She leaned closer, brushing a strand of his dark hair from his sweat-slicked brow. “Alice will fix this. She’s brilliant, and she’ll be back soon. Ye just have to hold on.”
Her gaze softened as she studied his face, even in its pale and bloodied state. The scar on his cheek, the lines etched by years of responsibility—it all told a story of strength and resilience.
She dabbed his sweaty forehead with the hem of her skirt. Then, she hurried to fetch a small bowl of water from a side table. She wrung out a cloth and pressed it gently to his skin, cooling him as best as she could.
Minutes felt like hours, and the silence gnawed at her nerves. When the heavy doors of the hall finally creaked open, she spun around to see Alice and Michael walk in, breathing a sigh of relief.
Alice was carrying a leather wrap filled with clean instruments and a small vial of green liquid, while Michael was carrying additional supplies.
“I’ve made the antidote,” Alice announced, unrolling her tools on a nearby table. “It’s goin’ to be painful to watch. Are ye sure ye want to stay?”
Helena lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m nae leavin’ him.”
Michael stepped closer, his expression grim. “I’ll hold him down, just in case.”
Alice nodded. She poured whisky liberally over the wound, the sharp scent filling the air. Blood mixed with the alcohol, streaming down Alexander’s side. Helena’s stomach churned at the sight, but she refused to look away.
Alice picked up a small, sharp instrument and hesitated for only a moment before scraping the wound. The sickening sound of metal scraping flesh made Helena’s grip on Alexander’s hand tighten. She focused on his face, watching for any sign of consciousness or pain. His body remained limp, though his breathing hitched occasionally.
“He’s strong,” Alice muttered, her hands steady despite the gruesome work. “Most men wouldnae have lasted this long.”
Helena didn’t respond. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Alexander’s face, silently willing him to hold on. When the wound was finally clean, Alice set the instrument aside and poured the antidote into Alexander’s mouth, tilting his head gently to ensure he swallowed. Then, she began sewing the gash with precise, practiced movements.
Helena’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will he…?”
Alice glanced up briefly. “He’ll be fine. The poison didnae work because we acted quickly. But he needs rest. A lot of it.”
Michael left the hall to find servants and something sturdy to carry Alexander upstairs. Meanwhile, Alice spread a poultice over a clean cloth and secured it around the wound.
She wiped her hands on a rag and turned to Helena. “Stay by his side. He’ll need someone familiar when he wakes up.”
Helena nodded, her resolve unwavering. “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
The doors opened again, and Michael entered with two burly guards and a thick, old blanket. Together, they folded the blanket into a makeshift stretcher and carefully transferred Alexander onto it.
“Easy,” Michael instructed, his voice firm but calm. “We cannae risk reopenin’ the wound.”
Helena followed them as they carried Alexander toward the stairs, still holding his hand.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Ye’re too reckless,” Helena whispered, watching Alexander’s peaceful face.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing against Alexander’s hand, now clammy but still strong. His face, pale and drawn, was turned slightly toward her, his dark lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks.
The room was quiet, save for the steady crackling of the fire Alice had stoked, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air.
The servants had come and gone, leaving supplies Alice deemed essential: honey, herbs, fresh water, bandages, and a steaming bowl of stew. Helena had thanked them softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though raising it would disturb the fragile balance holding Alexander’s life steady.
Alice remained seated across from her, her sharp eyes scanning Alexander’s form. Michael, still armored, leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.
“How are the others who fought with him?” Helena asked, her voice tentative but steady.
Michael sighed. “Injured, but none poisoned like him. They’ll recover.”
Helena’s gaze drifted back to Alexander’s still form. “Then it wasnae random. Someone kenned he’d be there. Kenned to target him.”
Alice nodded grimly, adjusting her shawl. “It’s likely. Poison’s nae common in battle, lass. It takes time to prepare. Whoever did this meant to make him suffer.”
