“We practice some medicine at the convent.”
“The king said ye were a spy.”
“I fear His Grace was misinformed.”She lowered her gaze.“O’ course, as a woman o’ God, ’tis my duty to forgive.”
“Yearea nun then?”
“Aye.I’m Sister Eve from the convent near Mauchline.”
“Peter Macgeil,” he said with a nod of his head.
“I’m glad to meet ye, Peter Macgeil.And please help yourself to any herbs ye require.I have just one request.”
“Aye?”
“Would ye be so kind as to bring me a chamberpot and linens?”
As she predicted, Peter looked horrified that the king had forgotten such a simple necessity.He glanced at her shackles in concern.
“I can manage,” she assured him.
He brought her the chamberpot and abruptly left to give her some privacy.
Using it was not an easy feat, but having her hands bound before her made it possible.And the fact she made no attempt to escape in his absence made Peter trust her that much more.
A few more soldiers and a maidservant came in with stomach complaints, and Eve prayed aloud for them while Peter administered the ginger drops.
Finally a warrior arrived with a serious gash in his forearm, one he’d earned from what was supposed to have been a practice match.Judging by the scars that roped his arms, it wasn’t the first time he’d been injured.
Peter examined it, winced, and clucked his tongue.
“We may have to cauterize it.”
Eve blanched.Cauterizing was an extreme measure, she knew.Not only was it excruciatingly painful.It was only successful some of the time.Often infection set in, causing the loss of the limb.
“Nay,” she blurted out.Then, before she realized what she was offering, she said, “I can do it.I can stitch it up.”
“Aye, stitch it up,” the injured man urged, none too eager to have a hot brand pressed against his flesh.
Peter looked as if he was entertaining the possibility.Then he grimaced with regret.“I can’t unlock your shackles, lass.”
The warrior frowned down at her, confused.“Ye’re in irons?”
“I don’t need them unlocked,” she said.
Even as the words spilled out, she regretted them.What the Devil was she offering?She’d never sewn a man’s flesh in her life.The one time she’d seen Adam do it, she’d nearly fainted.
Yet somehow she knew she could do it.She could steel herself for the gruesome task, remember her Greater Purpose, pray for strength, and save this man’s arm.
Peter stared down at the wound and pursed his mouth in indecision.
The warrior had no time for his hesitancy.“Give me opium wine.Let her stitch me up.”
“All right.”
He pulled a bottle out of his great chest of medicines and handed it to the warrior, who began guzzling it down.
“Not too much,” Peter warned as he kept pressure on the wounded arm.
