Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 38

“Ivow, woman, if you e’er dare disobey me again, I shall hie you over my knees and whip your bare arse afore all my men who care to look!” Duncan snarled at his lady wife as she, irritatingly unperturbed, continued to torture him with her poking and prodding at his wounds.

Ignoring him, she went about her task. Even his men seemed to have forgotten to whom they owed their loyalty, turning deaf ears to his objections and ruthlessly holding him prisoner upon one of his own trestle tables.

“By the Rood, have a care!” he railed when Linnet jabbed her infernal blade deep into his injured thigh. “Saints, would you finish what Kenneth and his band of outlaws started?”

“Your lady seeks to help you, my friend,” Sir Marmaduke chastised. The English lout leaned against a nearby table, his arms smugly crossed.

Duncan shot him a glower, but he merely lifted a pewter tankard in mocking salute, then calmly took a deep draught of ale.

“Had you heeded our plea to get yourself off the battlements, you would’ve had fewer wounds needing attention.”

“Think you?” Duncan’s ire swelled. His annoying knave of a brother-in-law bore nary a scratch.

“I have no cause to think it,” the Sassunach drawled. “I know it is so.”

“Is there aught you dinnae kno-” Duncan snapped, his words ending in a sudden intake of breath as Linnet dug deeper into his torn flesh.

Sir Marmaduke shrugged and took another sip of ale.

“Hush now,” Elspeth soothed, using a cool, damp piece of linen to dab at a gash on Duncan’s temple.

“If you’d drink the wine we’ve been trying to pour down your uncooperative throat,” Fergus scolded from the far end of the table, “’tis much less pain you’d be in about now, laddie.”

“I am not in pain,” Duncan barked, shooting an angry glare down the length of the trestle table.

“Is that so?” the old seneschal quipped, meeting Duncan’s stare undaunted.

Then he tightened his hold on Duncan’s ankles. “Were that the truth, why do you need six of your most braw warriors to hold you down?”

Duncan opened his mouth to reply in kind but snapped it shut, wincing as the tip of Linnet’s probing dirk unexpectedly scraped along his thighbone.

“Saints alive!” he bellowed, bucking against six pairs of restraining hands. “Lachlan,” he called out, “fetch me that wine!”

The squire hurried to his side, a large earthen jug in his hands. “Here it is, sir.”

“Give the wine to Elspeth,” his wife told Lachlan, not looking up from her task. “Then lift his head so she can help him drink.”

“My lord?” Lachlan hesitated, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“Do as she says,” Duncan hissed through gritted teeth.

At once, the squire relinquished the jug.

A moment later, the blissfully soul-and-pain-easing wine flowed down his throat. After he’d guzzled the entire contents of the jug, Elspeth gently lowered his aching head back to the table.

“I would have more,” Duncan said, the expelled a great sigh.

But not before he’d glared at Fergus, daring the old goat to utter another of his barbed comments.

Hewas laird, after all, and he’d have all the wine he wanted.

Anything to dull the pain.

Putting on a show of bravura be damned, Fergus and his offensive banter or nae.

Some hours, it would seem, and the saints only knew how many jugs of wine later, Duncan came awake. Through a shadowy haze of pain, he peered up at his lady wife.

She leaned over him, staring down at him, and he did not care for the troubled expression clouding her amber-colored eyes. Nor did he like the taut lines of tension and fatigue etched onto her sweet face.

But mostly, he didn’t care for the way she looked at him.

It bode ill.

For him.

“Are you not yet through sticking your damnable blade in my flesh, woman? How much longer do you think to keep me here, naked and trussed up in linen bandages like a rotting corpse?” he groused, secretly shocked by the rasping, broken sound of his voice.

Rather than answer him, Linnet slid a worried look at his English brother-in-law. The great all-knowing lackwit stood beside her, also gawking down at him.

“Well?” Duncan glared at him. “Dinnae try my patience, for I’ve not much left.”

“Your lady and Elspeth have worked well, my friend,” Sir Marmaduke held his calm. “They’ve cleaned and bandaged most of your wounds. God be praised, they were able to remove all the little bits of mail, cloth, and leather embedded in your flesh. That should spare you any festering.”

Duncan focused on one word of the Sassunach’s pretty speech. “What do you mean most of my wounds?”

“We couldn’t pull the arrow from your arm,” his wife told him, her soft and gentle tone in contrast to the worry in her eyes. “To do so would cause more harm than it has already done.”

With effort, Duncan lifted his head and peered at his left arm. True enough, the arrow shaft still raged out of his arm and the skin around its entry point was puffy, the swollen flesh an angry shade of red.

“You’ll have to push it through,” he said, his gut clenching at the thought.

Linnet nodded. “It will hurt.”

Duncan let his head fall back onto the hard surface of the trestle table. “Think you I am daft?” he wheezed, weak from the effort of holding up his head. “I know it will hurt. Just have done with it.”

“Aye, we must,” she agreed. “The skin around the shaft doesn’t look good. The wound may not heal as cleanly as we’d like.”

Duncan drew in a breath through clenched teeth. Just talking about what must be done made the hot, throbbing ache in his arm increase tenfold.

“Have done with it,” he said. “I am ready.”

Linnet took her lower lip between her teeth and nodded grimly. Once more, her gaze slid to the Sassunach. He inclined his head in answer and ordered the men still gathered around the trestle table to tighten their hold on their laird.

Then Linnet took one of Duncan’s hands, lacing her fingers through his. When Marmaduke closed his large hand around Duncan’s upper arm and grasped the arrow shaft with the fingers of his other, Duncan shut his eyes.

“I am sorry, my friend,” he heard the Sassunach say … then Duncan’s very innards caught fire, and all went black.

* * *

“Praise God, he’s passed out,”Linnet said on a rush of breath as she clung to her husband’s now limp hand. She turned her face away from the bloody arrow Sir Marmaduke had just pushed through Duncan’s arm, her breath coming in quick, little gasps as she fought the nausea churning inside her.

At the head of the table, Elspeth clucked like a mother hen and pressed yet another cool cloth to Duncan’s forehead. Glancing up at Linnet, she said, “We will have to cleanse the torn flesh and apply one of your warmed yarrow poultices, then bandage his arm.”

Elspeth paused a moment to turn over the damp linen she held against Duncan’s head. “Do you feel well enough to help, lass, or should I tend him myself?”

“I … I am …” Linnet couldn’t finish, the hot thickness in her throat making it impossible to speak.

She did square her shoulders and then willed her lower lip not to tremble. She’d kept herself from crying all through the long night while caring for her husband and his injured men.

She’d cleaned wounds, stitched and poulticed jagged, torn flesh, spoon-fed soothing broth and her pain-killing tinctures to countless wearied MacKenzies, all while not once giving in to her own desire simply to curl up next to her husband’s broken body and offer him the comfort of her arms.

Once or twice she’d slipped up to her chamber to look in on Robbie. Blessedly, the lad slept soundly behind the drawn curtains of the massive bed she shared with Duncan. And, to her relief, though she knew it was foolish, the mute giant, Thomas, still stood watch at the door.

Aye, somehow she’d kept on.

She even managed to smile at the uninjured warriors as they’d sat about quaffing ale and recounting with glee how Kenneth and his brigands had made a hasty retreat, disappearing into the heavy fog in their little boats just moments after the quarrel from her crossbow had slammed into their bastard leader’s thigh.

She’d understood the men’s glee, their pride. It was with great satisfaction that she’d watched Kenneth limp toward a boat one of his men held ready for him. But she couldn’t laugh and share in their boasts while so much remained to be done – while so many men lay about the great hall, writhing in agony or moaning until their voices became so hoarse they could do nothing but lie still, their pain-glazed eyes staring up at all who passed.

And through everything, she hadn’t shed a tear.

Nor would she now. Not so long as her husband needed her.

But the saints knew she wanted to.

It was unthinkable what would have happened had Duncan’s wounds been more severe. Had he been taken from her. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and a shudder skittered down her back at the thought.

She couldn’t lose him – not now.

Not after she’d come to care so very much for him.

Rough edges and all.

Not after she’d fallen so very deeply in love with him. So much so she’d rather die, too, than live without him at her side.

“Lady?”

Linnet started, Elspeth’s voice bringing her back to herself. “Aye?” She turned to her old nurse, blinking. “What is it?”

“’Tis dreaming you were,” Elspeth said. “I’ve done washed your husband’s arm and his squire fetched the last of your poultices – can you apply it and wrap the wound or shall I? Perhaps it is best if you go abovestairs and sleep.”

“Nae.” Linnet shook her head. “I’ll see to him myself.” Reluctantly letting go of Duncan’s hand, she took the warmed linen packet Lachlan offered her. As gently as she could, she eased it around Duncan’s upper left arm, then secured it in place with a clean linen.

“Thank you, Lachlan,” she said, carefully lowering Duncan’s newly-bandaged arm to the table. “We’ll redress all his wounds before he awakens.”

“Yes, my lady.” The squire inclined his head. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Indeed, there is.” Linnet touched her fingers to his arm. It trembled, and she noted he still bore an unhealthy pallor. “You can rest yourself. Later, after you’ve slept, we’ll have Cook give you a good portion of meat broth and fresh-baked bread.”

“You are kind, my lady.”

“And you are most brave.” Turning, Linnet stooped and withdrew a small flagon from her opened herbal satchel. “I’m going to give my husband some wine laced with valerian. It will help him sleep through the morn, perhaps longer. You can lift his head so I can get the brew past his lips.”

She paused and touched the back of her hand lightly to the lad’s cold cheek. “Then I’d like you to take a wee draught of it as well.”

Color shot into Lachlan’s cheeks, and he bobbed his head again. “I thank you, lady.”

Together, Linnet, the squire, and Sir Marmaduke managed to get a goodly portion of the valerian concoction down Duncan’s throat. And, luckily, he didn’t stir but continued to sleep deeply.

Sir Marmaduke glanced at her, his good eye filled with concern. “Lady, you have done all you could this night and more. You command my deepest respect and admiration.” He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Dawn is nigh upon us, and as you have sent Lachlan to rest, I say we should both follow him and see to our own.”

Linnet’s gaze flew back to her husband, his body still half-naked save for linen wrappings. He rested well, she knew, for the rise and fall of his broad chest was steady, and he even gave an occasional light snore.

She didn’t want to leave him.

The Sassunach gently squeezed her shoulder. “It is best we leave him where he is. We would do him no favor by waking him through our efforts to transport him elsewhere.”

“I agree, but…”

“No worries, lady, he will be fine,” he assured her, using the side of his callused thumb to brush away a tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye. “He is too stubborn to be aught else.”

Linnet’s throat thickened again and she couldn’t reply, but she did give him a shaky smile in gratitude.

“Fergus and his lady will soon return with the woolens you asked them to fetch. They will make your husband and the other wounded men as comfortable as possible. There is nothing else you can do. Not this night. Duncan would want you to rest.”

He stepped back then and offered her his arm. “Come, I will escort you to your chamber.”

After a last troubled glance at her sleeping husband, Linnet took the Sassunach’s arm and let him lead her away. When they reached her room, Thomas quickly opened the door for her, but before she could enter, Sir Marmaduke stayed her with a hand to her elbow.

“The other guards have gone back down to the hall.” Flickering light from a nearby wall torch showed the concern on his ravaged face. “Would you like for me to sit by the fire while you sleep?”

“You are kind, but I will be fine,” Linnet declined, at last accepting how tired she was. She wanted nothing but to slip into bed, cradle Robbie in her arms, and sink into the mind-numbing bliss of sleep. “I only need to rest.”

“You are certain?”

“Aye.”

“As you wish, lady.” Sir Marmaduke nodded respectfully and left her alone.

She watched him go, bid young Thomas a good night, then stepped inside her room, bolting the door behind her.

Nigh asleep on her feet, she arched her lower back and stretched her aching arms above her head.

Then she crossed the room and pulled back the bedcurtains.

Robbie was gone.

A smiling man lounged upon the bed in his stead.

Before she could scream, a steely arm slid around her waist from behind, and a foul-smelling hand clamped tightly against her mouth, stifling any sound she might have made.

“Fair lady,” Kenneth drawled from the bed. “I thought you would never come.”