She glanced around, calculating now long it would take to get him home. Leaving him alone was not an option. One of his attackers was still alive. But how would she get him back on a horse? Devil was already prancing and tossing his head.
What was it Arran had said? That only he and Callum could handle the big horse.
She pulled Arran away from the road and made him as comfortable as possible beneath the bush where the horses were tied. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
Arran was practically unconscious now, and he did not protest.
Leaving Devil on guard, she mounted Iona and urged the mare into a gallop. If she remembered correctly, there was a cottagenearby. She’d seen it on the way to Aberray. She prayed silently for him to stay safe until she could return.
The cottage came into view, a modest structure nestled among the trees. Skye almost leaped off Iona, rushing to the door and pounding her fists on it furiously.
“Please, help!” she shouted, her voice cracking with urgency.
An older woman opened the door, her eyes sharp despite her years. “What’s the matter, lass?”
“It’s me husband. He’s been poisoned. Please, come quickly!” Skye pleaded, grabbing the woman’s arm.
The woman didn’t waste a moment. She rushed back into her cottage, and at first, Skye thought she was refusing to help them. But within a moment, the woman reappeared, armed with a healer’s bag.
Skye helped the woman up onto Iona, than put the mare into a gallup to where Arran lay. Each second felt like an eternity. Skye’s heart was heavy with fear and hope.
When they reached Arran, the woman quickly revealed her name was Nelda. “I am a healer, lass. We’ve got this.”
She knelt beside him, her experienced hands swiftly examining the wound. “Ye did well to clean it,” she said. “And yer poultic is good. But this poison is strong. We must act quickly.”
Skye watched her prepare another poultice from her bag. She placed a hand on Arran’s forehead and felt his skin burning like fire.
“I daenae have anything for the fever, lass. And he needs medicine.”
Skye said, “I have fresh willow twigs, and yarrow.”
“Just the thing,” the older woman said. “Look in me bag. Ye’ll find a small pot, tinder, and a flint.”
Skye nodded, inwardly vowing to never leave home without her own healer’s bag, quite forgetting that it was one of the first things Blackwell had taken from her when he threw her into the prison cell.
She quickly started a small fire, and poured water from the skin that had been part of their lunch into the small pot. She then added the willow twigs. They would do nothing for the poison,but could ease pain and perhaps bring down the fever.
Meanwhile, the older woman had gone into the grove behind the bush where Devil was tethered. There was the sound of chopping, and she came back dragging two long poles.
“Which horse is more likely to drag a burden safely?” the woman asked.
“Iona,” Skye replied. “But I’m not sure how Devil will behave.”
“We’ll have to chance it,” the older woman said. “For ye an’ I between us will nae be able to get yer man on a horse.”
The healer quickly made a litter, using the two poles and the remains of their picnic blanket. Between them, they managed to roll Arran onto it. Skye felt as if her heart would stop at the way Arran’s body lay limply on the cloth.
“Take heart,” the older woman said. “I know the poison they used. The plants grow common around here. In small amounts, they can keep a patient still whilst ye work on a painful hurt. Yer bog mertle root started drawing it out. Now I’ve put on a strong drawing ointment. We’ll need to change the dressings often so’s not to have the poison go back into the wound. Or, worse yet, to get something else in it so’s it goes septic.”
Skye nodded to show that she understood.
The two women fastened the poles to Iona’s saddle, with the ends dragging on the ground. Twice on the way to the cottage, they had to stop, readjust the contraption, and even add some cross poles to keep from dragging Arran on the ground. Each time they stopped, they changed the dressing. At first, the wound seeped a vile, stinking liquid. But by the third change, it was lighter.
For a wonder Devil trod along beside them docilely, as if he understood the gravity of the situation.
When they reached the cottage, a young boy waited for them. “Mistress Nelda!” he called. “Mam says tha baby’s coming, an’ to step lively or ye’ll miss it.”
“I’ll be there directly,” Nelda said. “Ye run back and tell her I’m on the way, then I’ll have another errand for ye.” Then she turned to Skye.
