by Lynsay Sands
“Ye can stop thinking,” Rory interrupted solemnly. “I do have the coin fer it.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose slightly, but then he shrugged. “Very well, then. Do you need any help picking or collecting them?”
“Aye,” Rory said, getting to his feet. “Tom, Conn and Inan with me. Fearghas and Donnghail will stay here to back up Simon and Alick.” Turning to the men in question, he added, “Replace them in an hour if we are no’ back by—” Rory’s words died in his throat when a woman’s scream rang out from the upper floor.
Rory recognized it as Elysande’s voice and was moving before he quite realized it. Racing out into the hall, he charged up the stairs, vaguely aware that the men were hard on his heels. As he reached the top step, Rory spotted Simon just rushing into the bedchamber where he’d left Elysande. It was a couple of steps later that his brain recognized that the English soldier had carried a bucket and pot, one dangling from each hand by its handle, and water had been slopping out of one or the other as he’d hurried forward.
“M’lady!”
That alarmed shout from Simon made Rory’s blood run cold, and while he was moving so fast that his feet seemed hardly to touch the floor, it still felt like it took forever for him to get to the room. He tripped over something inside the door as he rushed in, and glanced down to see the pot Simon had been carrying skitter away across the floor, and then his gaze found Elysande and everything else was forgotten. She lay splayed on the floor in much the same position he found her every morning—partially on her side, and partially on her stomach, her arm and leg thrown out as they usually rested over him—but he wasn’t there and now her hand was in the ashes at the front of the fireplace. Even more alarming than that though was the blood seeping out from under Elysande’s body.
Simon was kneeling next to Elysande. As Rory reached them, the soldier caught her shoulder and turned her onto her back, pulling her hand out of the fire. Rory wanted to look at her hand and see if she’d been burned, and if so, how badly, but as he squatted across her from Simon, his gaze was transfixed by the dagger sticking out of her chest and the wound bleeding freely on her forehead.
Rory’s heart was pounding a wild tattoo in his chest. He was a healer, used to seeing the injured and the ill. He was usually the calm one when it came to such situations, but seeing Elysande like this, so helpless and pale, made his gorge rise up his throat.
“I was only gone for a minute,” Simon muttered with what sounded like dismay. Shaking his head, he then asked anxiously, “Is she dead?”
The question galvanized Rory into action. Bending, he pressed his head to her chest briefly, and then picked her up.
“Is she dead?” Simon repeated, straightening to follow him.
“Not yet,” Rory said grimly, and carried her to the bed, barking orders as he went. “I need water, clean linens and my medicinals. Now!”
Vaguely aware that the men were suddenly running every which way, Rory laid Elysande on the bed and then glanced around, his gaze landing on the open window shutters, before continuing on in search of his brother . . .
“Where is Alick?” he asked sharply.
“He went to get Lady Elysande’s weeds,” Simon answered, rushing forward with the bucket he’d left by the door. “She dropped them when she fell and only realized it when we got up here.”
Rory’s mouth tightened at this news, but his gaze lowered to the bucket the man was holding out. There was water in it, but not a lot. Rory was guessing there was more of it on the floor by the door than remained inside, but there was enough for him to at least start on washing away the blood, he thought, his gaze moving to the knife in Elysande’s chest. He couldn’t remove it until he had linens to staunch the bleeding with and—
Turning abruptly as his mind processed Simon’s words and he recalled seeing him enter the room with the bucket and pot, he asked sharply, “Neither one o’ ye was guarding the door?”
“She ordered me to fetch her water and a pot to make her liniment with. She ordered me,” he repeated helplessly, still holding out the bucket.
Rory’s mouth tightened, but he made a mental note to himself that if Elysande survived, he would make sure he left only his men to guard her in the future. Men she couldn’t order away, he thought, and told him, “Set the bucket on the bedside table.”
“Here.” Tom was beside him, holding out fresh linens and Rory’s medicinal bag.
“Thank ye,” he muttered, accepting both. He set the bag on the table, but held on to the linens and bent over Elysande. Now that he had the cloth, Rory didn’t hesitate but yanked the dagger from her chest and quickly pressed the linens over the open wound, applying pressure as he tossed the knife on the table. He waited then, watching to see how quickly the blood would soak the linen cloth, when what he really wanted to do was look at the wound itself. Unfortunately, he had to get the bleeding to stop, or at least slow down, before he would be able to examine the wound. But it seemed to him that it was actually in her breast, not as near the heart as he’d thought. There was something hard over her heart though. He could feel it against the back of his fingers through the linen. Rory had just noted that when the bedchamber door opened and Alick entered, only to stop abruptly on the threshold.
“What on earth is all over the floor? Is that wolfsbane? Christ, that’s poisonous. What—” When Alick’s question ended on a curse, Rory guessed he’d either spotted the blood by the hearth, or the men gathered around the bed, or both. But Rory was more concerned with what Alick had said, and glanced at the floor by the fireplace, noting only then that Elysande’s mortar lay on the wood, its contents spilled in a wide starburst that now had boot prints all through it.
“Do no’ come any farther into the room,” he warned Alick, and then turned to Elysande, searching for any sign that the powder might have gotten in either of her wounds. If it had, she was as good as dead. Fortunately, he didn’t see any of the powder on her face or the front of her dress. Thank God. She must have fallen just outside the starburst of powder.
Able to breathe now that he saw no sign of the poison on her, Rory glanced to his brother again. “Ye need to go get a broom. The wolfsbane needs to be swept up so we do no’ traipse it throughout the inn.”
Nodding, Alick backed out of the room at once and closed the door.
Rory shifted his attention to the men then, his gaze sliding over their footwear. “When he brings the broom back ye’ll need to brush off the bottoms of yer boots, and do it well. Mayhap even go rinse them off outside too. Use a bucket and do it far from the horse trough or any other water source.”
“Surely wolfsbane is not that poisonous?” Tom asked with concern.
“If ye take yer boots off, get any on yer hand and raise it to yer mouth without thinking and swallow some, ye’ll die. Or if ye’ve a wound on yer hand and it gets into that, ye’ll die too,” he said grimly. “That’s how poisonous it is. Ye want to make sure ’tis off yer boots ere ye touch them.”
“Jesus,” Tom breathed with dismay. “And Lady Elysande has been rubbing it on her bruises?”
“What she’s been using is no’ full strength,” Rory explained, and then glanced to the door when it opened again. Much to his relief it was Alick back with a broom. “Give it to Simon, Alick, and go fetch some whiskey from Angus. I need to clean Elysande’s wound before I sew it closed.”
Alick was gone almost before he finished speaking, and Rory said to the other men, “I need the room. But ye canno’ leave until Simon’s brushed any wolfsbane from yer boots. I will no’ have ye dragging this out into the hall and possibly poisoning one o’ the maids or another guest.” Shifting his gaze fully to Simon, he added, “Be thorough.”
He waited long enough to see Simon nod and then turned his attention back to Elysande.
The head wound wasn’t too bad, he noted. In fact, it had already stopped bleeding. The chest wound had him more concerned. Although now that he had pressure on it, the bleeding there had slowed a great deal as
well. The linen was bloody where he pressed it to the wound, but hadn’t leaked up through the bunched-up cloth to his fingers yet. That was good . . . and unexpected for such a serious injury. Daggers had to be driven deep for them to stay in. She really should be bleeding more, he thought, and then glanced toward the door, wishing Alick would hurry.
When his gaze landed on the men and he noted that half of them were already gone, he watched to be sure Simon was being careful to get the men’s boots clean. He seemed to be, but he was also quick, Rory noted as he watched him clean off the bottoms of Conn’s and Inan’s boots. When he finished those last two men and started to set the broom aside, Rory ordered, “Yers too, Simon. Ye’re leaving as well.”
“Shouldn’t I stay to help?” Simon asked with a frown.
“Nay. Tom can sweep up the floor and Alick will help me with Elysande when he returns. He’s helped me before and kens what he’s doing. Brush off yer boots and then go down to rinse them off. Then I need ye to get a bucket and mop and mop up the stairs and hall floor just in case any o’ the powder was missed,” he ordered.
Simon’s gaze slid to Elysande and his mouth compressed, but he nodded and quickly brushed the bottoms of his boots. He even brushed off the top of one where a splotch of the powder marked it, before leaning the broom against the wall and leaving.
“How bad is it?” Tom asked grimly.
Rory lifted the linen slightly to check how badly Elysande was still bleeding, and frowned again when he saw how little blood there actually was.
“You’re frowning. What does that mean?” Tom asked worriedly.
The door opened before Rory could answer and he glanced around to see Alick returning with the whiskey he’d sent him for.
“Avoid the powder on the floor, Alick,” Rory reminded him, and then glanced to Tom and said, “Sweep up as much o’ the powder as ye can while we attend to yer mistress. Ye’ll have to brush the bottoms o’ my boots too, and check Alick’s as well, but his should be fine.”
Tom hesitated, but then nodded and moved away as Alick stepped up to the bed.
“Set that on the bedside table, Alick, and then move around the bed and get yer knife out,” Rory instructed when his brother stopped next to him.
“Her gown?” Alick asked as he set the whiskey down.
“Aye. We have to cut it away, straight down the middle. I do no’ see any powder on her, but it may be on the side she was lying on, and might be on the bed furs. We’ll have to remove both. I need a clear view o’ the wound anyway.”
They worked quickly and silently, Rory keeping pressure on the wound while Alick sliced away the gown to reveal a small lumpy sack that had been tucked between her breasts above the tunic and beneath the gown.
Alick grunted as he went to pick up the small cloth sack and coins spilled out of a tear in the center, falling over her chest. As he quickly gathered up the loose coins, Alick muttered, “It looks like her attacker’s knife hit this and slid off into her breast rather than hit her heart.”
“Aye. It may have saved her life, then,” Rory said grimly, thinking Elysande had probably tucked the small pouch there to make the coins more easily accessible than they would have been in the small sack he knew was sewn into the inside of her skirts. She wouldn’t have wanted to hitch up her skirts in the shops to pay.
Once Elysande’s plaid, gown and tunic lay in strips around her, leaving her only in her breeks, Rory gave up applying pressure long enough to scoop her up so that Alick could roll the furs up and remove them from the bed, ruined clothes and all.
“Pull the top linen back,” Rory requested when Alick straightened from laying the rolled-up fur and cloth out of the way on the floor. When his brother tugged the linen back, Rory laid Elysande down again. While Rory lifted the blood-soaked linen to check her wound, Alick moved back around the bed to the bedside table where the medicinals bag was and began digging through it for what he might need.
“Needle and thread, salve and linens. Anything else?” his brother questioned as he removed items.
“Nay. That’s good,” Rory assured him, glad his brother had assisted him a time or two before and knew enough about what he was doing to be helpful. “Hand me the whiskey.”
“Were these shutters open when you brought Lady Elysande up?” Tom asked suddenly.
Rory took the whiskey from Alick and poured it over Elysande’s wound as his brother glanced around and said, “Nay,” with surprise as he noted the open shutters.
“It must be how her attacker got out, then,” Tom muttered as he now closed them. They obviously weren’t used much, for they squeaked loudly as he shut them. “We did not pass anyone in the hall or on the stairs as we rushed up.”
“He must have got in the same way, then, because Simon was guarding the door,” Alick said as Rory set the whiskey aside and began to stitch up Elysande’s wound.
“Nay, he wasn’t,” Tom said grimly. “He was below getting water and a cooking pot for Lady Elysande.”
“He left her alone?” Alick asked with shock.
“Aye,” Rory growled, some of his fury seeping into his voice as he added another stitch to his work. It was only the second one, and all that was needed. The wound wasn’t very big or deep. He should have realized that from the minimal bleeding, but the dagger had been sticking out of the wound when he’d first seen her, which usually meant a deep injury. Now he wondered if it hadn’t gone through the coin bag partway before sliding to the side and stabbing out the other side into her breast. The coin bag itself might have been what had held the blade in place, because the depth of the wound wouldn’t have done it. It hadn’t gone in far enough to hold the weight there. Aye, it must have been the coin bag, Rory thought, and shook his head, marveling at how lucky she’d been.
“Simon said Lady Elysande ordered him to get the water and cooking pot,” Tom pointed out unhappily. “As our lady he would have had to listen to her.”
“Aye,” Rory muttered as he tied off the thread and straightened to reach for the salve. “Which is why my men will be watching her from now on.”
He half expected Tom to protest, so was surprised when the man nodded wearily. “That may be for the best.”
A moment of silence passed and then Alick said thoughtfully, “So her attacker could ha’e come in the door and merely left through the window.” Glancing from Rory to Tom, he asked, “Did ye see anyone go past the door to the taproom in the minutes ere it happened?”
“Nay,” Rory said grimly. He didn’t add that he hadn’t even seen Alick leave. Believing Elysande was safe and guarded by Alick and Simon, Rory hadn’t been watching the hall while talking to the men in the taproom. Something he berated himself for now as he smeared salve over the wound and then laid a strip of linen over it.
“No one took the stairs except Simon,” Tom said with certainty. “I was watching. I would have seen.” Tilting his head, he added, “I did not even see you leave.”
“I took the back stairs and used the servants’ entrance to leave. ’Tis closer to the stables,” Alick explained, and then reasoned, “Her attacker could have come in that way. If so, he would not have had to pass the taproom.”
Tom grunted at that, but then joined them by the bed and peered down at his lady with worry. “Will she live?”
Rory hesitated, his gaze shifting from Elysande to the shuttered window and then to the door as he thought. The truth was he thought she should be fine. She hadn’t lost as much blood as he’d first feared, and the head wound appeared to be mild. He didn’t say any of that, however. Instead, he said, “I do no’ ken. She lost a lot o’ blood, and head wounds can be tricky too. If she does no’ catch a fever . . .” He shrugged, and then added, “The fact that she has no’ woken up yet despite the pain we’re causing her worries me though. ’Tis no’ looking good.”
Tom heaved an unhappy sigh at that, and turned to head for the door. “I’ll go ask the servants if anyone saw a stranger enter from the kitchens,” he decided.
/> “Brush yer boots off first,” Rory reminded him as he reached for the linen wrappings. “And bring back a bucket of water and a mop. We’ll need to clean the floor in here.”
Nodding, Tom quickly brushed off the bottoms of his boots, and then tramped out.
“Help me sit her up,” Rory requested, setting the linen wrappings on the side of the bed. He waited for Alick to crawl on the bed and kneel on the other side of Elysande, and then they lifted her up and Alick held her upright by the shoulders while Rory began to wrap the linen around her chest.
“Fer all the blood on the floor, it did no’ look to me like the chest wound is verra deep,” Alick commented after a moment.
“Nay, it is no’,” Rory agreed.
“And the knife did no’ hit any vital organs,” he pointed out. When Rory grunted in acknowledgment, he added, “I’ve seen ye heal worse than this.”
“Aye,” Rory muttered as he worked.
“And ye’re usually no’ so pessimistic with family and friends,” he pointed out. When Rory didn’t comment, he asked, “Why are ye wanting Tom to think she’s dying?”
Rory didn’t respond for a long moment, and then admitted, “I do no’ ken. Something’s bothering me, but I ha’e no’ had a chance to think what it is. I need to think about . . .” He let his words trail away as he worried over the thoughts running through his head.
“Something’s bothering ye about what? Tom?” Alick asked with a frown.
“Nay.” He shook his head firmly, quite sure Tom had nothing to do with what was troubling him. But something was tickling at the back of his mind. He just couldn’t seem to grasp it yet and needed time to consider everything that had happened. Lifting his head, he met Alick’s gaze and said, “I’m thinking ’tis best to let everyone think she’s at death’s door. If one o’ de Buci’s men is sniffing about and hears she’s dying it might prevent another attempt and keep her safe until we can sort this out or get her to Buchanan.”