by Merry Farmer
Senga did not move. She waited to see if anyone followed the men or if there was anyone else in the passageway. When she heard nothing, she pulled all her knives free and placed them back in their sheaths, not bothering to wipe any clean. Now that they had breached the cabin, she knew she was not safe in such an enclosed space. She would be safer finding somewhere to hide on deck. The hold was where the Spaniards would attempt to reach, so she had no intention of being in that enclosed space either. Senga pushed her braid beneath the collar of the leine she wore and tore a strip from the bottom to tie over her head both to keep her hair from her eyes and to hide it. She hoped it would make it less obvious at first glance that she was a woman. She grabbed both of her falchions before slipping from the cabin.
Senga inched her way toward the stairs and then crept to the deck. She waited and watched before moving forward slowly. She looked around and could see Ruairí’s crew still had the upper hand, even though there were bodies strewn across the deck. Senga spotted Tomas a moment later, as he was a mountain of a man. He fought two Spaniards at once while Kyle kept another man from reaching the wheel. Senga looked toward the other boat and tried to find Ruairí. When she spotted him on the other ship, she ducked behind a stack of barrels and peered around, never taking her eyes off him. She felt like she was crouched there forever before time slowed to a stop, and her vision tunneled to where Ruairí fought two men. There was no way he could see the third man approaching from behind him. Senga was out from behind the barrels and across the deck before she thought about what she was doing. She leaped onto the rail and a plank as she pulled a knife out. She hurtled it across the divide and watched it land in the man’s throat, but not before the now-dead man’s sword cut across Ruairí’s ribs. Senga saw blood spread through the material of Ruairí’s leine as he continued to fight the men in front of him. He did not slow despite the wound, but Senga knew he could not keep up his defenses forever now that he was bleeding. She watched in horror as Ruairí stumbled backwards and a sword pierced him below his ribs. Senga’s battle cry would be one the crew would talk about for years to come. Senga was across the planks and onto the Spanish ship before any of her victims realized what was coming. She struck without mercy as she fought her way to Ruairí’s side. Senga cut down men twice her size with the confidence that years of training brought. She had not sparred during her time on Canna, but the few days spent practicing aboard the Lady Charity had been enough to remind her body of what it could do.
Ruairí’s crew would later say she fought like the shieldmaidens they were sure she was descended from. Senga felt the nicks and cuts from the various encounters, but she never received wounds like Ruairí’s. She reached him as he sank to his knees, his neck wide open for attack. She swung her cleaver falchion down onto one of Ruairí’s opponents as he raised his arm to attack. The man’s forearm landed on the deck with a thunk as blood sprayed onto Ruairí’s face and chest. Both the enemy and Ruairí turned to look toward her, stunned, as she parried with Ruairí’s other opponent. She cut down both men and stood over Ruairí’s body daring anyone to come near her. Many of the enemy took one look at her bared teeth, the blood splattered on her, and the determination in her eyes and chose other prey.
Ruairí could feel nothing but the searing pain along his ribs. He felt as though someone had cut him in half, and he was not sure he was actually still in one piece. He saw Senga jump in front of him and tried to reach for her, but his body was unwilling to cooperate. His head felt as though it floated a mile above him, and he shook it to clear the dizziness. He tried to call out to her, to tell her to hide rather than fight, but no sound came from his mouth as he lay prostrate at her feet. He turned his head toward her, so he could see every attack she warded off and every man that fell dead at her feet. He wanted to both praise and punish her for taking such risks. He had told her to remain locked away in their cabin, and she had disobeyed him. Now he could not protect her. The ironic thought she was doing a fine job protecting him crossed his mind before everything went black.
Chapter 9
The battle lasted less than an hour, but Senga was sure it lasted the entire day. By the end Ruairí’s crew was victorious, but suffered serious casualties including their injured captain. As Kyle issued orders for the men to empty the hold and transfer all the booty to their ship, Senga issued orders for four men to move Ruairí to their cabin. He groaned enough while they carried him to convince Senga he was not dead. She entered before the men carrying him and swept the table clear before ordering him placed upon it.
“Get me any and all alcohol you can find. I need a candle lit and boiling water. Now.”
She did not look around to see who carried out her orders, she just heard running feet and the murmur of voices moving away from the cabin. Senga tore open Ruairí’s shirt and wanted to heave when she saw how deep the wound was on his front. She stepped around him and managed to pull him mostly onto his side so she could see the wound to his back. That was not as severe as she imagined, even though it still bled profusely.
She pulled clean linens from the chest where Ruairí stored them and began cutting varying lengths of bandages. Snake Eye returned with an armful of jugs and bottles Senga new contained whisky and ale. She glanced over at him before looking back at Ruairí.
“Thank you. I’ll look at that gash on your head when I’m done with the captain.”
Snake Eye only nodded as he stared at Ruairí. He moved aside when another man arrived with two pots of boiling water. While she waited for someone to light a candle, she said a prayer of thanksgiving that she had brought her sewing kit with her. Until then, she had darned some of Ruairí’s clothes, but otherwise it sat unused in her chest.
Senga looked at the wound to Ruairí’s back and decided that was the better one to start on. He would have to rest on either his front of his back when she worked on the opposite side. She would rather he rested on his back than his stomach since that wound was far worse. Senga grabbed a jug and pulled the stopper loose. Senga looked at Ruairí as she took a long drag of whisky. She poured hot water into the wash basin and scrubbed her hands with soap. She had no idea why it mattered, but she learned from her mother that she should never tend a wound with dirty hands. Senga also knew she would have to put Ruairí in far more pain before she could ease his pain.
“Hold his arms and legs,” she ordered anyone and everyone. She folded a strip of linen and put it between Ruairí’s teeth. “He will buck even if he doesn’t awaken. You cannot let him loose.”
Senga gritted her teeth as she rolled him back onto his side and the men took hold. She did not even look to see who helped her before pouring a liberal amount of whisky into and around Ruairí’s wound. He writhed in pain and groaned, but his eyes never opened.
“Keep holding him,” she ordered as she wiped away the blood and grime from near the gash with linen she dipped into the boiling water. Senga spotted the lit candle and pulled a needle and thread from her sewing kit. She held the needle in the flame until it glowed then she passed the thread through the flame, too. She paused and tilted her head to the ceiling, eyes closed as she prayed. Without a word, she began to sew Ruairí closed.
Ruairí felt a burning unlike anything he had felt since his battle with the corsairs years ago. He knew it should not have surprised him, since the ship they encountered was Spanish, but the crew were Barbary pirates. They were the same sort of men who had attempted to kill him years ago. Apparently, they were back to finish the job.
Ruairí struggled to open his eyes, but they refused to cooperate. He sensed people moving around him, but it was as though he had wool in his ears. He could not hear or see anything. The burning would not stop, and his body tried to pull away, but something pinned him down. He willed his body to fight the weight so he could escape the pain, but both the weight and the pain were unrelenting. He tried to yell, but he was sure nothing came out besides a groan. Ruairí tried to focus on what was happening, but nothing made sense. His m
ind seemed to be telling him to float away as if on driftwood. As he tried to fight against it, he smelled the lilac and rose scent he would forever associate with Senga. It wafted to him, and his mind won. He drifted into blackness.
Senga sewed as quickly but carefully as she could. She poured whisky over the wound several times as she created a row of even, small, and tight stitches. When she finished stitching his back, she placed a stack of bandages on the table and told the men to roll him back over. She wiped her brow and took another long swig of whisky before she moved onto the wound below his ribs. “Hold him tighter. This time will hurt even more. The wound is far deeper.”
As she poured the whisky over the gaping hole, she could see further into the gash. She was sure she could see the tip of his rib. She swallowed the bile that wanted to rise in her throat. With no medicinal flowers or herbs, there was nothing she could do to pack the wound and prevent infection. She had to decide how she would stitch the wound closed. She knew it was not enough to just stitch the top layer of skin, leaving an open tunnel to his insides just below the surface. However, she feared sewing it so tightly that the flesh could not grow back properly causing his body to rot at worst or diminish his range of motion at best.
Senga once again tilted her head back as she looked to the ceiling. This prayer was far longer as she asked God to guide her in how to heal the man she undoubtedly loved. She pushed the thought of love out of her mind as a wave of regret tried to consume her. She wished she had stopped him before he left and said it back to him. Now he might never know.
She worked through the afternoon as she took care stitching together what she could within the wound then the surface. When she was done, she fell into the chair Tomas rushed to push beneath her. He, Kyle, Snake Eye, and a man she learned they called Rollo had helped her throughout the surgery, doing any and everything she asked. She swept her tired gaze to Kyle before swallowing the tears that wanted to force their way out. She would save that for when she had privacy.
“We have to go ashore somewhere, Kyle. I have to collect medicinals for him, otherwise, I fear we will lose him to infection.”
“It may take us days to sail somewhere we can anchor,” Kyle shook his head.
Senga was on her feet with a blade beneath Kyle’s throat.
“You either find somewhere to sail to or don’t fall asleep.” She nicked his skin to make her point. “You saw me today. I know you did. Don’t doubt my willingness to sacrifice you, any of you, for him.”
Kyle pushed her wrist away before nodding.
“I want him to survive too, Senga. He’s my friend as much as he is my captain. I will do what I can, but we are not in friendly seas. You may not know it, but those were not Spaniards. They were Barbary corsairs. They buccaneered the carrack from a Spanish captain before we found them. We passed Gibraltar but are still close to the north coast of Africa. We must sail closer to Europe, but that will bring about danger from Spanish and French pirates. Even if we go ashore, none of us speak the language well enough to ask for what you need. Our vocabularies are a mite more limited and specific.”
Senga glared at him knowing he meant they only knew how to order drinks and women. She walked around to one of the maps she knocked to the floor earlier. She picked it up and held it out to Kyle.
“Where do you think we are?”
Kyle pointed to the map and the area near the southern tip of Spain. Senga bit her lip.
“It’ll take at least six days to sail just to the south of England. We can’t wait that long. He could be dead by then. Are there no bays or coves we could sail into? I could go ashore and look for the few plants I have to have. We wouldn’t have to see or speak to anyone.”
Kyle looked between the map and Senga who still held the dirk.
“We can try.”
“That’s all I’ll ask for.”
Chapter 10
Once the men helped her move Ruairí to the bed and left the cabin, Senga sank onto the chair beside the bed. She took his hand and breathed a sigh that it was neither too hot nor too cold.
“You can’t leave me alone on this ship full of pirates, Ruairí. Stay with me. I need you, mo chridhe, mo ghràidh.” My heart, my love.
Senga clenched her eyes closed, but the tears still leaked from them.
“Why did you have to tell me you love me then walk away? I never got to say it back. I didn’t even get to think about it.” Senga let the tears fall. “I don’t even know if I can tell you. Every man I have loved or trusted has abandoned me to death. My father, my husband, my son, and now you might too. Ruairí, I need you too much. I can’t let you go. But perhaps, if I don’t love you, then you will live. Is it my love that kills the men in my life? Am I a curse that brings nothing but sorrow? Live, and I will leave you. Not because I want to, but if that is the sacrifice God demands, then I will walk away knowing you are hale once more.”
She bent to kiss the back of his hand, and she was sure she felt a meek squeeze of her fingers, but when she waited and watched, Ruairí did nothing else. The only movement was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
The next four days passed with little to distinguish night from day as Senga refused to leave Ruairí’s side. She fed him broth sip by sip and insisted he have water and nothing else to drink. She bathed his wounds with whisky, then linens soaked in more boiling water. She changed the bandages throughout the day and night. She kept vigil, praying he would not develop a fever. She awoke early on the fifth morning to an inferno blazing beside her forehead. She had fallen asleep once again leaning against the bedside, holding Ruairí’s hand. She reached out to touch his skin but already knew what she would find. She dipped a cloth into the basin of water and placed it onto his forehead before going to the door and calling for Kyle. Senga paced the cabin while she waited and nearly jumped out of her skin when Kyle walked in.
“He’s developed a fever. We can’t wait any longer to go ashore. I know we must be close to the north of France by now. There has to be somewhere we can go ashore. I don’t need a village or town. I just need somewhere with an open field or trees nearby.”
“It’s not that easy, Senga.” Kyle held his hands up as Senga reached for a dirk. “I’m not disagreeing with you, nor am I saying no. I’m just warning you it’s not as simple as spotting land and weighing anchor.”
“I know that. But you have to do something, or we will lose him.”
Senga did exactly the opposite of what she intended. She burst into body-wracking sobs as she sank to her knees. She had not sobbed in years. Senga believed most of her tears dried up when her husband and babe died. Now they flooded her cheeks and dripped from her chin. Kyle eased her to her feet and led her to a chair, but before she could sit, she heard a croak. She looked to Ruairí and saw he reached out his hand to her. Kyle helped her to the beside and pushed the chair under her.
“Sen--” Ruairí’s voice was too hoarse to say more. Senga tilted a cup of cool water to his lips but only allowed him enough to wet his throat. “Senga.”
He said no more but his fingers wrapped hers even if his grip was weak.
Senga looked up to Kyle, pleading with her eyes. He nodded and left the cabin.
It took another day before Senga heard a call to drop anchor. She looked out the porthole but could not see land. Ruairí had not moved or said anything else since he whispered her name. She continued to speak to him throughout the day and night, even though she was not sure if he could hear her.
“I must go ashore, mo chridhe. I’ll try not to be long, but I must search for anything I can use to bring down your fever. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.” She tried to infuse some humor into her voice, but it sounded more like begging to her own ears.
Tomas rowed her ashore, but they had to wade the last few feet.
“Bluidy hell, that’s brisk,” she grumbled to herself, but it gave her an idea.
Tomas helped her climb a natural path to the top of the cliffs they stopped near. She looked ar
ound and was not sure what she would find. She had seen trees as they approached, so she hoped she might discover something she could use. The pair moved in silence toward the trees, keeping their eyes peeled for anyone or anything that might alert their presence. When Senga arrived at the first few trees, she worried that she had wasted everyone’s time, but as she moved further into the woods, she could have whooped with joy. She spotted yarrow, which was the most important medicinal she needed. She found the wormwood that would work well with the yarrow to keep infection away from the wounds; Senga had seen small red streaks beginning to form around the edges of his front wound. She also found cloves, henbane, and angelica. They were all ingredients she could use to bring his fever down and help him fight infection from the inside out.
As she looked around, another thought came to her. She had considered none of the items Ruairí’s crew ransacked from the corsairs’ ship, but she remembered something her mother once told her about. She had explained to Senga that the myrrh spoken of in the story of Christ’s birth could also heal. Her mother told her it came from far-away lands and had a distinct smell. Senga wondered if there had been any in the cargo they plundered.
