He accepted it with a smile, took a long hard pull on it, then handed it back. With a pained grunt, he shoved off the trews, then lowered the finest set of buttocks Adellis had ever seen back down to the stool. Every time the Scot moved, the play of his muscles created a mesmerizing display of taut, flexing manliness. She had enjoyed her share of lovers, but none had displayed the generous wares this man offered. Generous. Yes. A very appropriate description. And that was even while the length of it lay flaccid across his thigh.
With a knowing smirk and the arch of a brow, he shifted to improve her view. His sleeping member awakened, hardening enough to lift its thickness in polite greeting. This one would be a most satisfying lover, indeed. Perhaps that would be a surer way of winning an escape to Scotland rather than traveling as a slave to be given to the man’s liege. Seduction rather than submission. And this seduction wouldn’t be the act of a cowardly assassin. If all went well, it could make her final disappearance easier once they reached Scotland. A trusted woman, the lover of theGallóglaighConstable, would wear no shackles.
The man didn’t flinch as Marta removed the arrow from his shoulder, just stared straight ahead as though deep in thought. The missile hadn’t gone deep. While his chain mail hadn’t stopped it completely, it had slowed it enough to prevent severe damage. When the crone moved to the oozing puncture just above his knee, Adellis pushed herself upward to better see. She didn’t trust Marta to treat the injury properly. Not as devoted as the old woman was to Alrek. The healer might have won the warrior’s trust by aiding them in the past, but that could be his undoing. Especially now.
“It must be laid open from knee to ankle,” the crone advised as she reached for her blade.
“No.” Adellis drew as close as her chains would allow. “Do not cut him. Flush the hole with whisky, then pack it with honey and wrap it.”
“Are ye a healer, lass—” He cut himself off and bowed his head. “Are ye a healer, Lady Adellis?” he amended.
While she appreciated him elevating her to the status of lady, she ignored it. Instead, she stared at the old woman, daring her to speak to the contrary. “No. But when there was no healer, I tended my own wounds in the way I mentioned, and they healed.”
“The poison has spread,” Marta argued, her intense glare shouting for Adellis to back down and shut her mouth.
“The venom I used is not lethal.” Adellis pointed at his foot. “Has the feeling not already returned?”
He wiggled his toes, then tilted his head. “Aye, it has. Almost normal now.” With a tap of his finger atop his knee, he gave Marta a stern look. “Do as she said rather than split it open. Whisky, then the honey.”
“I have no honey, and it must be treated now. She is mistaken about the poisons.” The determined healer lifted her sharp chin. “You risk your life by placing your trust in a prisoner who would benefit by your death.”
The old woman was creative, but she did not lie well. Adellis allowed herself a faint smile. Even the Scot knew the hag lied. She could see it in his eyes.
“Hendry!” the warrior bellowed as he rested an elbow on the table beside him.
“Aye, m’lord?”
The boy appeared carrying a tray laden with steaming platters and bowls smelling so good that Adellis’s stomach growled. The Scot had promised to feed her if she behaved. Surely, saving his leg counted for that.
“We need honey,” she told Hendry. “And boiled linens and clean bandages.”
The Highland bear smiled. “Aye, Hendry. Do as the lady says.” Before the knave had the chance to fetch the items, he added, “And give Marta a groat for her troubles as ye show her out.”
“Tomorrow, I return and check your prisoner.” The furious woman fixed Adellis with a tight-lipped scowl that warned Alrek would not be pleased.
“If the constable permits,” Adellis said. “I will make use of whatever honey he has no need for. Your return will not be necessary.”
“There will be plenty of honey,” Thorburn promised with a regal dip of his chin. His gaze slid back to Marta. “Yer services are no longer needed here, ye ken?”
With a huffing growl, the crone knotted the black shawl around her poultices and tools and scuttled out of the tent.
“With her as your healer, I am surprised any of you are still alive,” Adellis observed, wondering how long it would take the old woman to make it to Alrek and tell him all she knew.
“Ye sound certain, and yet she swore she had never met ye.”
His hawklike focus burned into her. The man would recognize a poorly crafted lie and pounce. She had to be careful.
“I have seen her among us.” She lifted her chin and met his scrutiny head on. “But more, I will not say.” There. That placed the lies on the witch, not her.
“And why would ye protect me from her?” He shifted on the stool.
“Allowing an old woman to cripple one’s enemy is a coward’s way out. Not mine.”
He smiled, but she could tell by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t fully convinced. No matter. She would win him and use him soon enough.
Hendry returned with a cloth-covered crock in one hand and a steaming pot in the other. “Honey and boiled linens, m’lord.” He set both on the table, pulled a bundle of rolled strips out of the apron tied around his waist, and placed them on the table.
“I would wash that muck from his shoulder and use the whisky and honey there as well.”
