The Witch of Black Isle by Keira Montclair
Chapter Ten
Jennet was stunned, her hand coming up to touch the spot where Ethan’s lips had touched her cheek. What had come over him?
She felt a sudden urge to call out to him, to ask him to remember her, but she pressed it back, keeping it close where she was the only one who could see her need.
She didn’t know, and she didn’t have time to consider it. He was leaving her, so that was the end of their relationship. He assumed she’d return to Black Isle because her cousins were there, but she didn’t know where she’d be in a moon.
What would happen to her father?
Forcing her mind away from Ethan, she tugged her scarf around her neck and hurried back into the keep. Her mother sat near the hearth, speaking with Torrian, Gregor, and Bethia.
She sat down, and four serious faces turned to stare at her. They bored into her as if she had the answer to all their problems, as if she were the only one capable of fixing Papa. Her mother finally said, “You are ready, I think.”
Torrian said, “Are you convinced this is the right path?”
Jennet replied, “I am sure of this. I think it best that Mama and I look at the wound together, in a good light, and the only way to do that is to scrub it clean. Papa won’t like it, but he’ll have to tolerate it until I can see it. We will need someone to hold a torch as close as possible for us. I don’t know that the candle and the light from the window will be strong enough. Do you agree, Mama?”
“Aye, I have all the tools we’ll need in the chamber already. Bethia will fetch the hot water that is simmering inside. We’ll wash everything with it, just because it makes me feel better. I know they’re so clean, but I only want previously boiled water on the wound, once it has cooled. I have a fresh batch of salve to apply, also. I just pray you see something I haven’t.” She reached over and squeezed Jennet’s hand.
Gregor said, “I’ll hold the torch.”
Torrian added, “Bethia and I will sit with him at the head, try to keep him calm.”
Her mother stood up and said, “We need to get this done. He was more feverish when I was in after the midday meal. Bethia, bring the heated water and we’ll meet you inside.”
The group moved inside the chamber, and Torrian’s voice carried across the space first. “Da, time to wake up and let Jennet see your wound.” He moved to the window and pulled the furs back.
Their father stirred a wee bit, but not much. Gregor sat on a stool next to the bed and said, “Jennet is here to assist you finally, Papa. Wake up for her. I hate to have to get you off that bed.”
“Quade, wake up,” her mother said, her voice showing a rare agitation.
He opened his eyes, shielded them from the light from the window, then quickly closed them again. “I’ll see Jennet on the morrow. Let me sleep, please. Brenna, send them out.”
Bethia brought the heated water in and began to fill two different pitchers from the bucket. She placed the rest in a basin. “Papa, wake up,” she called out in a singing lilt.
Groans from the mound of furs was all they heard. And one word. “Cold.”
Gregor said, “I’ll put more wood in the hearth.”
Papa grumbled and rolled over.
Jennet took over Gregor’s stool so she could sit close to him. She pulled the covers back and looked closely at her father. Quade Ramsay’s skin was pale and dry, his lips cracked, his frame much thinner than it had ever been. The man who’d helped lead his clan to one of the strongest positions in all the land appeared tragically frail at the moment. She placed her hand against his forehead and said, “You’re burning up, Papa. We’re going to uncover you and look at the wound. You may sleep until we’re done.”
His eyes flew open, finding Jennet’s face. Then a smile emerged, his white teeth like a beacon in the dark.
Gregor drawled, “She always was your favorite, Papa, was she not?”
“This day she is, Gregor,” he answered. “The morrow you will be my favorite. Will that suit you?”
Gregor chuckled. “Sure, if it happens. I have my doubts.”
Jennet kissed her father’s forehead and said, “I’ll do my best not to cause you any pain, Papa.”
“’Twill be impossible. The pain worsens every day. But I’ll do my best to tolerate it as long as you don’t touch that one spot.”
“Which spot?” she asked, wondering about the peculiarity he spoke of.
“The one at the base of the wound. Do not touch it. Please, Jennet.”
Jennet glanced at her mother, who only arched her brow at the command.
Bethia’s voice rang out, “Surely you trust Jennet, Papa. Stop traumatizing Jennet with your demands.”
He looked at Bethia and said, “Leave it to the middle daughter to try to put me in my place.”
Bethia kissed his cheek and said, “Love you, Papa. Drystan wishes for you to come watch how he’s improved with his archery.”
Gregor said, “And Linet and I have a new bairn coming who would like to know their grandsire, so you need to get out of that bed.”
Jennet pulled the covers back and freed the wound just beneath his knee so she could look at it while he was distracted by the others. It was full of putrid pus and ready to burst open. She was surprised it wasn’t draining its foul contents all over the bedding. She motioned for her mother to place a linen beneath the wound so when she opened it, it wouldn’t ruin the bedding.
Her mother closed her eyes when she looked closely at it, shaking her head.
“It has appeared this full before, Mama?”
“Aye, the first time was green, but I cleaned it well so the other two times it was white.”
“This appears more yellow to me, Mama.” That could be worse. Any color was worse than clear or white, or so she thought. “Gregor, could you bring the torch closer, please?”
Gregor did, but she heard an odd sound over her shoulder, so she glanced up at him. “Gregor?”
“’Tis disgusting,” he whispered. “Even the odor.”
“I heard that, Gregor.” Their father never opened his eyes, instead keeping his face buried in the furs.
Jennet said, “Will you be sick? Because I need to open this and the odor will worsen.”
“Nay, I’ll be fine.”
Torrian chuckled behind him. “If you cannot handle it, I’ll take over.”
Jennet took a needle and held it up to the flame of the torch, holding it for a brief time before removing it to cool before. She placed the tip of it to the skin of her father’s shin. The importance of setting anything to a flame that was to be used in a person’s skin had been repeated many times by her mother and other healers.
As soon as she pierced the skin, the rotten fluid poured out of the wound, the white and yellow mixing with a bit of blood here and there. The area was the size of a toddler’s hand, full of vile fluid. Her father said nothing, so she didn’t bother him, hoping he was asleep. Bethia stood behind Gregor and closed her eyes to signal that their father was indeed asleep.
“Bethia, bring the basin closer, please,” her mother said.
“I think I know the meaning of decay now. His leg is decaying, is it not, Mama?” Gregor asked.
Lily knocked and stuck her head in the door. “Why did you not invite me in with all the brothers and sisters?” Her face showed how insulted she was.
Jennet looked at her mother, who quickly said, “Step closer, Lily. See what we’re doing.”
Lily moved closer and peeked over Gregor’s shoulder.
“Ack,” she said, gagging at the view and the growing odor. “Never mind. I love you, Mama. You always know what’s best for me.” She hurried back out the door, closing it softly behind her.
Her mother smiled. Everyone knew Lily had the weakest of stomachs, her belly turning flip-flops at the slightest odor or sight of blood. “She’ll never make a healer.”
Jennet smirked and said, “Nay, not our Lily. She has other special talents.”
“As we all do,” Bethia pronounced.
Jennet said, “Would someone hand me one of the pitchers, please?”
Torrian handed it to her. “Mama, I think it’s finished draining on its own. I wish to run water over it so more will leave his body. Then it will be easier for me to see and it won’t require as much digging, the kind that hurts Da. Can you hold the basin there to catch it?”
Torrian stepped in and said, “I’ll do it.”
Jennet poured the clear liquid slowly over the wound after testing it to make sure it wasn’t too warm. This time, their father awakened. “No more than that, lass. ’Tis painful enough to put that much pressure on it.”
“Papa, there is no pressure. ’Tis just water.”
“’Tis enough. Wash it and pat it dry, then you may all leave. It does feel better being drained. Your mother always does a fine job of it.” Bethia held a candle, so Jennet motioned her closer. As she held the candle over her shoulder, it tipped accidentally and drops fell onto Jennet’s hand, burning her in several places. She bit back a yelp, determined to tolerate the small inconvenience. She had work to do.
“I’ll put the poultice on it, then the bandage to catch any more draining from it. Jennet wishes to look at it first, Quade.”
“Fine, look and be done, Jennet. No touching.”
Jennet didn’t know how to tell her sire that she still planned to scrub the wound, though she wanted to study it first. When the pitcher was empty, she handed it back to Torrian, then motioned for Gregor to move the torch closer. Peering at the wound, she could see that the most inflamed part was at the base. The skin was opened in three places, indicating he must have banged into three rocks when he fell. Or sticks possibly. Each wound was ragged, and they weren’t far apart, so they could easily be bandaged together.
The top two wounds appeared to be nearly healed. The pus came mostly from the lowest and largest wound. The edges were ragged, red, and warm to the touch. Taking a linen square, Jennet gingerly touched the top part where she thought she saw something that looked like a piece of dirt, but it was nothing. Then she touched the upper part of the inflamed wound, as lightly as possible.
“Jennet, I told you not to touch it.”
“But I must wash it, Papa. It could need a good scrubbing.”
“Nay, no scrubbing. ’Tis too painful.”
“Da,” Torrian said. “Deal with the pain for a moment in case it could put you to rights again. ’Twould be worth it.”
“Aye, if it were just a wee bit, but ’tis not. ’Tis extremely painful. You may have to cut it off. Probably the only way to put an end to it. Just cut my leg off beneath my knee.”
Her mother responded to that as if it were her own leg. “Quade, I’m not cutting your leg off. I’ve told you that. Your foot is fine, and you need it.”
Jennet leaned back, indicating she needed them to pause for a moment. If he would fall back asleep, he could miss most of the pain. She’d try to finish before he could yell at her. She had to prepare herself for the possibility that her dear sire might be screaming at her soon.
As if she’d read her mind, her mother said, “If he yells at you, he won’t mean it.”
After a few minutes of waiting, his breathing evened out and his eyes closed. She was going to do it and finish as quickly as she could.
Torrian said, “If you must hurt him to fix it, then do it, Jennet. He’ll thank you later.”
She nodded at her half-brother, hoping he was correct, because this was going to be painful. She glanced at her mother and gave her a determined nod. She knew what she had to do. Bethia and Torrian moved up near the head of the bed, just in case their father awakened.
Her mother handed her the linen square covered with her potion to scrub out the poisons with. Jennet rubbed the sides of the cloth together to spread the potion out, then tenderly touched the cloth to the wound, hoping he wouldn’t awaken.
She was wrong.
“Jennet, stop now!” Her father’s voice echoed louder than she’d ever heard it, but she was determined to finish.
Her mother agreed with her because she said, “Quickly, do the worst spot.”
So she did. She scrubbed where the wound was the reddest and warmest. She did a fast scrub, praying she’d finish before her father lost all his control.
But it wasn’t to be. His upper body came off the bed with a roar, her name screamed out for all to hear, but she was not prepared for the worst. She turned her head to look at him and speak his name, but she would not get that far.
As she continued to scrub, ignoring his protests, his arm came up in a wide arc before swinging down hard, aimed directly for her face.
She dropped the linen square, jumped backward, and screamed.
Torrian caught his arm just before he struck her. Jennet heard all the other voices in the chamber telling Quade Ramsay to stop.
But the look of hatred and the threat of physical harm affected her more than a strong slap across the face.
She ran. Straight for the door and into the great hall.
She was never coming home again.