It was a derisive comment, one that left her feeling the least bit offended. But she’d been around men and women in pain and she knew that, sometimes, great pain made people behave in ways they wouldn’t normally behave.
She could hear the anguish in his voice.
Anguish she had caused.
Feeling the least bit guilty that this man, this knight, had been forced to fight against her angry kin for something she had inadvertently caused gave her more patience than she would usually have. She had no great love for the English even though her father’s cousin was married to the greatest English warlord in all the north. She had many English cousins as a result. She hoped that if one of her English kin had been badly wounded on the borders, that a Scotswoman might give him a bit of kindness.
Truly, it was all she could do.
Her motherhadsent her to tend the wounded, after all.
“Let me see what they’ve done tae ye,” she said, throwing caution to the wind and moving forward. “Mayhap I can help.”
He held up a hand that was as big in circumference as her head. “Stop,” he commanded quietly. “Come no closer.”
She came to a halt. “Why not?”
“I do not need or want your help.”
She sighed sharply. “So ye would rather bleed tae death?” she said. “I mean ye no harm, Sassenach, I swear it. Will ye not let me help ye?”
“Nay.”
She cocked her head, frustration on her face. “I swore tae ye that I willna hurt ye,” she said. “Not every Scot is out tae kill ye, ye know. Certainly not me.”
He seemed to be growing weaker. He’d been propping himself up with his right arm but she could see that he was trembling. He simply shook his head, but the effort was too much. He lost his balance and his right arm gave way. With a grunt, he fell to the earth, his head resting on the dirt.
“Just… go,” he muttered. “Leave me in peace.”
Annaleigh was more determined to stay than ever. She had no idea why she was set on helping this stubborn knight, but she was. Perhaps it was her way of doing penitence for the battle she’d caused. Whatever the reason, she felt the need to do something.
Anything.
Or he would die.
“What will yer wife think when ye dunna return from battle?” she said, trying to reason with him. “What will yer mother and father think? Do ye truly feel that ’tis glorious tae die in a foolish border skirmish? ’Tis an ignoble way tae leave this life, Sassenach.”
She was trying to provoke him a little, to force him to think. English knights were always so arrogant. So perhaps if she reminded him that he was about to die in a worthless battle, it might provoke him into letting her help.
But he simply lay there, an enormous lump of flesh and bone and armor on the ground.
“I have no wife,” he mumbled. “No one who will mourn me other than my father and friends and king. I’d always thought… well, it does not matter now.”
Annaleigh threw caution to the wind. She went to him, setting her basket down beside him and peeling away his tunic. When he felt her, he put a big hand back to swat her, but he onlysucceeded in shoving her a little. She pushed his arm away and continued working.
“Stop yer foolishness,” she commanded softly. “Let me see if I can help ye. It may be too late, but let me see.”
He couldn’t fight back. He mumbled something, probably an insult, but she didn’t hear him. He wasn’t making any sense, anyway. Carefully, she peeled back layers of tunic and pushed aside mail, finally seeing the puncture wound in his lower back. The pike must have penetrated something vital because it was still bleeding, oozing out dark, red blood that was trying to clot.
It was difficult to get to the wound because of the layers of protection he was wearing, but the dirk she’d brought with her served a purpose. She cut through the wool and linen and leather, pushing the mail aside enough that she was able to finally get to the puncture wound on his lower back.
In the basket she’d brought with her, the one that held items she was to use to help her own wounded, she found her bone needle and silk thread. She also found a long pair of tweezers used to clean out wounds. She could see debris in the wound, so she used the tweezers to pick out what she could. It was slow going, and surely must have been excruciating, but the knight never made a sound. She wasn’t even sure if he was conscious.
Hurriedly, she removed anything she could see, doused the injury with the wine she carried in the basket used to clean wounds, and stitched it up as quickly and as tightly as she could. When she was finished with that, she found the wound on the back of his left knee, which was very difficult because of the mail trousers he wore, and managed to clean that up and bandage it tightly. She couldn’t get to it because of the mail, so she hoped the bandage was enough.
She wasn’t sure if she’d done any good at all, but at least her conscience was clear.
When she was finished, she put her things back in her basket, leaning over the knight to see if he was even conscious. His eyes were closed and he was deathly pale, so she assumed he was either dead or asleep. It was difficult to tell. As she stood up, she heard his low, rumbling voice.
