Bethia

by Keira Montclair

  “I’ll get it, Logan,” one of the guards responded.

  She then settled her hands in her lap and turned to face the onlookers. “I believe I can repair Donnan’s injury, but it would be most helpful if I didn’t have an audience standing over my shoulder. I am unaccustomed to sewing people, so this will be a bit unnerving to me. I ask that you stand back and not hover.”

  “Agreed,” Torrian said with a nod, “we’ll move back, but I’d like someone to stay close by in case you need an extra hand. You choose your assistant.”

  “Torrian, you may stay, but off to the opposite side, not over my shoulder, if you please.”

  “Go ahead, lass. I trust you.” Donnan gulped, praying she’d be quick about it.

  “Donnan, I can give you some herbs to lessen the pain,” she reminded him.

  He shook his head adamantly. “Nay. I need my senses.”

  “All right. If you change your mind, just say so.”

  “I’d take a quick sip of aught you have, Torrian, before she begins.”

  Logan moved to his horse. “I grabbed a skin of ale. Drink up.” He handed it over to Donnan, who took a large swig before returning it.

  “That’ll do me fine.” He nodded to Bethia, indicating he was ready for her to begin.

  Chapter Ten

  Bethia wiped the sweat from her brow as she tore the tunic Donnan wore, revealing his chest and his belly. She had to have a view of all she was to work on, though she hadn’t expected it to affect her in the manner it did.

  He had a spattering of coarse, dark hairs across his chest and down the center toward the top of his plaid. The biggest difference between Donnan and all the animals she worked on? Donnan was sheer muscle, and glancing at his flesh heated her insides, warming her in a way she’d never experienced before.

  She forced herself to focus. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but I must sew this small vessel inside you before I work on your skin. ‘Tis paramount that I stop that from bleeding. I believe ‘tis the major source of all the blood you have lost.”

  She threaded her needle and said to Torrian, “Hold the torch closer so I can see better, please.”

  Torrian did as she asked, but as soon as she reached into the gore, he turned his head away.

  “Torrian, will you be able to hold it?”

  “Aye, I just cannot watch.”

  She understood that what she did was not for everyone. As a younger lass, her own stomach had turned a couple of times when she’d assisted her mother with one injury or another. It was a matter of determination and steadfastness. She would do this for this man she had grown so fond of in such a short time.

  The thought surprised her, but it shouldn’t have. Seeing him in such a condition had brought her feelings to the forefront. How she wished things could be different between them.

  She placed another stitch, pulling it through, the muscle in his belly clenching from the pain, she was certain. Her mother oft told her pain on the inside was much stronger than pain on the outside. “I’m almost finished with the vessel, then you can have another swig of ale before I start joining the edges of the skin. He used a sharp blade on you, so the edges are not too jagged. I think ‘twill go smoothly.” She glanced up and caught his gaze, surprised at what she saw there.

  Donnan cared for her, too.

  He watched her with the same quiet strength she’d seen in her sire’s gaze when he watched her mother from afar. Her father trusted her mother completely, and his eyes were always full of admiration, trust, and faith when he looked at her.

  She could see those same emotions in Donnan’s gaze. The ends of her lips curved just enough to let him know she was confident in what she did, that she could sew him and, hopefully, save his life.

  With that one look, she hoped she could show him how much she wanted him, no, needed him to survive.

  Then she looked down and got to work. Her hands were steadied by her determination to help him, and the stitch held true. “There. That vessel is finished. I’ll move on to closing the wound. May I have the water, please?”

  Cailean handed her the vessel filled from the burn while Logan gave Donnan another swig of ale. She thanked Cailean and tipped the contents over the wound. “I need to get any debris out before I start to sew. Forgive me, Donnan.” He flinched, but only once, so she took a deep breath and finished what she needed to do. She handed the jug back to Cailean and asked, “More, please? I’ll need more when I finish.”

  She caught Donnan’s gaze and asked, “Ready? This will take longer. If you need me to stop at all, just say so.”

  “Get on with it, Bethia. I trust you completely.”

  How she wished she could kiss him before she continued. She so admired his quiet strength. Positioning her hand so the edges of the wound would be easy to gather, she pierced his flesh with the needle. He started from the pain, his hand was not far from her leg. “Donnan, grab my knee if you must. You’ll not hurt me the way I’m hurting you. I’d give you my hand, but they’re both busy.” She waited for her uncle or her brother to argue with her, but neither did. Uncle Logan had been through enough to know exactly how much Donnan was suffering.

  He squeezed her knee, and that connection motivated her to finish her task with a speed and agility that surprised her. She placed two layers of stitches in the first part of the wound, where the dagger had dug in deeper, but only one layer was necessary for the second section.

  She sweated profusely, and at one point Donnan grabbed a stretch of his plaid and mopped her forehead to keep it from dripping into her eyes. His concern for her made her heart swell. Close to an hour later, she placed her last stitch and whispered, “Finished, Donnan. All I must do is cover it with poultice and wrap a stretch of linen around it. We must keep it clean and hold it tight so the stitches don’t pop out.”

  “Whatever you say,” he said. “My thanks to you, Bethia.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Let’s hope I did a good job.” When she finished bandaging him up, she reached up to Torrian and her brother helped her stand. She almost toppled over as soon as she was completely on her feet. “My goodness. My knees seemed to have locked up on me. Pardon, but I’d like a moment alone at the stream.”

  She didn’t wait for permission but moved straight toward the burn, ignoring the pain in her one knee from Donnan’s tight grip. Had she done enough? Tears slid down her cheek, even though she tried to stop them. She knelt in front of the stream, placing her hands in the cool fluid to wash them—as if the force of the water could wash away all her fears of what she’d done, or act in her mother’s place and tell her she’d done a fine job.

  Her mother was not here.

  She cupped her hands into the cool water and splashed it on her face, hoping to wash away the evidence of her tears. When she scrubbed her face and opened her eyes, she sensed a presence. Turning her head, she noticed that she did indeed have company.

  Donnan’s wolf limped toward her.

  “Do not move, Bethia,” Torrian yelled. “One arrow will finish it.”

  Bethia held her hand up to her brother. “I know this animal. Do not shoot her.”

  “If she attacks or does aught aggressive, she’s dead. Proceed with care.”

  Bethia nodded. Her gaze took in the arrow that still protruded from the wolf’s flank. The animal stood still, her hind leg lifted in the air, she guessed from the pain of the injury. “Torrian, fetch my satchel and toss it next to me, please.”

  He did as she asked. While he took off, Bethia patted her lap and said, “Come. I will help you, my pretty Shewolf.”

  The beast panted, but didn’t move. Her gaze was a bit clouded. Bethia wondered how much blood the wolf had lost. If she had to guess, she would say that Shewolf had tried to rid herself of the weapon, for the bulk of the arrow had broken off.

  Torrian returned and tossed the bag toward her. She reached for the bag, never taking her eye off the wolf, and reaching inside for her numbing agent. She applied a small
amount of the unguent onto her finger before returning the container to the bag and setting the bag down.

  She beckoned the animal again. “Come, Shewolf.”

  The beast lowered her head and moved toward her. She didn’t settle her head on her lap, but she did lay next to her—a position that brought the wound closer to Bethia.

  She held her hand out and let the hurt creature smell her.

  Torrian said, “Sister, you are not thinking. Even if she’s tame with Donnan, she’ll not let you treat her.”

  “Do not worry. We’ve met before.”

  The wolf licked the side of her hand.

  “What the hell?” Torrian groaned out. “You and Lily?”

  She slowly moved her hand toward the animal’s wound and rubbed the salve around the outside of the injury, giving it a few minutes to do its work. The wolf slid closer and lay her head down, as if to let Bethia know the pain had finally eased. “I’m going to take that arrow out now, Shewolf, then I’ll put more ointment on you.” She set her hand near the wound to make sure the wolf would accept her help. Shewolf rolled her flank toward Bethia and her head in the opposite direction.

  As if she understood.

  Bethia didn’t hesitate, but reached into the shallow wound to grab the edges of the arrowhead and extracted it. The beast jumped once, but she didn’t growl or otherwise threaten her. She tossed the arrow off to the side, then hastily covered the wound with more of the unguent. Shewolf stood and limped over to the arrow, sniffed it, then glanced over her shoulder at her savior before she moved off into the bushes.

  Torrian said, “Hell, I’ve never seen aught like it, lass.”

  “She visits Donnan often, came out when I checked on Wynda one day.”

  “I’ll not question you again.”

  Her gaze followed the retreating animal. When she was out of sight, Bethia leaned forward to wash her hands in the stream again.

  A hand pressed her shoulder, and she sat back on her heels to look up at her brother.

  “You did a fine job on Donnan, I think. There’s no more bleeding and he’s alert.” She reached for his hand and he helped her to stand again.

  “My thanks. How did you know to check on me?”

  “Because you are so like Brenna in all you do, and I recall how difficult it was for her when I was ill and she didn’t know how to help me. Whenever she bathed my blisters, she would always cry afterward. I thought I heard tears before the wolf came to visit you.”

  She laughed. “She did? I was hoping to hide my tears.”

  “Aye. Sometimes I thought it hurt her more than it did me. I remember wondering what kind of person was strong enough to spend their lives causing others pain, even though they knew they were helping them.”

  “You did? Torrian, you were so young.” She peered up at her strong brother, the laird. His strength inspired her every day. How she wished she dared to discuss Donnan with him, but he had more serious concerns than the affairs of his sister’s heart.

  “Aye, but I had quite a bit of time to think. ‘Twas all I did.”

  Her voice dropped. “Not all you did. You were fighting for your life. You were an amazing young lad, from what Mama has told me.”

  “Mayhap,” he grinned.

  “My thanks for understanding.”

  “May I ask you a question?” He stood back with his arms crossed in front of him.

  She nodded, unable to speak because she was sure the tears would start again once her brother spoke his mind. The nature of what he was about to ask would surely embarrass her, but she welcomed his guidance and was humbled that he cared about her small problems.

  “Is there something between you and Donnan that I should know about?”

  He never minced words. Tears misted in her eyes again, much as she hated them. “I could only wish. He says he’ll never marry again. His losses were too painful for him to risk it. I respect his choice.”

  “Would you like me to speak with him? I will if it would please you.”

  “Nay. Please do not,” she cried out. “I would not want our relationship to have such a start. I accept it for what it is, and I have learned from him.”

  Torrian stared at her, and she wished she could read his mind. She trusted her brother, but this was all so new for her, and she wasn’t quite comfortable admitting she was close to losing her heart to Donnan.

  “Torrian, time to move,” Uncle Logan yelled their way.

  The moment lost, they hurried back to the group clustered around a boulder. She was surprised to find Donnan sitting up. His wound was above the waist, but the pain and pressure had to be considerable.

  “Your plan, Uncle Logan?” Torrian asked.

  “Quite simple. The guards who followed Bearchun and his archer returned, and they confirmed they were headed toward Edinburgh. We’ll follow them there. Donnan wounded Bearchun with his sword, so he’ll be moving slower than usual, too. I’ve offered to send Donnan back to the keep, but he’s refused. Bethia, what do you think?”

  “Riding a horse will be difficult for you, Donnan,” Bethia said, feeling her brow furrow. “You must do your best not to gallop or jar your wound.”

  “She’s right,” Logan said. “I watched my brother ride a distance a sennight after his stitches were placed and it was still a trial for him.”

  Donnan nodded. “I understand that. I’ll safeguard the wound as much as possible, Now that you’ve closed it, it does not appear to be so large. I’d like to see this through, and if I still have my wits about me, the distance to Edinburgh is much shorter than the distance back to Ramsay land.”

  “It would be better for him to go to Edinburgh and rest a day or two before he travels the entire distance back to Ramsay land,” Bethia said with a decisive nod.

  Uncle Logan thought for a moment, then said, “I can arrange that. I’ll see him settled at an inn before I seek out Bearchun.”

  “We could use you since you’ve seen the bastard most recently,” Torrian said, nodding at Donnan. “Bethia? Pack your satchel. I’m sending you back to the keep with a guarded escort.”

  Bethia barked out a very loud, “Nay.”

  All faces turned toward her, so she did her best to speak with confidence, her eyes locked with the gaze of her shrewd uncle. “If Donnan goes, I go. It’s imperative that he not re-open his wound.” She didn’t glance at Donnan, but she did catch the surprise in her uncle’s and Sorcha’s eyes. True, she tended not to travel outside of Ramsay land, and if she did, it was usually only to Grant or Cameron land. In truth, she’d never considered the possibility of leaving.

  Her uncle snorted and said, “You are returning home. I promised your sire I’d send you back as soon as you were finished with Donnan.”

  “Well, you can inform my sire of the truth upon our return. I’m not finished with Donnan.”

  Every set of eyes widened and there were a few slack jaws in the group, but she was not deterred.

  “He’ll not tear my stitches,” she announced to all, and no one argued.

  Chapter Eleven

  They made it to Edinburgh in a couple of hours. Donnan was glad of it, because he had a sudden need to sleep, and he doubted he would have been able to sit his horse for much longer. He’d vowed not to ruin Bethia’s careful stitchery. He’d been mighty proud of her for taking a stand against her uncle. Many a guard lacked the gumption and strength of character she’d demonstrated.

  Logan stopped and spoke to the group. “Here’s my suggestion. See if you agree with me, Torrian. I’d like to take the guards and move through the burgh, see what we can discover. It’s still the middle of the night, so I’d suggest Donnan and the women get some sleep in the inn. I’ll leave you and Cailean as their protection. We’ll return in several hours, then regroup. We need to find him before his trail goes cold, though I suspect he’s found a place to hide and get himself some stitches, so we may not find him until the morrow.”

  “I can go along,” Torrian said.

  “Na
y. We have two prime targets for him—Bethia and Sorcha. In fact we have over a dozen guards, while he traveled with only one. I’ll leave some with you and the others go with me. We’ll return before high noon to decide our next move. ‘Tis my guess he’s here to hire men, but now he’s slowed with an injury. I’ll check with the known healers.”

  Torrian nodded. “Find us a quality inn, Uncle, one that is often frequented by women. You know the area best.”

  Donnan didn’t argue either. If he didn’t get some rest, he’d be falling off his horse. He had been familiar with Edinburgh many years ago, and prayed he would not see anyone who would recognize him.

  Logan led them to an inn in the middle of the city. The two groups split up, and Cailean lifted Donnan off his horse, not waiting for his approval. He nodded his thanks, grabbing ahold of the big warrior’s shoulder to regain his balance. As soon as Donnan was steady on his feet, Cailean moved on to lift Sorcha down while Torrian assisted Bethia. After Torrian gave the guards instructions, he approached the door and spoke to the man keeping watch. A few moments later, he gestured for the others to follow him inside.

  Though Donnan managed to walk through the door by himself, he immediately sunk into a chair by the door. He needed food or water, something. As if she’d read his mind, Bethia located an ewer of water on a side table and poured him a goblet, bringing it to him. “Mama says you must fight fever with water,” she said sweetly.

  The inn was quite large, and after a short discussion with the innkeeper, Torrian followed the portly man down a long passageway, indicating for them to follow him. Cailean moved the two lasses in front of him before falling into line behind them. Donnan lifted himself, with some difficulty, and trailed after the group. The passage had several heavy sconces that lit their path, an indication of an establishment of a certain quality. The innkeeper held the door open and stood back, waving his hand with a flourish. “Our best chambers, my lord. We save this area for those who do not wish to mix with the others in the inn. ‘Tis more private.”