm going to need a basin of hot water, steaming hot. I need cloths to wash him.” She turned to Agnes. “And also, clean bedding and a fresh nightshirt.”

  Agnes locked eyes with Sarah for several moments.

  Phillip was about to intercede when the beloved nanny’s features softened. She obviously realized that Sarah was trying to help his brother.

  Agnes nodded and hurried from the room.

  Sarah took another step toward Jake’s bedside. “Can we light some candles?” She gestured toward the small candelabra on a table beside Jake's bed.

  Another stand with longer candles stood close by, between the bed and the tall armoire.

  He nodded, found some matches, and lit the candles.

  Soon a dull glow lit the room, the breeze from the open window causing the candle flames to undulate, in turn casting wavering shadows on the wall behind Jake's head.

  He watched as Sarah stepped to the head of the bed. She didn't move for several moments, but just stood, staring down at his brother.

  “What is it? Can you help him?”

  “I would like to know what this healer of yours has done to help your brother so far. It doesn't appear as if her medicines have done much of anything.” She turned to him. “He was wounded how long ago?”

  “Four, maybe five weeks now.”

  “And he’s been in this condition ever since?”

  He shook his head. “No. When he was brought back to the castle, he was awake and aware. In pain, yes, but it didn't seem to be a life-threatening wound. At least not then.”

  Sarah placed her palm on Jake's forehead. Frowned as she looked at Phillip.

  “He's burning up. The first thing is to get this fever down. I’ll need to get him cleaned up; this room aired out. It stinks in here.”

  Phillip agreed, but even a few minutes with the open window had helped rid the room of the stench. He wanted to strangle Ceana for leaving his brother in such a condition. At the very least, a servant or two should have been available to take care of Jake's physical needs, to change his bedding.

  “Tell me what you need. I’ll make sure that you have it.”

  She shook her head, focused on Jake. “I’m not sure yet.” She gently pulled the covers stack from where they were tucked up under his chin.

  Phillip felt his rage surge when he noted that Jake's nightgown was drenched with sweat. Body odor and other unpleasant smells wafted from the bed.

  He half expected to Sarah to back away, to tell him that she would not touch him until he was cleaned up.

  She did not.

  “First, I will wash him and change his bedding while the room airs out. Only then can I get a better assessment of his condition and attempt to remove his fever. To do one without the other is pointless.”

  She turned again to Jake, now shivering. She pulled the blankets back up over him, tucking them around his chest.

  Phillip watched her. She looked angry, but he sensed that her anger was not directed at him, at least not for the moment.

  Was she angry that her patient had been left alone in such a condition? If so, then he had underestimated her in yet another aspect.

  He knew that healers were generally kind people, but this young woman was showing a depth of compassion for a stranger in the most trying of circumstances. He had kidnapped her to take care of his brother, and yet, at this moment, she seemed to hold no ill toward him, nor his brother.

  She displayed no signs of resentment. Her hand, placed gently on Jake's forehead and stroking the sweat-laden hair from his skin, was gentle. The fingers that tested for a pulse in his neck appeared soft and caressing. The hand she placed over his chest to feel his breathing was not heavy, but feather-light.

  He watched as she moved the covers over Jake’s lower torso enough to expose his legs. When she saw the injured leg was closest to her, she covered him back up, leaving only that leg exposed. She eyed the stained, oblong square of linen placed over the wound.

  Jake had taken the brunt of a battle axe. A blow that had not broken bones, but the wound was deep. It had missed major blood vessels, but in the days it took for Jake to reach Duncan Castle, the wound had bled fiercely.

  By the time he arrived, roughly three days after the battle, he was weak from blood loss. Still, the wound had looked relatively clean. None of them had expected this long of a recovery.

  Both he and Jake had been wounded in battle before. Phillip himself was no stranger to the weapons of war. He was fortunate never to have been grievously wounded, but he also knew the importance of keeping wounds clean—

  He heard his brother groan and jolted his attention back to Jake's face. Even in unconsciousness, he grimaced in pain.

  Phillip swallowed a rising tide of uncertainty, of grief, his hands balled into fists as Sarah, ever so gently, attempted to peel back the linen.

  It stuck to the wound.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, with yet another frown. “This bandage has not been changed in at least a couple of days. There is no reason for it to be so firmly attached to his wound otherwise.”

  She turned back to her task, sinking onto her knees beside the bed, leaning her face closer to the wound, ignoring the odor wafting from it, her fingers delicately testing and plucking at the fabric.

  She shook her head. “I will have to wait, to try and soak this bandage off. It will take some time. If I pull it off like this, it will reopen the wound. Likely cause more bleeding, not to mention pain.”

  She stood and faced him with her hands on her hips. “Are you going to hover over my shoulder every minute?”

  There, the belligerence was back. The aggression.

  Despite the fear that threatened to suck the air from his chest, he felt the urge to grin. He had no doubt now that Sarah would do her best to help his brother. Regardless of the circumstances of her presence, she was a healer. His friends had been right. It seemed appropriate that her reputation had extended beyond the borders of Kirkcaldy.

  She was more than a healer. She was a good woman. Beneath all that bravado and bluster, he sensed that Sarah MacDonald would give her all to save his brother.

  Phillip’s thoughts whirled with emotion.

  Anger at Ceana.

  A softening toward his captive.

  Now, he could only wait, watch, and pray that his belligerent, arrogant, and feisty captive could indeed bring his brother back from the brink of death.

  7

  In a matter of mo
ments, Jake's bedroom bustled with activity. Agnes reentered the room, carrying clean bed sheets and bedding. Two servants followed—one carrying the requested water, steaming from a large, wooden bowl, the other carrying a clean nightshirt and linens with which to cleanse Jake's body.

  Sarah offered instructions to the servants about quickly and carefully dealing with the soiled bedding. To Sarah’s dismay, Phillip lifted his brother off the bed as if he weighed nothing at all and held him in his arms while Agnes, Sarah, and the servants quickly stripped the bed of its soiled linens and replaced them with clean.

  Sarah asked Agnes to close the window as Phillip lowered his brother back onto the bed, bracing him upright while Sarah and Agnes peeled off his sweat-soaked nightshirt. She quickly dipped a linen square into the warm water and washed Jake's upper torso while Phillip balanced him in a half-seated position. Immediately after washing one arm, shoulder, his chest, she then moved to the other side.

  Agnes dried his skin with another piece of linen. As soon as his upper torso was cleansed, Agnes and another servant, again with Phillip’s help, managed to get Jake into a clean nightshirt.

  Phillip placed Jake on the bed, straightened his nightshirt and then Agnes covered him back up. Even the heavy coverlet had been pulled off the bed and replaced with a clean one.

  In a matter of minutes, the room had been aired out, the beddings changed, Jake was half-washed and in a clean nightshirt.

  Sarah quietly suggested that everyone leave the room so that she could care for the wound while preserving as much of Jake's dignity as possible.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” Phillip refused. He stood near the head of the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

  Sarah looked up at him, too tired and hungry to deal with such obstinacy. “You told me you would give me control over the situation.”

  He nodded. “I have. What does my standing here have to do with your healing? I will not interfere.”

  Sarah glanced at Agnes, who merely looked back at her and offered a small shrug. She was probably used to taking orders from her laird, but Sarah wasn't.

  “I don't feel comfortable with you watching my every move,” she admitted. “Besides, I'm going to need some supplies.”

  Again, he nodded. “Tell Agnes what you need. She'll make sure you have it.”

  She sighed. “For starters, a chair.”

  Phillip didn't react.

  She frowned. “Do you expect me to kneel by his bedside every moment while I’m caring for him?”

  Agnes chortled softly under her breath.

  Phillip gave her a look, but it wasn’t an angry one.

  “Of course,” he nodded. “What else?”

  “I’ll know more after I've gotten a look at the wound.” She turned toward Agnes. “We need to get his fever down. Another bowl of water, cool this time.”

  Agnes nodded and bustled out of the room while Sarah reached for the linen floating in the bowl of warm water. She wrung it out and began to lift Jake's nightshirt so she could continue cleaning him.

  Phillip stepped forward with a grumbling noise and reached for the linen.

  “Here, let me do that.”

  While she allowed him to take the cloth, she shook her head.

  “Do you not think I've seen a naked man before? I’m a healer!”

  “Be that as it may, I’ll do this,” he muttered, stepping in front of Sarah and blocking her view of Jake while he quickly bent and washed Jake's private area.

  Sarah stared at Phillip’s back as he bent to his ministrations. Though from where she sat on the edge of the bed, she could not see Phillip’s face, she did not doubt the man's devotion to his younger brother. His movements were gentle yet sure.

  She had seen the worry in his eyes when he gazed down at his brother. Noted the careful way he had held his brother. He cared deeply for Jake. Just like she felt for her younger sister.

  She would do anything for Heather. Just as Phillip was doing for his brother. No shame, no embarrassment, just what had to be done. He finished washing Jake’s legs—taking care to stay away from Jake’s right thigh—and then his feet. Quickly and efficiently.

  “There,” Phillip said, tossing the cloth into the water bowl. “You can finish and wash his wound now.”

  “Actually, I'm going to need a clean basin of warm water and a different cloth,” she said, eyeing the bowl before looking up at him.

  Phillip turned toward her. “Why? The water still warm.”

  “And dirty,” she commented. “You want me to wash his wound with dirty water?”

  He had the decency to look chagrined. “I’ll go downstairs and get it.”

  He left the room.

  Sarah remained sitting on the edge of the bottom of Jake's bed, her shoulder sagging with weariness. Her charge was in dire condition. That much she knew.

  His condition made her nervous. What if she couldn't do anything to help Phillip’s brother?

  She needed to focus. She needed sleep and food. First, however, she had to get that dirty bandage off Jake's thigh. Only then would she be able to plan a course of action.

  The room smelled better. Gone was the stench of sweat, urine, and infection. She couldn't imagine why the other healer, what had Phillip called her?

  Ceana.

  The woman had kept the room so closed off and dark. Why allow Jake to lay in a sweat-encrusted nightshirt and soiled bedding? What kind of healer did that?

  Sarah took it personally, an affront to healers. Of course, some were more knowledgeable than others. She considered herself very knowledgeable, but felt that she could always learn more. Still, to allow a wounded man to lay in his own filth? It made no sense.

  The flickering candles creating dancing shadows on the walls gave the room a warm, cozy glow. Wood planking covered by beautifully woven tapestries.

  She hadn’t noticed the small stone fireplace in the corner opposite the bed. Filled with a pile of ashes. That needed to be cleaned, a small fire lit to keep the chamber comfortably warm, but not hot.

  Well-made furniture, the finest in linens and bedding. The bed itself and the bedding were soft under her fingers. She longed to stretch out across the foot of the bed, to rest, just for a moment in such luxury, but resisted the urge. Her bed at home was not so bad. So it didn’t contain a soft mattress but consisted of a straw filled sleeve cover placed over roped webbing attached to the four bedposts. So she didn't cover herself with white linens and thick, padded quilts and richly embroidered bedcovers.

  Why even compare?

  She was Sarah MacDonald.

  A healer.

  Needing only a dry roof over her head, a blanket or two, and food to warm her belly when the nights grew chill. She had no need of a bedchamber as nice as this—a bedchamber that was large enough to fit half her simple house in as it was.

  She sighed and stretched out her arms to relieve the tension in her shoulders when she heard movement outside the door. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Agnes as she entered the room, bearing another large wooden bowl.

  “I've brought some cool water,” she said.

  Sarah gestured toward the far side of Jake's bed. “Phillip… Laird Duncan is bringing another bowl of hot water for me to clean Jake's wound. If you would, make a cold compress to place on Jake's forehead. It may not do much to bring the fever down, but may perhaps provide some comfort.”

  Agnes nodded.

  Sarah saw the tears in her eyes as she gazed down at the man lying so still and pale on the bed. Her affection for the man was obvious.

  She too gazed down at Jake's features, finding a number of similarities between his own and Phillip’s. There were also differences. Jake's hair was of a lighter tone than Phillip’s. His face a bit wider, more rugged. His eyebrows a bit heavier, his nose a little thinner. The jawline, the square chin, and the shape of their lips were very similar.

  “Can you help him?”

  Sarah pulled her gaze from Jake's face to look up at Agnes, who sta
red down at her with such hope in her eyes that

  Sarah swallowed. “I'm going to try.” She glanced around the room again, this time with a frown. “Where are the herbs?”

  “The herbs?”

  Sarah nodded. “Phillip—Laird Duncan said a woman named Ceana has been caring for Jake, and yet I see no herbs, no supplies…”

  Agnes removed her hand from the cloth she held on Jake's brow and stepped to the small armoire beside the bed, opened the door, and retrieved yet another wooden bowl, this one filled with small leather sacks, each bound with sinew. She stepped to the end of the bed and handed the bowl to Sarah.

  “She keeps other things with her, tied to her belt. I don't know what they are.”

  Sarah glanced down at the sacks, prepared to open them one at a time to see what kind of herbs Ceana had gathered for Jake's care. She paused as Phillip reentered the room carrying a chair.

  Behind him came a servant bearing the bowl of warm, steaming water.

  Sarah reached for the steaming bowl as the servant took away the old one and then placed the bowl in the vacated space on the bedside table.

  Sarah reached for another folded linen cloth and dunked it into the steaming water. She wrung it out, but not too tightly. It must be moist. Not wet and dripping, but saturated enough to help ease the stained cloth from the wound. Assuring herself that it wasn't too hot by placing it on her own forearm first, she placed the cloth over the stained bandage on Jake's thigh.

  He groaned softly.

  She heard Phillip curse under his breath, but she refused to look at him.

  She had to do this.

  He must know that.

  Still, she expected him to reach out at any second and snatch her hands away from her task. He didn’t.

  She allowed the warm cloth to rest on the soiled bandage for a minute or so, and then repeated the process.

  Another groan of pain from Jake's lips, another muttered oath from Phillip.

  The third time she placed the warm cloth on the soiled bandage, she tried very slowly and gently to lift one of the edges far enough to see the skin beneath. She barely choked back a gasp of horror.