Cicely returned from the kitchens carrying a pile of clean cloths, Bessie behind her with a small cauldron of hot water. “Is he all right, Mab? He has been wounded. Where? What else do you need? Blessed Mother! I don’t know what to do.” Her voice trembled. “I did not think to see a wounded man.”
“Now, my lady, there is naught to it,” Mab said soothingly. “Just watch what I do, and do what I bid you. You’ll learn.”
Cicely nodded nervously. She bent over her husband, and Ian opened his eyes.
“They killed Fergus,” he told her. “Go into the village and see if any others were killed, ladyfaire. Comfort Marion. Mab will take good care of me.”
Cicely looked to the old lady, and she nodded reassuringly. “I’ll teach you the arts of healing another day, my lady,” she promised.
Cicely hurried off to do her husband’s bidding. She was ashamed to be so useless, and vowed to herself it would not be so again. Being the lady of Glengorm meant more than just being gracious to visitors, managing her servants, and tending her gardens.
“It isn’t good, my lord,” Mab told him.
“I know,” Ian said. “I felt this enormous burst of strength and energy sweep over me after they killed Fergus. But then when it was over ...”
“You have two arrow wounds, my lord. You broke off most of the shaft from each, but I must draw the arrows from your flesh, and I fear you will bleed heavily from both, less perhaps from your shoulder. Have you pain anywhere else?”
“My right arm is beginning to grow numb,” he answered her.
Mab nodded. Then, turning to Artair and Tam, she said, “I will need your help, lads. Removing the arrows will give the laird great pain. You must hold him steady while I pull them so those arrows do not damage him further. I’ll take the one in his shoulder out first. When I tell you, I will want you to hold him down by his upper shoulders for me.” Stepping down from the high board, she reached for thesmall decanter of whiskey on the sideboard and brought it back with her.
The two young men had nodded in response to her instruction. Although they looked uncomfortable, nonetheless they did as Mab had bidden them.
Mab carefully studied the placement of the wound. It was at the bottom of his shoulder, almost beneath his upper arm. She placed her hand flat on his chest, the shaft between her thumb and her forefinger. The fingers of her other hand wrapped tightly about the shaft, she nodded imperceptibly to her two helpers, who immediately did as she had bidden them. Pressing down just slightly, she yanked the shaft from his shoulder in one smooth movement.
Ian Douglas screamed, and then, mercifully, fainted. To Mab’s relief this wound did not bleed greatly. She poured a bit of the whiskey on it, and then decided that while he lay in a stupor it would be best to remove the other arrow. This time, however, she drew the jagged shaft slowly from the laird’s broad chest. The wound spurted blood, but briefly. Again she poured whiskey into the injury.
He moaned and opened his eyes. “Jesu, Mary, that hurts, old woman!”
“I’m sorry, laddie,” she told him, “but they’re both out now. I’ll bind your wounds for you.” She set quickly to work, gently patting the ooze from each wound, covering it with a salve made from goose fat and acorn paste, then binding it. When she had finished she said to Tam and Artair, “Help your master to his bed, lads.” And to the laird: “I’m going to mix you a soothing draft, my lord. It will ease the pain.”
And while Mab had seen to the laird, Cicely hurried into the village to learn whether anyone else besides Fergus Douglas had been killed. She was relieved to learn that no one had, although several of the men had been wounded by the flight of unexpected arrows. Fergus’s body had been carried to the large cottage that was his. He was already lying upon the tressle table in the main room of the cottage, which was filled with women.
Cicely went immediately to her sister-in-law. “I am told by women in the village that he put his own body before that of the laird. Fergus Douglas was a hero, Marion. You can be proud of him.”
Her two small daughters clinging to her skirts, Marion Douglas said bitterly, “I should rather he be here by my side. Damn the Grahames, and damn all the English!” Then she gasped at what she had said, paled, and looked at Cicely.
“Aye,” Cicely said. “Damn the Grahames, but do not damn all the English, for we are not all bad.” She took Marion into her embrace and kissed both of her cheeks.
Marion began to weep. “Is Ian safe?” she asked between sobs.
“Mab is tending him now,” Cicely answered quietly. “He asked me to come into the village to see who else had been injured or killed. I am relieved that while many were injured, no one else was killed. Fergus’s murderers are now dead, and will not bother us again.”
“What will become of us without Fergus?” Marion wept.
“You are Douglases,” Cicely said. “Ian will take care of his kin.”
“Of course he will,” Marion’s mother said. “You are foolish, daughter.”
“I must return to the laird now,” Cicely told them, and she left the big cottage.
Mab was waiting for her in the hall. Taking Cicely aside, she said, “I will not lie to you, my lady. The laird’s wounds are bad. Especially the one near his heart.”
Cicely was overcome with fear. “Will he live?” she asked.
“Perhaps he will, and perhaps he won’t. I am no physician, my lady. I got the arrows out, and cleaned and bound his wounds. I brought him a soothing draft into which I had infused some poppy juice. He will sleep for many hours, and sleep is the greatest healer. On the morrow I will teach you how to dress his wounds, for they must be changed regularly if we are to keep ill humors from infecting him.”
Cicely nodded wordlessly; then she ran from the hall upstairs to the bedchamber where her husband now lay. He was so pale, shethought as she brushed a lock of his rich chestnut brown hair from his brow. She had never seen an injured man. Never realized a man could look so frail, so helpless. Kneeling by his bedside, she prayed, and then, rising, she lay down on the bed next to him.
