Chapter Fifteen
Mathilda, the healer, knelt by the fire in Aidam’s chamber, preparing several concoctions, unsure of what they would be facing. Jemina knelt by the chamber window in prayer. But Ellie could do neither of those things. Instead, she paced.
An eternity could have passed twice before Ellie heard the footsteps of men coming down the corridor. There were hushed voices and one, if she was not mistaken, singing? No, it could not be song she heard.
“Is that singing?” Jemina asked, turning toward the chamber door, putting voice to Ellie’s own thoughts.
“Heaven’s no,” Ellie replied more to herself than the girl. “It couldn’t be.”
The door burst open, and Sinclair entered the room with a deep scowl. He had Aidam with one arm draped around his neck. Aidam’s other arm was swaying and flailing about as he indeed appeared to be singing. Damon was not far behind. Ellie rushed forward to meet them but was stopped in her tracks as she got a good look at Aidam. His face was contorted, bloody and bruised, and he had a deep gash running the length of his leg.
“Oh my,” she sucked in a deep breath.
“Mathilda, we’re gonna need a good poultice fer the lad’s leg,” Sinclair shouted. Ellie frantically turned her head between the Laird and the older woman as they began to work. “Damon, help me get him up on th’ bed.”
“I’m nay fer bed, uncle,” Aidam moaned.
“Ye’ll get on that bed, lad, or ye’ll nay need tae worry about infection killin’ ye, cause I’ll murder ye meself,” Sinclair snapped.
“Father,” Jemina moved from her spot at the window to join Ellie in the center of the room. “What happened?”
“Och, as far as I can tell, the lad went tae th’ village, enjoyed a bit too much whisky, and got into a right brawl,” Sinclair said.
“Aye,” Damon agreed. “But it wasnae the fight that did him in. Ye should see the other man. It was a fall outside th’ tavern intae a rusty old ax. ‘Tis why we gotta get this wound cleaned right away.”
“If fever sets in,” Mathilda added in an ominous tone. Ellie looked down at Aidam’s prone frame. She did not want to allow herself to think of what would happen should fever set in.
“It will nae happen,” she said, grabbing the poultice from Mathilda. “Come, Damon, help me with his trews.”
“But, my Lady,” Damon began to argue, looking to the Laird for some sign or other Ellie thought, but there was no time.
“Nothing tae challenge, Damon. Do ye want him tae take ill or worse?” Ellie was not going to wait for Damon to get his head out of his arse about propriety. Not when Aidam could already have an infected wound.
“Help her,” Laird Sinclair added with an air of indifference that Ellie found strange considering Aidam was his nephew, heir, and moments ago, he seemed so concerned. “What did ye drink too much fer, lad? Ye fool boy.”
Aidam’s eyes snapped open. He looked at Ellie and then gave his uncle a sly, sloppy grin. “Uncle, I did it fer love. Hae ye never been in love?”
Ellie sucked in a sharp breath. Love? What was he talking about? A million thoughts swarmed in her mind. Aidam had never spoken of love before. She silently thanked the darkness of the bedchamber, only lit with firelight. Hopefully, the others would not see the red flame of her cheeks as she thought back to the moments they had shared in his mother’s cottage. Was it her he spoke of? She quickly looked up to see Damon glaring at her from the corner, and she put her head down and continued to work on Aidam’s leg.
“I’ll be getting back tae me own wife now,” Damon said and slipped out the door as Laird Sinclair, laughing, looked down at Aidam.
“Please, lad,love,” Sinclair snarled. “What do ye ken oflove? Enough tae get yerself killed, I’d reckon.”
Aidam sat up straight then, causing Ellie to jump back as he glared at his uncle. His eyes were red and glassed over. His focus was unclear but filled with rage. It was clear to Ellie he was still very much in his cups, but that took nothing away from the danger in his tone. “Do nae laugh at me, uncle. ‘Tis all yer fault! I’ll nay have ye or anyone else speak ill of her,” he growled, not specifically naming who he was speaking of. “She’s tae good fer th’ lot of ye!” Then as quickly as he snapped up, Aidam fell back again, his eyes rolled back before they shut, and he began to snore loudly. Ellie sat back down and took a cool cloth to his forehead, hoping that her own feelings were not betrayed in the meantime.
“Och, leave him tae his mad ramblings,” Sinclair said. “I have a clan tae run. I’ve not the time for this childishness.” He waved his hand dismissively and grunted before walking out of the room.
“He cannae mean that we should actually leave him?” Ellie said, looking from Mathilda to Jemina, who could only shrug her shoulders. “What if he takes ill in th’ night?” Ellie could not believe what she was hearing or seeing. This was Aidam’s clan, his family, and they were acting as if there was barely a thing wrong with him.
“’ Tis indeed a risk,” Mathilda said. “But I, for one, willnae go against th’ laird.” The old woman began packing her bowls and mixtures still on the table by the fire.
Ellie launched herself across the room and placed her hands across Mathilda’s ingredients. “If ye want tae be afeared of the laird, ye’re welcome tae leave, but I’ll be keepin’ the healing stuff here.” The older woman looked at her as if she sprouted a second head.
“Don’t be daft, lass,” the woman spat. “Ye cannae heal th’ lad yerself.”
“Ye wretched old woman. Ye’d have him die from a fever with nae one by his side? I willnae leave him,” Ellie said, hoping her determination alone would be enough to convince Mathilda. “And I ken a thing or two about healin’ wounds. If ye’re so afraid of the Laird, go on then. But I will stay. I’ll bring ye back yer supplies when we’re done.”
“Och, foolish lass,” the old woman repeated, brushing her hand in the air dismissing Ellie as she shuffled out of the chamber.
