“Ailrig! Stop!” she screamed.
Frederick spun around and saw the same thing as Aggie. The angry pig was charging away from the pen, squealing as if he’d just been stabbed.
A moment later, his world came crashing down around his feet. He couldn’t get to Ailrig in time, and neither could Aggie. When Ailrig had heard Aggie scream, the boy had come to a complete stop, turned and froze. There would not have been enough time for him to jump out of the way even if he hadn’t been frozen in fear.
The pig charged over Ailrig, knocking the little boy to the ground, crumpling his little body into the mud. His small frame mangled under the cloven hooves of the angry beast.
Everything slowed around Frederick for several long moments, as if he were watching events unfold from afar. He saw Aggie racing to her son’s side, his face covered in blood as his little body lay limp in the mud. Heard her gut wrenching, heart breaking wails as she lifted Ailrig to her chest, tears rolling down her face as she continued screaming, Nay! Nay! Nay!
Rognall and Peter arrived first, for they had been right behind Aggie. The pig continued to race around the yard, the stupid veil waving in the wind behind it. It screamed and squealed, the sounds blending with Aggie’s wails of grief. They were enough to make Frederick want to retch.
Once the initial shock was over, Frederick raced to his wife and son. He scooped Ailrig up in his arms and hurried into the keep. As he raced through the gathering room, Frederick gave orders for a healer to be called and water and bandages sent to his bedchamber.
While he ran up the stairs, Frederick spoke to Ailrig, “Please, Ailrig, wake! Please, do no’ die, please, son, open yer eyes!”
When Frederick reached the chamber door, he kicked it open with his foot and hurried inside. Gently, he laid Ailrig down on the big bed and began his inspection. He placed an ear to the little boy’s chest. His heart still beat! But there was no time to breathe any sighs of relief just yet. Frederick brushed hair away from Ailrig’s eyes and began speaking to him. “Ailrig, I need ye to wake, son!”
With shaking hands, Frederick removed Ailrig’s tunic. Large bruises were already beginning to form on the little boy’s chest and abdomen. Ailrig began to whimper incoherently. Frederick’s heart fell to his feet when he saw that Ailrig’s lower right arm was bent and twisted unnaturally. Anger began to grow from deep in Frederick’s gut when the image of the damned pig crashed through.
Soon, Aggie was at his side, begging Frederick to let her see her son. He stepped out of the way as someone handed him a basin of water. Frederick set it on the table next to the bed while Aggie tried to talk to Ailrig.
“Son, please, I need ye to look at me,” she begged through tears. “Please, Ailrig,” she said as she placed a hand on his forehead.
Looking up at Frederick, she said, “His arm be broken, he’s covered in bruises! He’s bleeding from his head, but I canna see where.”
Frederick dipped a cloth into the water and handed it to Aggie. She began to wash away the blood from Ailrig’s face all the while talking to him. Ailrig whimpered slightly, his face twisting in pain.
Mrs. McCurdy came rushing into the room, out of breath and looking nearly as pale as Ailrig. She rushed to Aggie’s side. “Bloody hell,” the woman muttered. “Let me help,” she said as she pushed Frederick out of the way.
He took a few steps back, the worry and dread enveloping his heart. If anything happened to Ailrig, Aggie would not live through it.
He watched as Aggie and Mrs. McCurdy tended to Ailrig, his mind a blur of fearful and angry thoughts. As he stood in painful silence, Ian came to his side. “Frederick,” Ian began, “let us step out fer a moment. Give the women room to work.”
Frederick nodded his head but could not move. This could not be happening, not now. Why? Who? How? There were too many questions racing through his mind.
Voices sounded muffled, out of place, as he tried to gain his bearings. There was a deep ache in the pit of his stomach as he watched Aggie, Rose and Mrs. McCurdy tend to his son.
He hadn’t thought of Ailrig as his son yet. He’d only thought of the child as Aggie’s son and his foster son. Regret seeped in, blending with that horrible aching sensation. Frederick felt an overwhelming need to leave the room yet he could not will his feet to move.
Ian rested a gentle hand on Frederick’s arm and helped him along. Before he realized it, he was in the gathering room and someone was handing him a dram of whisky. “Drink this,” Ian told him as he placed the cup in Frederick’s hands.
Numbly, Frederick tossed back the cup and drank. The first cup did very little to ease the ache. The second cup however had the desired effect. He shook the fog of shock away and allowed his mind to recall the events that had led to Ailrig being injured.
“What the bloody hell happened?” Frederick asked, finally finding his voice.
Ian looked much relieved to see Frederick join them in the present. “I dunnae exactly, Frederick,” Ian answered as he looked across the room, giving one of their men a nod. The young man approached and laid items on the table before them.
Frederick stared blankly at the pile before reaching out and lifting the items one by one. The veil was covered in mud and blood but he could still recognize it as Aggie’s. He gave a disgusted shake of his head. Under the veil was Aggie’s favorite dress. The goldenrod damask. The first dress he had given her. Most of the entire skirt had been cut away, no doubt to allow it to be fitted around the pig. It was torn, and like the veil, covered in mud and blood. Frederick’s anger intensified further when he picked up the final piece. ’Twas a little piece of driftwood with a bit of cording affixed so that it could be worn like a necklace around the pig’s neck. Someone had written the words Frederick’s Queen across the front.
A numbing, throbbing sensation began to build at the base of his skull. ‘Twasn’t a headache. ’Twas raw fury. “Why?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Is this how they feel about Aggie? Me? Why would anyone do such a thing to her? Aggie has no’ done anythin’ to deserve this!” he jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. “Do they think this be funny?” he asked as he stared at Ian. “Do they think this be a way to show respect? Do they no’ have anythin’ better to do than hurt an innocent little boy?” He raged. Taking his arm, he swept everything to the floor. His chest heaved, his head throbbed. He spun to look at anyone else who might be in the room. “Is this how you behave?” he yelled as he spread his arms wide. “I canna believe men and women…” his words trailed off. Shaking his head in disgust he turned back to Ian. “I want everyone called to this room now. Every man, woman and child, Ian. I do no’ care what they be doin’ or what argument they might give, I want them called now!”
Ian stood and gave a quick nod of his head to the three Mackintosh men who had been standing by. They were preparing to leave to do Frederick’s bidding when Mermadak and Donnel entered the room.
“What be the problem, Mackintosh,” Mermadak said as he slowly made his way into the room. “Why be ye givin’ such orders?”
Frederick worked his jaw back and forth as he glared at the two men. “I want every man, woman and child assembled, Mermadak, to find out who is responsible for hurting Ailrig,” he said. His words were clipped and dripping with anger.
Mermadak stopped, his breathing somewhat labored. “Ye be no’ the chief yet, Mackintosh, need I remind ye of that?”
“I do no’ care who be the chief!” Frederick ground out. “I want to ken who is responsible for hurtin’ me son! The boy lies above stairs, bleedin’, covered in bruises and at least one arm broken! I demand to ken who and why!”
Mermadak shook his head as if it were of no importance to him, one way or another. He continued to make his way to the dais, with Donnel following behind. Frederick stood and watched with his hands balled into fists.
“Bah!” Mermadak said with a wave of his hand. “I heard what happened,” he said as he shuffled his way up the stairs. It took some time before
he made his way to his seat. “I need ale,” he said to no one in particular.
“Ale?” Frederick asked incredulously. “Me son—yer grandson— lies above stairs, clingin’ to life and all ye care about is yer afternoon ale?”
Mermadak glared angrily at Frederick. “I said ye could adopt him, I never said I would claim him as mine! As far as I be concerned, he’s still an illegitimate brat and what happened was nothin’ more than a harmless jest gone awry!”
If Ian hadn’t already been resting a comforting hand on Frederick’s shoulder, he would have been moved to murder. Frederick’s head hummed, the rage and fury building. Two of Frederick’s men came to help Ian hold him back.
Frederick could not find his voice. It was momentarily lost somewhere along with his control.
“Hold, Frederick,” Ian warned in a whisper.
“I demand to ken who did this Mermadak!” Frederick shouted. “I want them held accountable. And if me son dies, I shall have their heads!”
Mermadak slammed his hand down hard on the table. “Again, I remind ye that I am still the chief of this clan! ’Tis no’ up to ye to make demands of anyone or anythin’, Mackintosh!” Spittle flew from his mouth and ran down his chin as he shouted. Taxed, he began to cough and spit.
Before Frederick could tell the man what he truly thought, Ian and his men were dragging him from the room.
Twenty-Eight
AGGIE IGNORED THE crushing sensation of her heart as she tended to her son. She fought back the urge to crawl into the bed beside him and wrap her arms around him. There was no time to weep, to feel sorrow or anger or fear; there was only time to act and do what she could for Ailrig.
With help from Rose and Mrs. McCurdy, they washed as much of the blood away from Ailrig’s head as they could. Aggie had found the source of all the blood, a large, deep cut to the back of his skull. It took nine stitches to close the wound.
There were other smaller cuts and scrapes that did not require anything more than a good washing. Of all the wounds, it was his broken forearm that caused Aggie the most worry. He was floating in and out of awareness, but she knew the moment they tried to set the broken bone, he would awake. The agony would be unbearable.
She sent Rognall to the roof to gather herbs that she could brew into a tea that would put Ailrig into a deep sleep. ’Twas the only way to set the bone without bringing him such pain. Her other worry was the fact that he hadn’t fully awakened yet. If he were to fall into a deep sleep on his own, he might not ever wake. And the sleeping draught might cause that deep sleep she was trying to desperately to avoid.
“I need Frederick,” Aggie whispered to Rose. “I will need his help setting the bone. I fear—” her voice caught on the tears she was fighting bravely to avoid.
Rose gave a quick nod and sent Peter to find Frederick.
“He is a strong lad,” Rose said trying to comfort Aggie. “He’ll be right as rain in no time, ye’ll see Aggie.”
Aggie wished she held the same confidence as her friend. If an infection didn’t set in. If his head injury was not as severe as it looked. If there were not internal damages she couldn’t see. There were far too many ifs for her liking. It would be several long days and nights before they would know for certain how he might fare.
Rognall returned with the herbs at almost the same time Frederick had. Rognall gave the herbs to Rose. “Do ye want me to prepare the draught, Aggie?” Rose asked.
Aggie sat on a chair next to the bed, examining the broken arm closely. “Nay, no yet, Rose,” she answered before looking up to see Frederick standing at the end of the bed.
Aggie felt relieved to have Frederick there. They looked at one another for a long moment before Frederick finally spoke. “How is he?”
Aggie nearly burst into tears when she heard the sadness in his voice. “We’ve stitched up his head. His arm b-be broken and we n-need to set it. But I fear that if I give him a d-draught to help with the pain, he might fall into a deep sleep—” she couldn’t get the words no’ wake up out of her mouth. It hurt far too much to think it. She’d not give credence to the possibility by uttering it aloud.
Frederick was used to seeing wounded men on the field of battle. On more than one occasion he had stitched up a fellow warrior’s wounds. He had even helped to set a broken bone or two over the years. Were it a man full grown lying in that bed, Frederick would have given him several drams of whisky and been done with setting the bone.
But this? This was an entirely different scenario. This was his son. Nay, not of his loins and blood, but his son just the same. He thought back to the time one of his older brothers had fallen out of a tree and broken his leg. Maxwell had been twelve or thirteen at the time, still, their father had nearly passed out when it had come time to help set the boy’s leg.
Frederick took a deep breath and willed himself forward. If he were going to call himself father to this wee lad and husband to the worried woman he called wife, then he needed to gather his wits and be a man. “I’ll help ye Aggie. Just tell me what ye want me to do.”
She looked relieved by his offer to help and thanked him. Her relief and gratitude brought a wan smile to his face. “Och, do no’ thank me yet, lass. Can I have yer word ye’ll no think less of me if I faint dead away? Settin’ a grown man’s bones be bad enough. Settin’ me son’s bones might just be the death of me.”
An audible gulp came from Aggie, as tears welled in her eyes. There was no need to ask why she was tearing up for her son lay still, pale, and grievously injured on the bed before them.
God, give me the strength to do what I must. And please, help me no’ faint in front of me wife.
HE HADN’T FAINTED, though he had come close several times. He had gotten dizzy with gut wrenching guilt from causing the innocent boy any amount of pain. But in order to help the boy heal, he first had to put him through a good deal of suffering.
Ailrig had woken during the process, jolted awake from the torture of having his bones put back in place. The lad’s screams had sent a chill down Frederick’s spine. But he had to admit that when Ailrig opened his eyes, though terrified and filled with pain, Frederick did feel some measure of relief at seeing the lad alert and awake. And when a few choice curses flew from the little lad’s mouth Frederick did his best not to let anyone know he felt a measure of fatherly pride.
However, even though the boy was cursing like a warrior, he was still just a little boy with dreadful injuries. Injuries that were life threatening. Injuries that would take a great deal of time from which to heal. Frederick fought hard to keep his mind from wondering about all the what ifs that might happen over the course of the next several days. It made his stomach uneasy and his heart lurch each time he thought of the little boy dying and how that would effect Aggie.
Ailrig’s death would be her end, Frederick was certain of it. It would be unbearable for her, he had no doubt of that.
He was angry and furious that he had no control over the situation. Oh, how he wished he could simply order the lad to heal quickly or give a command to someone to fix his injuries. Something, anything that would make the next days fly by in the blink of an eye.
But alas, there was nothing he could do but pray.
After setting Ailrig’s bone, the lad fell unconscious from the sheer agony that he had suffered through. Frederick paced about the room, feeling helpless and inadequate for it was all out of his hands. There was nothing to be done but wait.
Several hours had passed by with Ailrig floating in and out of awareness. It was imperative that the boy stay awake as much as possible. There was no way for Aggie to ascertain just how serious the wound to his head was. From past experiences, Aggie knew that it was possible for a man to take a seemingly innocuous tap to his head without needing so much as a stitch to his scalp, only to die a few days later. And there were some who might require countless stitches from a tremendous blow and were fine in a matter of hours. Ailrig’s wound was somewhere in between the two and she had no ide
a how he would fare just yet.
At some time close to the midnight hour, Frederick began to feel hopeless and restless. The waiting, the not knowing and being unable to do anything was weighing on his nerves. “Aggie,” he said as he came to stand beside her. “Please, come to the kirk with me.”
She looked up at him as though he had sprouted an extra head. “The kirk?” she asked, sounding perplexed. “Fer what?”
“I need to pray and I’d like ye to come with me,” he explained. “Perhaps if we both pray, it will increase Ailrig’s ability to recover more quickly.”
Aggie shook her head and turned her attention back to Ailrig. “God d-doesna have t-time fer me, Frederick. He only t-tends to the rich and mighty.”
Frederick was stunned by her choice of words. Had he married a non-believer? “Aggie, certainly ye do no’ believe such a thing?”
She refused to look at him, refused to answer. It may not have been the most appropriate time to have this discussion, but have it they would. “Aggie,” he said, his voice firm. “Will ye please step into the hall with me fer a moment?”
When she finally turned to look at him, her face was a blend of frustration and resignation. She stood and followed him out of the room.
“I do no’ wish to be from him long, Frederick,” she explained once he had closed the door behind them.
“Neither do I, Aggie. But I fear we must talk.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and waited impatiently for him to go on.
“Do ye no’ believe in God?”
“I d-didna say I d-didna believe,” she told him. “But I d-dunna believe he has time fer the likes of me or Ailrig.”
Frederick crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would ye believe such a thing?”
“Where has he been these past years? Where was He when I was bein’ raped? Where was He when me face was bein’ cut? Where was He when da was beatin’ me or beatin’ Ailrig? Where was He all those times I cried meself to sleep at night, fightin’ nightmares and demons? Where was He when da beat me to the point I couldna walk?” The anger she felt was quite evident in her clipped and harsh words. Her eyes had grown dark, her brow creased.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 31
