Devil in a Kilt (42 page)

Instead
of striking Kenneth's knee, the quarrel had lodged deeply into the bastard's
thigh.

"I
vow, 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 ugly knave of a brother-in-law bore nary a
scratch.

"I
have no cause to think it," the Sassunach drawled. "I know ‘tis
so."

"Is
there aught you dinna 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 yer uncooperative
throat," Fergus scolded from the far end of the table, "‘tis far 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.

"Be
that so?" the old seneschal quipped, meeting Duncan's stare undaunted.

Then
he tightened his hold on Duncan's ankles. "‘Twere that the truth, why do
you need six o' your most braw kinsmen 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 wildly against six pairs of restraining
hands. "Lachlan," he called out, "fetch me that jug of
wine!"

The
squire hurried to his side, a large earthen ewer in his hands. "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."

Lachlan
glanced at him then, 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, then expelled a great sigh.

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

He
was
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 nay.

Some
hours, ‘twould seem, and the blessed Apostles 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 asked crankily, 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 snapped. "Dinna try my patience, for I've not much left."

"Your
lady and Elspeth have worked well, my friend," Sir Marmaduke answered for
her. "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
o' my wounds?"

"We
couldn't pull the arrow from your arm," his wife said, her soft and gentle
tone in sharp contrast to the disquiet in her eyes. "To do so would cause
more harm than is 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 solemnly. "‘Twill 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. The mere act of talking about what
must be done made the hot, throbbing ache in his arm increase tenfold.
"Have-done-with-it," he said.

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 Sir
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 suddenly 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."

She
paused a moment to turn over the damp linen she held against Duncan's head.
"Fare you well enough to help, lass, or should I tend him myself?"

Linnet
squared her shoulders and willed her lower lip not to tremble. She'd kept
herself from crying all through the long night whilst 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
whilst 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 ‘twas a might foolish, the mute
giant, Thomas, still stood watch at the door.

Aye,
somehow she'd kept on. She'd even managed to bestow wan smiles on 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
shared their glee, too. ‘Twas with great satisfaction, 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 whilst 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 naught 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.

‘Twas
unthinkable what would have happened had Duncan's wounds been more serious.
Had
he been taken from her.
Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and a hefty
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
asked, blinking at the old woman.

"‘Tis
a-dreaming you were," Elspeth said, "I've done washed your husband's
arm and his squire's fetched the last of your poultices—can you apply it and
wrap the wound or shall I? Mayhap ‘tis best you go abovestairs and sleep."

"Nay."
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 band of clean linen.

"Thank
you, Lachlan," she said, carefully lowering Duncan's newly-bandaged arm to
the table. "We'll redress all his wounds afore he awakens."

The
squire inclined his head. "Is there aught else I can do, milady?"

"Aye,
there is." Linnet briefly touched her fingers to his arm. It trembled, and
she noted he still bore an unhealthy pallor. "You can rest
yourself."

Turning,
she 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, mayhap 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 slumber 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 vouchsafe ‘tis wise we 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 issued forth an occasional light snore.

But
she didn't want to leave him.

The
Sassunach lightly squeezed her shoulder. "‘Tis best we leave him where he
is. We would do him no favor by waking him through our efforts to transport him
elsewhere."

"But—"

"Do
not worry, 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."

A
painful constriction in Linnet's throat prevented her from replying, but she
gave him a shaky smile in gratitude.

"Fergus
and his lady will soon return with the woolens you asked them to fetch. They
will make Duncan and the other wounded men comfortable. There is naught 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.