She frowned. “I didn’t detect anything wrong with your hearing when I scanned you just now. Take me to the injured men. I’ll do what I can for them.”
Her words seemed to take an age to work their way through his muddy thoughts. “Ye are a healer?”
She rolled her eyes, then barged past him towards the infirmary door. “I’m a MacFinnan spellweaver, in case you’ve forgotten!”
Before he could stop her, she pushed the heavy door open and entered. He caught up with her just as she juddered to a halt a few steps beyond the threshold and stared around her. Her eyes widened, the blood draining from her face. Arran could hardly blame her. The place stank of blood and misery.
Squaring her shoulders, she asked, “Who is the most seriously injured?”
“That would be Rhodry,” said Sister Evangaline, wiping bloodied hands on a cloth as she walked towards them.
The nun looked Jenna up and down, her lips pursed slightly in disapproval. She was a Christian and as such, many of the old ways that the islanders adhered to were difficult for her to accept. Yet she was an islander herself and so had a foot a little in both camps.
“Ye must be the spellweaver I’ve heard so much about.”
“I am,” Jenna said, lifting her chin. “I’m here to help.”
Sister Evangaline sighed, her shoulders sagging. “And we would be grateful for any help ye could give, my dear. Come.”
Arran followed as the sister led Jenna over to Rhodry’s bed. The big man was no longer swearing. In fact, he was no longer doing much of anything. Barely conscious, his eyelids flickered as though he was dreaming and a thick sheen of sweat stood out on his brow. A fresh bandage had been wound around his middle, but Arran could see ruby stains beginning to seep through it.
Jenna pulled over a wooden stool and sat by Rhodry’s side. “Shit,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and I always had my mother and aunts to help. I hope I can remember what to do.”
She reached out to hover her hand over Rhodry’s bandage and closed her eyes. Her lips began moving although Arran could hear no words. A faint tingle walked across his skin, which he now recognized as the touch of Jenna’s magic. He shared a look with Sister Evangaline, but neither spoke as Jenna worked. Her brow furrowed and something like pain flashed across her features. Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead, which she dashed away irritably with her free hand.
Rhodry suddenly began tossing and turning, limbs flailing to and fro, although he didn’t wake.
“Hold him down!” Jenna hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t much fancy a whack in the mouth!”
Arran hurried to grab Rhodry’s arms while Sister Evangaline leaned her weight on his ankles, pinning them to the bed. Rhodry was a strong bastard, and it took all of Arran’s strength to hold him still while Jenna worked.
“Ye better hurry, lass,” he murmured as the unconscious Rhodry fought his grip. “Or I think the lot of us are going to get a whack in the mouth.”
A long sigh escaped Jenna’s lips, and she suddenly slumpedforward, her hand dropping to her side. At the same time, Rhodry went as limp as a boned fish and his breathing turned deep and steady. His eyelids no longer flickered and to Arran’s untrained eye there seemed to be more color in his cheeks. He released his grip on Rhodry and knelt by Jenna’s side.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
She pushed back her hair and gave a weak nod. “He had a laceration to his spleen. I’ve repaired it, but he’ll have to do the rest himself. As long as he doesn’t get an infection, he should be fine now. Use honey to keep his wound clean.”
Arran stared at her, lost for words. All the stories he’d heard of the MacFinnan spellweavers suddenly paled in comparison to the woman seated in front of him. She was sweaty, pale, and looked utterly exhausted, not at all like the all-powerful images the stories had painted of the spellweavers. Yet she was so much more than any of those figures in the stories.
Jenna looked up at Sister Evangaline. “Who’s next?”
The nun seemed to be struggling to form words as much as Arran was. “Thomas has arrow wounds to his back. This way.”
Jenna climbed wearily to her feet and followed the sister to the next bed. Arran rose and looked down at Rhodry. Was it only moments ago that he’d been on the verge of mourning his old friend? Was it only hours ago that he’d been riding home from the skirmish with a trail of wounded and despair in his heart? Now he felt a different sensation, one lighter and warmer. It took a moment for him to recognize what it was.
Hope.
His eyes tracked Jenna as she knelt next to Thomas’s bed. The young lad, no more than sixteen, was lying on his stomach with several raw puncture wounds in his back. One of them was leaking a clear fluid and seemed to have punctured his lung. The lad’s breathing rattled and rasped like that of an old man, but he was aware enough torespond to Jenna’s questions as she quietly spoke to him. She closed her eyes and went to work just as she had with Rhodry.
After several moments, the clear liquid stopped oozing from the wound and Thomas’s breathing lost its death-rattle. The lad burst into tears and grasped Jenna’s hand, whispering words of thanks in a sob-choked voice. Arran’s heart clenched at the sight. Thomas had been so brave in the face of the raiders and his own death, but now, having been given a second chance at living, all that terror and relief came pouring out of him.
Arran squeezed his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad. It’s all right.”
For the next three hours, Arran helped Jenna as she tended to the wounded warriors. She burned away infections, stopped internal bleeding, dampened pain while the healers set broken bones. Arran helped where he could, holding people down, passing clean bandages, washing out wounds. By the time the last casualty had been tended, they had both missed the evening meal and Arran was about ready to drop from exhaustion.
Jenna was even worse. Using her magic clearly took a toll on her and as she rose from the final patient’s bedside, she looked haggard. Her legs shook as she tried to stand and she would have fallen had Arran not supported her.
