Page 73 of Ghost of the Ton

“Not before you’ve shown me your arm,” Mia said. “Does it pain you?” He hesitated, and Mia raised her eyebrows. “I see pain in your eyes, Brodie. There’s no harm in wanting to ease it. May I see?”

He pulled back his sleeve. The lower half of his arm was covered in a bandage that was yellowing around the edges and dotted with dark brown stains. Slowly he unwound the bandage, his forehead furrowing, then dropped it on the table.

A deep gash ran along his forearm, about which the skin was swollen and red. Mia wrinkled her nose at the faintly sweet aroma, then moved her hand toward the wound. The boy let out a whimper.

“Keep still,” Mia said. “I’ll not touch it.” She held her hand just above the wound, but could feel the heat on her palm.

No wonder tiny beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. The poor boy must be in agony.

“What happened?” Mia asked.

“I slipped and fell when unshackling the plough from the horses.”

“When?”

“Three…no, four days ago.”

“Four days? Why didn’t you come and see me at the time?”

“I-I didnae think…” He hesitated. “I mean, the others said…”

“That I’m a witch more likely to cast a spell on you than tend to your wound?”

He averted his gaze. “No one knows I’ve hurt myself, ma’am… I-I dinnae want to lose my position. It was my fault. I was careless. Murdoch says that a careless man is no man at all, and Iona already thinks I’m more mouse than man. I bandaged it myself, and it didnae hurt much after it happened. But now…”

“But now it hurts and is hot to the touch—and, I suspect, you feel as if you’re coming down with a fever?”

“H-how do ye know?”

“I’ve seen, and tended to, many wounds like yours,” Mia said. She gestured to a chair at the table. “If you wait there, I’ll fetch what I need to treat it.”

Brodie nodded, and his feverish gaze followed Mia as she bustled about the room, setting a pot of water over the fire, gathering bandages, and plucking a jar of salve from the shelf. When she drew out a knife from the cabinet, he let out a low cry.

“No! Dinnae do it!”

“Do what?”

He gestured to the knife. “Do ye mean to chop my arm off?”

“Why in the world would you think that?”

“Iona says that’s what doctors do—they’d just as soon chop yer arms and legs off.”

Mia raised her hands in a gesture of appeasement. “You have my word that I’ll not remove your arm. Your wound isn’t so bad to necessitate such an action. But it has festered, and I need to remove the putrefaction so it can heal cleanly.”

He glanced at his wound and rose.

“If I don’t treat your wound, it will only get worse,” she said. “And then…”

Brodie’s eyes widened and a tear splashed onto his cheek.

“It’s a simple procedure.” Mia kept her tone neutral and gestured to the wound. “I won’t ask you to trust me, because I know I must earn that trust—but perhaps…”

“Och, I trust ye, ma’am,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “B-but I’m…”

Afraid.

“I understand,” Mia said. “You’re a little apprehensive because you don’t know what I intend to do. I can explain as I go along so there’s no unpleasant surprises. I can also give you something for the pain. You’re in pain, aren’t you, though you’re being very brave not to show it. Wouldn’t you like that pain to stop?”