With his free hand, he reached into a velvet-padded section of the chest and retrieved a length of fine catgut and a silver needle.
“Can you hold this?”he asked Eve, indicating the blood-soaked linen pad over the wound.
She bit her lip and gave him a curt nod.Then she set her hands to the task, stanching the flow.
Peter snatched the opium wine from the warrior, who would have drunk himself to death, and drizzled it over the needle and catgut.Then he quickly threaded the needle.
“I’ll keep him still and hold the wound closed,” he said.“Ye stitch, aye?”
She nodded, still aghast that she’d offered her services.But it was too late to back out now.The warrior was depending on her.The physician was depending on her.
At his first bellow of pain, Eve had to resist the urge to drop the needle, cover her ears, and cower into a shivering heap.
But if he could endure this, so could she.And if Adam could save a man’s life with his bare hands, she was hardly going to let him best her.
So, drowning out his groans by murmuring prayers for strength, she continued to stitch until the opium finally took him to a place of peace.By then she was able to regard her handiwork with less horror and more of an artistic eye.She made sure to keep the stitches small so they would heal neatly.
“Ye’ve done this before,” Peter said, snipping the catgut with a small pair of shears when she was done.
“Nay,” she admitted.“’Twas God who guided my hand.”
It felt like the truth.Indeed, she began to wonder if perhaps she was meant to be a healer.
Fortunately, she wasn’t so distracted by the idea of her new calling that she forgot to take measures for her eventual escape.As Peter bandaged the wound and cleaned up the bloody linens, she secreted the shears in her skirts.
She set to work at nightfall, after the campfires were banked.
Picking the lock of the shackles was fairly easy using one narrow blade of the shears.While Peter snored from his pallet, she freed herself and retrieved her satchel.
Before she left, she cast one last look toward the physician.He was a decent man.She hated to deceive him.She hoped the king wouldn’t make him suffer for her escape.
Slipping the vial of ginger out of the satchel, she placed it atop his chest of medicines and stole out into the night, headed for the convent.
Chapter 22
“Escaped, Your Grace?”
Adam couldn’t exactly say he was surprised.Even with shackles.But he thought it would take Eve a little longer to enchant the guards into letting her go.He’d hoped to return before she slipped her bonds and got herself into worse trouble.
According to the king, she’d managed to break free of her chains in less than a day.Even more impressive, she hadn’t used the power of her charm at all.According to what remained of her shackles, she’d picked the lock with the physician’s shears.
Adam had to hide his disappointment and dread.
It would do no good to accuse the physician of carelessness.The king had probably already given him a tongue-lashing he’d never forget.Besides, the man seemed almost as distraught over her disappearance as Adam.
It would avail Adam nothing to blame the king.He just had to come up with a new strategy that didn’t involve rescuing Eve…yet.Now that the lass was loose among bloodthirsty warmongers, the best thing for all concerned was to subdue the hostility on both sides.
“I think we can go ahead with the siege the day after All Souls, Your Grace,” he said.
“But we’ve lost our leverage,” the king said.
“Fergus doesn’t know that.”
“He will once the hostage returns to him.”
“I don’t think shewillreturn,” Adam said.
“Nor do I,” the physician chimed in.Then, immediately mortified at his own boldness and glared into submission by the king, he silenced.
