“I ha’toldhim”—Timor gritted his teeth—“if he arises and tears that wound open again, he will die.”
Rhian raised her eyebrows. Timor did not usually use such words with his patients. But as Saerla had said, Alasdair was no ordinary patient. He was, in fact, not patient at all.
He growled and looked at Rhian. “That is no’ true, is it, Mistress Rhian? I do no’ feel ready to die.”
Rhian crossed her arms over her chest. “’Tis true, though. Ye ha’ been verra fortunate so far.”
“Fortunate!”
“Most men perish from the sort o’ wound ye took.”
“Ah—bah!”
“’Tis just closed over now. If ye go getting up and tearing it open inside, all the poison in yer gut may spread through your body. It will kill ye.”
He did not look happy about that. He believed her, however. Dismay and acceptance flared in his dark gaze.
Without another word, Timor left the room.
Unafraid of the patient, Rhian perched on the side of the cot.
“Ye maun not attack poor Timor, ye ken. He has worked hard to save ye.”
“I did no’ attack him. I shall go mad lying here, mistress, when there is work to be done. A clan to protect.”
“I ken it is hard.”
He raised his gaze to Rhian’s. “Saerla came to see me. Somewhat is amiss wi’ her. She would no’ say what.”
A chill chased its way down Rhian’s spine. “I ken.”
“D’ye think she has Seen somewhat?”
“She will no’ say what.”
“It maun be dire if she will no’ tell even ye or Moira.”
“Aye.” And Saerla was bent this very day on saying more prayers. Seeking answers or foreknowledge?
Alasdair reached out and touched Rhian’s hand. “Mistress, somewhat bad comes.”
“Alasdair, we have had our share o’ bad already.”
“I ken. Ever since Himself died. But—well, I am no Seer, but ’tis as if I can feel it coming. Building. And ye ask me to lie here.”
“I ken how frustrating that is.”
“Ye do no’.”
“But where would we be—where, Alasdair—if ye succumb to this injury?”
He lowered his voice. “That is wha’ frightens me, mistress.”
Alasdair? Frightened?
“’Twas yon Rory MacLeod who struck me during that battle. He kens fine I am injured, and will move against us while still I am unable to tak’ the field. D’ye no’ see I can no’ leave all I love defenseless? I maun get up on my feet.”
“I do see it, Alasdair. Ye ha’ the heart o’ a hero. Still, I would rather have ye alive and off your feet than dying on them.”
