Emma looked at Thomas. “I can see that.”
Thomas took her hand and squeezed it. “Can ye blame me, Butterfly?” he asked, his voice a low, exhausted drawl. “Took me a good long while to find ye, but no harm done, eh?”
“No harm done?” Emma gasped. “Look at the state of ye! Wait… where’s McCade?”
Thomas jerked his head towards the study door, which had been kicked in, and was ominously silent. “In there. I wouldn’t suggest ye go in, by the way. He’s well beyond the help of even a healer like ye.”
“He’s dead,” Dominic chimed in, in case Emma hadn’t gotten the message.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Emma said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and focusing on Thomas’s injuries instead. “What’s wrong with yer side?”
“Broken ribs, I think. I’m fine, I’m fine. See to him first.” Thomas made a vague, lazy gesture towards a young man sitting up against the wall with a bloody nose and a minor wound on his shoulder. “Oh, and then there’s Dominic’s leg—”
“My leg is fine,” Dominic retorted, in the process of tying a torn piece of cloth around his injured thigh. “And the lad is stable. Ye, on the other hand, are set to pass out at any moment.”
“I must speak,” Simon said suddenly, lifting his head.
Thomas glanced his way. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t much care what ye do to me. It’s probably deserved. But Flora here must go free. She is a victim of all this and entirely innocent. I’ll confess whatever ye want, Me Laird, but let Flora go.”
Thomas sighed. “Ye are too late, Simon. It is Simon, isn’t it?”
Simon blinked. “Aye, yes.”
“Flora already made a bargain for your life in exchange for helping us. I’m a man of my word, and ye are both free to go. Your heroics are entertaining, though.”
Simon seemed a little taken aback. “Oh. I… Flora, is this true?”
Flora nodded. “I thought… I thought it was time that I helped ye a little.”
Emma was sure she saw the sparkle of tears in Simon’s eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.
“Thank ye,” he said hoarsely. “Both of ye.”
Dominic moved over to the open door, peering down into the hidden room. “Is that… ah. Thomas, I’ve found Gregor.”
Thomas sucked in a breath, trying to sit up. “Gregor? Where?”
“He’s dead, I think.”
He sagged back with relief, glancing over at Emma. “Did he hurt ye?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Emma shook her head. “Nay, he didn’t. He tried, though.”
“Did ye kill him?”
“Aye.”
“How?”
“I made him eat yellowberries.”
Thomas gave a chuckle. “That sounds like a fine story. I’d love to hear that one day.”
He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His skin was worryingly pale. Emma felt a pang of fear.
“I need bandages, or at least clean rags. I need shell-root and lionweed, and maybe… Oh, these.” She took out the handful of brass berries, which were a little battered and worse for wear after the time in her pocket. “Take one of these, Thomas. They’ll help with the pain.”
