The sound of the horse munching on her hay and the antics of the filly lifted Helena’s spirits. Until the sound of several hooves striking the cobblestone of the courtyard drew her attention. Several horses, moving fast—she could tell from the noise. She rushed to see who had arrived in such a manner.
“Nay.”
She wasn’t prepared for what she came upon. Frync and Michael were hauling Alexander off his horse and into the hall, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
Inside, they laid him on a long table, chaos all around them. The men who had accompanied them stood by the door to watch, and several servants rushed in and out with supplies. Alice was there, shouting orders, covered near to her elbows in her brother’s blood as she attempted to staunch his wound.
“Helena, come here! I need yer hands,” Alice yelled.
It wasn’t a request; it was an order.
Helena’s body moved even when her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening around her.
“Put yer hand here. Hold this as firmly as ye can. Whatever ye do, dinnae let go.”
She did as she was told, confused by the sight before her.
Frync held down Alexander’s legs, and Michael held down his shoulders. Alexander’s face was pale and contorted with pain, but he still fought them. Blood oozed from his side, seeping through the rag she pressed against his ribs.
“What happened, Michael?” Helena asked, her voice pleading.
Her mind reeled. She had already lost Broderic, Ian, and her mother; she couldn’t lose Alexander too.
“I… I dinnae ken. One minute he was beside me, injured but standing on his own, and the next he was bent over, blood spurting from his wound. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it wouldnae stop, so we rode to the keep as soon as possible.”
“It wouldnae stop because this,” Alice interjected, holding up a short-tipped arrow, “has been dipped in some sort of poison. It’spreventin’ the blood from clotting. I’m goin’ to have to scrape the wound to get it out of his system. Michael, ye remember that time Faither had ye take care of Alexander when ye were about twenty? Would ye please do so again?”
“Aye.”
Michael squinted at his sister, comprehending what she was asking. He swung back his arm and struck Alexander in the temple, knocking him unconscious.
The hall was silent except for Alexander’s ragged breathing. Helena stood motionless at the end of the long table, her slender frame stiff with tension. Michael’s sudden punch had left her stunned, her mind reeling from the scene. She couldn’t reconcile the image of the fierce Laird with the vulnerable man before her, unconscious and bleeding from the poisoned wound.
Alice, her hands already busy mixing herbs at a nearby table, broke the silence. “Helena, I ken it seemed harsh, but it had to be done. He’d have thrashed about, made everythin’ worse, and we dinnae have the time for that.”
Helena turned her head sharply. “Ye didnae have to hit him so hard.”
Michael, who was standing near the door now, glanced at his sister before responding, his voice steady but defensive. “There was nay other way. Ye dinnae ken how stubborn he is. If he was awake, he’d have fought us every step of the way. I’d do it again if it means savin’ his life.”
Helena clenched her jaw but said nothing. She wanted to argue, to lash out, but the truth was undeniable. Alexander’s life was more important than her pride or her discomfort.
Alice, sensing Helena’s turmoil, softened her tone. “I’m goin’ to make an antidote now. The poison came from the arrow, and we’re lucky to have it. I ken what I need to do.” She looked over her shoulder at Michael. “I’ll need yer help.”
Michael nodded without hesitation. “What do ye need me to do?”
Alice grabbed the bloodied arrow from the table. “Come with me to me workshop. I need specific tools, and this arrow will help me make the antidote faster.”
Before leaving, Michael turned to Frync, who had been pacing near the door. “Go to the men and make sure that they ken Alexander will pull through. They’ll need that reassurance.”
Frync nodded, his face tight with worry. “Aye. I’ll see to it.”
As Frync hurried out of the hall, Michael and Alice disappeared into the castle’s depths, leaving Helena alone with Alexander.
Helena approached the table slowly, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall. She hesitated, then reached for Alexander’s hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, yet they felt unnervingly cold against hers. She clasped his hand tightly as if her grip alone could anchor him to life.
“Ye’d better nae give up,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. “Do ye hear me, Alexander Gordon? Ye’re too stubborn to let somethin’ like this take ye.”
He gave no response, his chest rising and falling unevenly. A pang of fear clawed at her chest, but she refused to succumb to it.
