One Snowy Knight

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Mayhap he will not live,” the old man spoke, hope lacing his words.

  “He will live,” she countered, with determination she failed to fathom. She asked, “Is there a chance to send to Glen Shane to bid Auld Bessa, Evelynour or Oonanne to Craigendan?”

  His head gave a faint shake. “Not in this, lass. You ken the Three Wise Ones of the Woods come when they are needed. But they grow old, their days short on this earth. To travel that distance in this storm would be too much to ask.”

  Skena grimaced, knowing her curing skills were not as strong as those of the three healers who cared for all in Glen Shane and beyond. Ignoring that apprehension, she placed the long sword by the warrior’s side, noticing he had lapsed into a dark state of mind. Accepting Galen’s hand, she hefted herself into the back of the wagon. Taking the heated stones from the sack, she placed them alongside the still man and then covered him with three bearskins.

  “Take that sack and collect the wolf,” Skena ordered, tossing the burlap to Galen. When everyone simply stared at her, she snapped, “Do it! ’Tis meat.”

  Andrew wrinkled up his nose. “I do not want to eat wolf meat, Mama.”

  Ignoring her son’s sour face, she tucked a bearskin around the man’s large body. “Meat is meat. In a stew you will not ken the difference.”

  As the cart pulled into the bailey, Skena hopped down from the bed of straw. They gently rolled the tall warrior onto a blanket to keep from jolting him about. Auld Bessa had warned her that a person left out in the cold too long might suffer heart seizures if they were bumped or handled too roughly.

  “Each of you, take a firm grip on a corner of the plaide. We lift him at the same time. Slowly. No sudden jerks,” she instructed.

  Everyone in the fortress was in a pother, running up and asking questions. They wanted to ken who the stranger was and what was he doing on the road to Craigendan. A Norman knight on their lands raised dire concerns in all minds. Still, Skena spared no time to fash over possible answers and what import they might hold for the future. Too worn down by the ordeal of looking for the children and then fighting the wolf, those disquiets would have to wait until the morrow. For the nonce, there were score of things to be done if they were to save this man’s life.

  “Where do we put him, Skena?” Galen asked.

  She knew there was only one place. “Take him to the lord’s chamber.”

  “But, my lady—” Galen began.

  Skena cut him off, letting the elderly servant know she would brook no opposition. “’Tis hardly the time to fret over such trifles. He is a big man and should have room. With no healer, his care falls to me. I need him where I can tend to him and require a fireplace nearby. It will be a long night of the soul, mayhap several, until he rests safely out of harm’s embrace.”

  Galen eyed her with misgiving, but held his tongue as they started up the winding stairs. Andrew ran ahead, opening the door to the large chamber, and then hurriedly pulled the covers back on the feather mattress.

  “Place him down carefully. Do not jar him,” she said, anxious. Once that was done she hugged Andrew and kissed his forehead. “Run along to Nessa. I want you and your sister to have a warm bath and be full of hot broth. Then to bed. I will come kiss you day’s end when I am free.”

  Nessa came in to poke the fire, adding more peat bricks to raise the heat in the large chamber. “Who is he, my lady?”

  “That remains a question unanswered at this point. Nessa, take Andrew and Annis. Bathe them in warm water. Keep adding hot water as it cools to make sure they are unburned by the cold. Fill them with hot broth and then tuck them up together with warming stones. Stay with them this night, please,” Skena asked.

  “Aye, my lady. See to the man. I will keep watch over your lambs.” The nursemaid took Andrew by the shoulder and turned him toward the door. “My nosy lad, you want to see if the warrior is all right. Never fear, young lordling, your mama will fetch him around. Come, you must do as your màthair bade.”

  “He is my warrior. I wished for him, and he came.” Andrew dragged his feet, plainly wanting to stay. “The Kelpie fetched him for me.”

  “Oh aye, and you can tell him all about how he belongs to you—on the morrow.” Nessa grabbed him by the sleeve of his sark and pulled him from the room.

  Skena sat on the edge of the huge bed and then unbuckled the warrior’s belt. Fortunately, he wore soft leathern hose, well treated with oil, so they were supple. That was a blessing. The oiled leather had turned away the snow, preventing the wetness from reaching the flesh of his legs. Galen could not work the frozen knots on the cross-laced boots; taking out his knife, he cut the lacings.

  “Gently, Galen. Do not jostle him,” she cautioned again.

  The old man glared at her. “Lass, I have been caring for those who were exposed to bad weather long before your màthair was born. I ken we must keep him peaceful.”

  Jenna, her maidservant, came in carrying a stack of linens. “I ordered the big tub fetched. Cook has plenty of water on the fire. Is there aught else I should do, my lady?”

  Skena nodded. “Aye, go to the stillroom and get my herb box. I need to make a tansy to ease his pains that will come with warming. Also, bring the large pot of healing ointment that Auld Bessa prepared for us back in the summer.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Jenna nodded before scurrying off.

  Galen examined the man’s bare feet for cold burn. “Bluish, but not bad. He is cold inside more than out methinks. The flesh will be fine with care. His clothing served him well, protected him from the worst of the cold. His boots, like the hose, are well oiled, thus they turned away the wet. The children came upon him before he had been out there too long. Lucky for him.” He added under his breath, “Mayhap not so lucky for Craigendan, eh?”

  “By the Lady’s blessing he lives. Remember that. Let us get him out of the mail and clothing.” Skena worked in hurried silence, unlacing the sides of the dark green surcoat. Galen and Owen raised him to a sitting position to allow her to pull off the fine raiment. Her cold fingers had a hard time unbuckling the arming-points of the metal hauberk underneath, so Owen did it for her. “Help me turn him to his side. Methinks rolling off those hose would be easier in that way.”

  Skena gasped as she peeled the leather over his hips. “By the fires of Bel, what has harmed this man?”

  This surely did not come from his fall and had naught to do with the cold. There was a palm-sized, reddish discoloration on his right side, curving around his lower back. She sucked in a harsh breath, fearing it was infected. In the dim candlelight she could not see clearly, but the patch of skin was crimson and puffy, likely why he cried out when they had placed him on his back in the wagon. She reached out and gingerly pressed the flesh with her fingertips. The marks remained white. Not a good sign. As she repeated the action, the knight moaned and started to awaken.

  Skena was glad he roused; that he had remained unawake troubled her. Yet, in the same breath, she hoped his mind would stay cosseted in blackness while they finished the warming. She knew it would be painful as the skin and blood reacted to the warm water. Since the process had to be done slowly to protect his heart, she needed him as peaceful as possible.

  Upon Jenna’s return, Skena told Galen, “Help him sit while I mix the tansy to relieve his mind of the coming pain.”

  Hurrying to the table near the fireplace, she opened the large wooden box and quickly measured out pinches of St. John’s wort, vervain, skullcap, valerian, chamomile, and crampbark into the wooden bowl and ground them with the pestle. The worts would work to relax the body and stop muscles from knotting. The ointment she had Jenna fetch also contained most of these in the special salve. It would ease his surface distress. Mixing the finely ground powder with water in a cup until dissolved, she then carried it to the bed.

  “Sir Knight, please drink.” She lifted the cup to his sensual lips, which were no longer tinged blue. Again, she was struck by just how handsome he was—nay, the man was
beautiful.

  The lids lifted on his eyes; their power hit her full force. Their paleness like liquid silver. That alone would be striking enough, but around the dark inner circle was a ring of amber. Never had she seen eyes such as his, so lovely she could lose herself in their shimmering depths. She had seen plenty of gray eyes before; they oft looked dull or flat. None had the special brilliance of this man’s. The outer edge of the paleness had another ring, this time of black, which only made the eyes stand out. Arresting.

  A razor to her soul.

  Skena could not think, could hardly breathe. She stood enthralled by the stranger’s spellbinding eyes. They were sleepy, softening their effect. A shiver slithered up her spine as she considered how it would be to see them alert, focused.

  See the fires of hunger burn in them for her.

  “Skena, I fetched broth,” Muriel said, as she shuffled into the room. It broke the enchantment that held Skena frozen. The elderly woman put the small metal pot on the stand by the bed. “Enough for you both. Brought two spoons. Figure you will get more into him if you feed him, lass.”

  “Thank you, Muriel. Can you and Jenna please set more warming stones to heating? Then change the covers to dry once we move him? See the bed is as warm as we can get it.”

  After taking a swallow of the wort mixture, the knight scowled and pushed the cup away. “What foul poison do you feed me?” he grumbled.

  “Oh aye, tastes like it was brewed with stump water, no doubt. Even so, you needs must choke it down, my braw warrior. Quickly.”

  He looked up at her, then offered her a lopsided smile. “Skena?”

  “Aye, ’tis my name. You remembered.” On impulse she reached out and brushed the three damp curls back from his high forehead. “And what is your name, Sasunnach?”

  “Noel…de Servian,” he managed to get out before a shiver racked his body. His eyelids fluttered, half-closing. She could see the gooseflesh on his skin. Not good, still better than his body ignoring the cold. The words were slurred as though he had a hard time concentrating. “I am at Glenrogha? Where is Brishen…my horse?”

  “Leave it to a man to fash about his bloody horse. Your mighty steed is fine, well fed and safe within my stable. Come, drink up, and I will answer all your questions.” She aided him in turning up the cup to drink the dark liquid. “Good. You can wash the horrid taste down with a wee bit of broth. It helps warm your blood as well.”

  She nearly jumped when he placed his arm about her back to help steady himself, and then scooted to the edge of the bed. It brought her in close contact with him, which in turn sent her heart to rocking. Well, it was not every day a man as bare as a newborn babe held on to her! And never one so pretty, so perfectly formed. That sort of excitement was not good for her, she knew. Chilled, too, she had to be careful about sudden jolts to her heart until she was warm once more. Forcing deep breaths, she tried to slow the pace. Her silly heart failed to pay heed. Her reaction to him was upsetting, frightening. No man had ever before caused such a flutter inside her, forced it to be hard to draw air.

  And she paid for it. The increased pounding set her blood to speed up. Thick from being chilled, it ached coursing through her. Noticing he had not finished everything in the cup, she picked it up and drank the dregs. Pain came from the cold, yes, but more because of the effect he had upon her body.

  “My lady, you hurt?” Muriel touched her right arm in concern.

  Not capable of guising her feelings, Skena failed to meet her old nurse’s stare. The woman held the power to discern her thoughts only too well. “Some. Being in the cold slowed my blood. The warming is always distressful. Like when you sit on your foot too long and try to stand.”

  “Drink some broth, lass. You must keep from taking ill,” Muriel whispered the warning. “This warrior needs all your skills to save him. Auld Bessa taught you much, but it will take your strength to see him through this.”

  “I will drink it, soon. He needs it more.” Skena fed him a spoonful of the hot broth. Then a second. So caught in the web of magic spun from his ensorcelling gaze, she was barely aware of Owen and Kenneth dragging in the wooden tub. De Servian’s glimmering eyes watched her every move, her every reaction to him. By the fifth spoonful, the potion’s effect was starting to hit his mind. She quickly gave him a bit more liquid, while they filled the tub. “Make sure the water is only warm. ’Tis too distressing to stand it hot at the start. Howbeit, put cloths into a pan and soak them with hot water. I need to put those on his neck and chest to heat the heart first.”

  Noel de Servian appeared alert, but Skena kenned that was often deceiving. Auld Bessa told how men too long out in the cold would go running around and actually yank off their clothing, their minds too numb to know the difference between hot and freezing. The blue tinge was leaving his lips, fingers, and ears. The shivering was more violent. Clearly, his muscles were not responding. His movements were slow, labored as he tried to push the spoon away. He frowned at his hand as if not understanding why it failed to respond as he wanted.

  “Skena?” he asked again, puzzled. “Where am I?”

  “At Craigendan. You told me you were going to Glenrogha, but became lost in the snowstorm.” She hoped if he talked he might fight the lethargy.

  “Challon…I sought him,” he finally said.

  She nodded. “You spoke that was your aim. When the storm lessens and is not dangerous, I will send word to Glenrogha to let the Earl Challon ken you are at Craigendan and safe.”

  “At Craigendan?” He tried to stand, so she jumped to support him by putting her arms around his waist.

  Muriel clucked her tongue and rushed to wrap a sheet about his hips. “You are a braw and bonnie lad, Sir Noel, but my old heart cannot take all your fine splendor at once.”

  Bemused, he watched the elderly lady tuck the fabric in at his waist, plainly unawares he had been without any clothing. While that brought a fleeting smile to Skena, it showed how the cold still had him in its grip. She needed to get him into the tub without delay.

  “Can you walk, Sir Noel? We have a warm bath prepared for you.” She gave a nod to Galen, who took the knight’s arm and wrapped it about his neck to help prop up the warrior.

  De Servian’s steps were uncontrolled, but they finally got him to the tub, and with a little maneuvering, into the warm water. It seemed to sap his remaining strength, so she permitted him to lean against the side of the tub and rest.

  “Galen, you and the lads go beek yourselves by fireside. I will call you again if I need help getting him from the tub. I do not think I will. He will regain his strength as he shakes the cold from his flesh,” she assured him. Recalling it was her night to keep watch on the wall, she fussed, “By Bel’s fire!”

  Galen turned at her exclamation. “My lady, what troubles you?”

  “This night is my turn to hold watch upon the—” she started to explain only to have her retainer cut her off.

  “Mind your tongue, Skena.” His eyes jerked to the warrior and then back to her with a stern glare, silently admonishing her that their secrets were not for the man’s ears. “Fash not, on this night few souls would be daft enough to venture out in this stour. Not even a bloody Campbell would be so mooncalf as to take the risk. One less doing their duty will matter little. You stay. You are needed here if you have your mind fixed upon saving this knight of King Edward. Though I would bend your ear on the wiseness of that path, I have doubt you would heed my words.”

  “You are right, my friend. Even a Campbell would not go aroaming in this whiteout, and right again, I will hear no discourse on withholding treatment that saves this man’s life.” She exhaled her trepidation. “I will deal with consequences of his coming soon. Too soon, I fear.”

  Jenna and Muriel finished changing the bed and then wadded up the damp bedclothes. Her maidservant glanced to the bowl by the bed and back to Skena. “You have not touched the broth, lass. Now it cools,” she chided. “I will fetch you some more.”

  �
��You have my thanks, Jenna, but I am not hungry this eve,” Skena replied.

  Jenna placed her fists on her hips and frowned. “Do not try to pull the wool over these eyes, Skena MacIain. I ken you miss supper to see others have a full belly these past sennights. Stop that. We need you. Many depend upon you, lass. You require your strength to stay healthy and get through this winter. So you will be eating your supper, or I will get Galen and Owen to pin you while I pour it down your throat.”

  “Very well.” Skena gave Jenna’s arm a squeeze to let the woman know she appreciated the fussing over her.

  Muriel held back, hesitating, but finally stepped closer as Jenna closed the door. “Skena, did you see the man’s side?”

  Skena gave a stiff nod. Taking the salve, she smeared it thickly across his neck and shoulders. “I meant to give it a closer look.”

  “My eyes are not as sharp as they used to be, but I have seen many a man damaged in battle. That wound is not too old. He took a dirk or mayhap a sword to his side, likely through the seam of his mail shirt. I would say not a year gone either.” Muriel appeared anxious.

  Skena’s movements stilled. Not a year gone? Dunbar? Or worse, Berwick? She did not know which would make her sicker. That she now worked to save an Englishman, when he likely had been killing her countrymen just months before, caused her empty stomach to roll.

  “My fear, the wound is tainted and was not made pure before they allowed it to heal over. Something now inflames it. Oft when a man’s skin is pierced, the weapon embeds small pieces of fabric or mail in the flesh. Injuries must be made clean before they allow the skin to seal. We needs must make a poultice, draw the impurity to the surface and then lance it. It will only grow worse and likely poison his blood. He will sicken otherwise. Mayhap die.”

  Skena knew the old woman spoke the truth. “Let us see if he makes it through this ordeal. Come morn, we can examine his side and what needs to be done. Go eat your meal.”