In minutes they had loaded the unconscious man onto the hay and began the slow half-mile journey back to her house. However, oxen could only move at a plodding pace, and Leana only hoped that they would get there in time to save the man’s life.
Leana had a good working knowledge of herbs and their uses, which had been passed down from her grandmother, a wise woman who had also been gifted with the Sight, which was the ability to read people’s hearts and see into the future. Leana had been consulted many times for her knowledge and for her assistance during accidents and sickness.
When they reached her thatched cottage she was thankful to see her father dozing in his rocking chair, since they were now able to use his bed. Leana bade the two workers to take the man in and place him on it face down because of the arrow in his shoulder. They held him down forcefully while Leana heated up a poker in the fire.
She thanked God that the man was unconscious, for she knew the procedure she was about to undertake was incredibly painful. First, she cut around the arrowhead with a sharp knife which she had cleansed in the fire, eased it out, then plunged the red hot poker into the hole, sealing it and stopping the bleeding completely. A smell of roasting meat filled the air and both her workers got sick, but she had no reaction at all; she had seen far worse things in her time.
Finally, she smeared the wound with a mixture of honey and goose fat and pressed a wad of linen on top of it, securing it with a linen bandage that she wound around his shoulder and neck. She knew that he was going to be in excruciating pain when he woke up, but it was better to be alive than dead. She had always kept a flask of poppy milk for occasions like these and thought she would be able to keep his pain at bay when he woke up, although the poppy milk would likely keep him asleep for most of the time.
When she looked for more injuries she found the usual cuts and scrapes, which she washed with ale and smeared with honey. She treated the bruises with an arnica salve, but when she found an enormous lump the size of a goose egg on the back of his head she tutted and frowned. “That is gaun’ tae be gey sore in the mornin’ my friend,” she said grimly.
When she had done all she could do, she looked up and smiled at Geordie and Hamish, and they returned it. She was covered in dirt, soot, and sweat, but even so, Leana McBeth was still a beautiful woman, as well as being strong and clever. Many a man had wanted to take her as his wife, and she had had many offers, but her father came first, and while he lived she would take no husband unless he was willing to take on the burden of Joe as well. So far, no one would.
Joe was fifty years of age and had seen service in the Scottish wars of independence against the English, during which he had fortunately only suffered minor injuries. It was ironic that he had caught an infection of the lungs as soon as he came back from battle that left him incapable of physical labor, but Leana was happy to work for him.
“Hamish, Geordie, sit doon an’ hae a wee glass o’ ale,” Leana offered. The men were glad to get the weight off their feet, and happy to watch Leana as she moved around the room, as graceful as a faerie.
She set down ale and oatcakes in front of them. Geordie bit into one and closed his eyes with delight. “Mistress Leana,” he said in wonder, “where did ye get these wonderful things?”
“I baked them,” she replied, puzzled. “Like a’body else does.”
“They are the best I ever tasted,” he remarked through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Mistress.” Hamish looked baffled. “When d’ye find the time? Ye work a’ day in the fields, ye hae nae help in the hoose, ye look efter yer faither—when dae ye rest?”
“I try tae rest a bit on Sunday,” she replied, smiling at him.
“Why dae ye no’ have a husband?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Dinnae want ane. Dinnae need ane. Onyway, I am waitin’ for the right man tae sweep me aff my feet!”
They all laughed and raised their glasses in a toast. “Tae love!” Geordie cried, and drained his glass.
“Back tae work, yous two!” Leana cried, shooing them all out the door. They all grabbed an extra oatcake each and left, munching as they went.
Leana went back to her patient. He was flushed and a little feverish but given what he had just gone through she was not surprised.
Her father woke up and tottered sleepily over to the fire to warm his cold hands. He jumped, startled when he saw the man on the mattress and looked questioningly at his daughter. “Who is this?” he asked, frowning.
“He is a man wi’ an arrow in his back that I just took oot,” she replied. “He has no’ yet woke up so I dinnae knaw his story. I wid guess somebody wis chasin’ him, but we caught his horse, a lovely big mare—looks like a war horse.”
“Ane o’ the gentry’s, nae doot.” Joe wheezed as he sat down. “But this man isnae ane o’ thae nobs.” He gazed in sorrow at him, at his frayed hose and tunic and the worn leather of his shoes. He looked painfully thin. “Poor sowel, he stole that horse. Wis maybe gaunnae tae try an’ sell it.”
Leana gazed down at him and then she sat on the bed beside him and studied him a little more closely. He was a fair man in his thirties with blond hair and a light-brown beard. His right cheekbone bore a long scar—perhaps he had been in the wars too—and he was obviously a workman, because the creases on his hands were caked with dirt.
Leana went to heat up some chicken broth, some of which she gave to her father, some of which she had herself. She kept a portion for the injured man so he would have some sustenance when he woke up. She was beginning to think that perhaps he would not when his eyelids fluttered open, and he sat up, looking around him wildly.
“Where am I?” he asked hoarsely. His voice was full of panic and he drew back as Leana sat on the bed beside him, holding his hands up as though to defend himself against anyone striking him.
“I am no’ gaunnae hurt ye,” she said softly. “I only want tae tak’ yer pain awa’. Whit is yer name?”
The man’s face was creased with concentration, his eyes screwed shut with the effort of trying to recall the events of the last few hours, but eventually he let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. “I cannae remember,” he groaned, and then winced at the pain that was assaulting him from every part of his body.
“I will call ye Jamie for the minute,” Leana announced. “An’ I am sure in a wee while ye will remember yer ain name. Noo wait there.” She plumped up his pillows and turned him over to his good side so she could feed him. “I knaw that ye are in pain, an’ ye likely dinnae feel like eatin’ onythin’, but we need tae feed ye a wee bit o’ somethin.” She went to ladle out a little soup into a bowl. “We need tae get yer strength up so ye can heal, understaun?”
Jamie nodded, and winced again.
“I will gie ye a wee bit poppy milk when ye hae finished wi’ this.” She smiled at him as she began to spoon the soup into his mouth, and to their surprise, the bowl was soon empty.
