“It’s not as bad as it looks there,” she told him, her voice calm and confident. “When you cut your head it always bleeds a lot. Before we can bandage it, we need it to stop bleeding.”
Dallan helped the boy apply pressure to the wound, both of them watching Niamh inspect the damaged leg. She looked back up at the lad. “Can you manage on your own a moment?”
When he nodded, she motioned Dallan over to her. “We need to set this before she comes to, otherwise it will be more painful for her.”
Dallan had never seen this side of Niamh. Of course he’d seen her navigate difficult situations, or exercise skill in a task. He’d even seen her help a few of the survivors from the attack.But he’d never seen such an impressive combination of the two. For the first time since she’d fallen back into his life, he felt that he was really seeing her, seeing who she had grown into since they’d parted.
And she was incredible.
She talked him through helping her turn the leg so that she could use the honey to stave off ill humors and then wrap it tightly. “It’ll need more work, but it’s better done in the infirmary. This will suffice for now.” She turned back to the lad. “How’s the bleeding?”
He lifted the linen, showing that the flow had slowed significantly.
Niamh smiled at him. “You’re doing wonderfully. Keep it there a bit longer, then we’ll patch her up.”
“Can she ride in a cart?” Dallan asked.
“A litter would be better if we can manage it. She shouldn’t be shaken at all.”
Dallan rose, asking around the crowd until he found someone with a large enough carrier. In no time, he and three men, along with the young boy, carried the woman to the healer’s cottage on the edge of the village.
As it happened, Dallan knew the wise woman who healed folk in Caiseal. Maeve, a respected, bossy old crone with the kindest manner and the sharpest tongue. All the Fianna loved her dearly, a boon as they often had cause to visit her after battle.
When she heard the commotion, she opened the creaky door into her cottage and poked her head out.
“What’s happened?” she asked Dallan.
“A cart hit her,” he replied. “Niamh can tell you more.”
“Lay her on the bed,” Maeve instructed. She spotted Niamh behind the men, waving her over to the bedside. “What have you to tell me?”
As Niamh explained what they’d already done, Dallan helped settle the woman on the bed.
Then he moved to stand directly behind Niamh. Maeve glanced at him before returning her attention to Niamh. “Well, let’s see how much damage you did, then.”
Maeve assessed the woman, who was just beginning to wake. With an irritated grunt, she looked back to Niamh. “Seems you didn’t do terribly.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Niamh replied tersely.
Dallan suppressed a laugh at her boast—she sounded just like him.
“Where’d you find her, Dallan?” Maeve asked, nodding toward Niamh.
“Thurles.”
That caught Maeve’s attention. “Thurles, you say? You can’t be the wisewoman I hear talk of—you’re far too young.”
Apparently Dallan wasn’t the only one in awe of his golden-haired healer. “You’ve heard of her?” he asked with amusement.
Maeve folded her arms across her chest, regarding Niamh with open skepticism. “Aye. She’s the best healer of women in the kingdom.”
Dallan looked at Niamh. “Women, specifically?”
Niamh nodded but didn’t offer an explanation.
“She has a reputation for helping women conceive children,” Maeve continued. “And as a skilled midwife.”
That must have been why Alva needed her help—to conceive a child. “Cinnamon?” Dallan asked.
