In the meantime, he unpacked his supply of ointments, needles, and knives. He must slit open the wound, remove whatever Aftyn had packed into it, and cut away the dead tissue so healthy, living tissue could replace it. Even with Jamie’s best efforts, Niall would always carry a scar, but Jamie meant to ensure he would survive this.
Jamie laid some of the rags Aftyn left by the bowl of water around Niall’s calf, dragged over the chamber’s single chair to sit on, and placed a hand on Niall’s head. “Ye will remain asleep, my friend, and never recall what I do. When ye wake, yer pain and yer fever will be less.”
The first step did not require his special talent. He went to work with his sharpest, smallest blade. Once he was certain he’d removed all traces of poultice and the dead and dying tissue, the now-larger wound bled freely, and even more importantly, cleanly. Only then did hereachwith his talent to stop the bleeding and quiet the throbbing pain Niall would suffer without Jamie’s help.
With a sigh, he leaned back and rubbed his own calf where Niall had been wounded. Why must the healer suffer the healing? His mother had never been able to answer that question. She merely bore the pain and persevered. She’d told him many tales while she taught him, but only one really scared him, the one Donal alluded to in pulling him from his dying friend last spring. She’d been too late, her half-brother too close to death, and only Jamie’s father’s action, pulling her away from her brother’s body, had saved her life. Da had forced her to respect her limits, and though she hated him for it for a while, she’d learned her lesson, and passed it to her children. Jamie grimaced. The most crucial lesson, and he’d ignored it, forcing Donal to save him. He still regretted unleashing his temper on his foster father.
Jamie stood and stretched, breathing in the chill air from the open window, giving himself a moment. He still had to deal with the poison flooding Niall’s blood. The parallel to Calder’s belly wound did not escape him. He had to find a way to eliminate it, or nothing else he did for Niall would matter. He suddenly regretted not spending the last eighteen months learning more from his mother. Jamie hadn’t discovered his limits yet, but his mother’s tale and his own experience on the battlefield trying to save his friend were lessons he must keep in mind. He’d sworn he would never again come so close to losing his own life. But in the work left to him this night, he might have to risk exactly that.
* * *
Despite what Aftynsaid before she stormed out of Niall’s chamber, and despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. She’d worried about Niall for so long that she could not simply stop, even though the Lathans had taken over her responsibility and claimed he was now in safe hands. Oh, how that rankled, but knowing she’d failed the injured man hurt worse. She paced from one side of her chamber to the other, working off the anger, hurt, and worry she’d carried with her from the confrontation with Jamie, the Lathan healer—a man! Trained as any healer was trained. How was that possible? And what would the laird do about her when he learned of the Lathan healer’s success?
Confusion filled her. When Jamie’s deep brown gaze had settled on her, it pierced her fatigue and she stifled a gasp. She’d never seen him before, but despite what she overheard, she felt an immediate connection, a visceral sense that made her want to go to him, to be wrapped in his strong embrace and comforted. That would never happen. He already held her in contempt. Comfort was the last thing he would give her. He carried a sword, moved like a wolf on the prowl, and when standing still, looked as if he kept every sense on high alert for trouble.Hewas trouble. She just didn’t know how much trouble he could cause her.
What was he doing to Niall? Orforhim? What did he know that she did not? Those questions plagued her until finally, she kicked off her slippers, undressed, and sank onto her bed, spent.
The sun in her face woke her.
Niall! She scrambled out of bed and flinched as her feet hit the cold floor. Then the memory of last night flooded over her. Her knees gave way and she dropped back onto the bed. She’d let last night’s confrontation with the Lathan healer convince her Niall no longer needed her. While the clan had been blissfully asleep, she had been forced to withstand Jamie Lathan’s withering censure. She dreaded facing him again. He might be one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, but his good looks did little to balance the angry personality that dwelled within.
Had he treated Niall? Did Niall still live? What could a man do that she had not already tried? She had to know, even if it meant confronting the Lathan healer again. She cared too much about her patient to stay away. She threw on her clothes and raced from her chamber to Niall’s door.
Bhaltair stood outside it.
“How is he?” She made to push past him but he blocked her.
“I dinna ken, lass. Jamie is still with him. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”
“He’s been in there all night? Please, I need to see…”
“Nay, ye dinna. No’ until Jamie himself opens that door.”
He looked her over, and Aftyn became aware she’d failed to rebraid her hair and her kirtle sat crookedly on her shoulders.
“Ye should make yerself ready for yer day and go break yer fast, lass,” Bhaltair advised. “I dinna ken how much longer he’ll be in there.”
“I…” Before she could get another word out, the door opened and Jamie stood before her, his skin gray with fatigue, deep creases between his dark auburn brows, and if she read the tension around his eyes correctly, in pain.
“Bhaltair,” he croaked.
“I’ll get what ye need,” he answered, and moved quickly down the hall to the stairs.
“How is he?” Aftyn had to ask, but she feared her next patient would be this man. After last night, she shouldn’t feel sympathy for him, but he looked as though he’d exhausted every resource he possessed. Last night, she would have scoffed at the notion, but it appeared he did have a heart in him somewhere, and had used all of his strength to care for his friend.
“Better.” His voice sounded marginally stronger than when he said Bhaltair’s name. “Ye may go in. But dinna touch anything.”
Aftyn frowned and brushed past him.
Jamie fell back against the open doorway to let her by, then straightened, unmoving, watching her.
Since he remained on his feet, Aftyn ignored him and went to Niall. He looked better. In fact, he looked better than Jamie. Against Jamie’s orders, she placed her palm on his forehead. He was cooler. The fever had not broken completely, but the raging heat had eased. She glanced around at Jamie, whose gaze had followed her, then back to the table by the bed. She stepped closer to inspect what he had used. Pots of ointments and wicked-looking small blades covered its surface. Near them, she noticed a hint of vinegar and whisky in the air, along with the sickly sweet stench of the putrid-smelling rags littering the floor below Niall’s leg, and the metallic scent of blood-soaked bedding.
Despite all of that, the air in the room seemed fresher. Ah, he’d opened the shutter. Sunlight and a cool breeze flowed from it and out through the open door into the hall.
She moved down the side of the bed and bent to see the wound. It was now open, like a glen between low hills, and much larger. Raw, but pink and healthy. It took her only a moment to realize what Jamie had done.
“Ye have saved his leg,” she admitted, dumbfounded. Why had she not known to open the wound track instead of trying to wash it out and pack it with poultice? She’d hoped it would close up and heal together, but this way, it looked clean, though it would leave an impressive scar.
