Page 65 of His Forgotten Highland Bride

“What has happened?” Malcolm came running from where he sparred with Gabe.

“Get a healer. Bring them to the hall.”

“But Brenna is the healer.”

“She isn’t going to be able to stitch her own wound. There must be someone else. Get Moira.”

“Yes. Right.”

Gabe ran off as Ronan passed down his wife to the larger warrior. By then, the rest of the guards had gathered and followed them inside.

“Lay her here.” Ronan pointed to a table. He sent a maid for water and clean clothes to be made into bandages.

“The wound is too high to have hit her heart,” Will said, which was what Ronan had been hoping. “You,” he yelled to one of the lads. “Get a fire going in the hearth. We’ll need to sear the wound. Put some water to boil.”

With everyone rushing about, Ronan was left to stand there looking at his pale wife along with the other men who’d been unable to protect her.

“She was shot with her arrow. I’m sure it had been meant for me. No doubt meant to make it look like she’d shot me. Ewan would have had both of us out of the way so he could take over the clan.”

“Bastard,” Hugh whispered.

“Aye. I want the forest by the kirk searched. Find my uncle. Turn over every rock he may have slithered under and bring him to me.”

His men hesitated momentarily, a testament to how much they cared for their mistress, as they clearly wished to stay to see to her needs. But Hugh repeated the order, and with a round of “ayes,” the men rushed from the hall to capture the monster that had injured Ronan’s wife.

Ewan would pay for this.

Moira hurried inside a few minutes later, carrying a basket. The maids entered at the same time, holding a steaming pot of water, and the boys by the hearth had a fire stirred to life.

Ronan stepped to the side so the older woman could work.

“Ye did well, Ronan.”

“It wasn’t my first time tending to an arrow wound,” he said. He didn’t say it was the first time he’d done so for a woman and one he cared for at that. “I hope I wasn’t too rough. Instincts took over.”

“She is a strong lass. This is not a mortal wound. She will be fine so long as the wound doesn’t fester.”

As if ensuring such a thing didn’t happen, the healer dumped a fair bit of whiskey over the wound. The pain stirred Brenna to wake, and she let out a string of curses that made the healer chuckle. Ronan might have also found it amusing to hear his wife’s foul oaths, but he couldn’t find the humor when his wife was in obvious pain.

Ronan stood next to Brenna and held her hand while Moira stitched her up. When she was done, she added some salve and bandaged the wound. “Let’s move her to her bed where she’ll be more comfortable and get her changed out of this bloody gown.”

Moira had spoken to the maids, but Ronan saw to changing his wife and settling her in their bed in a clean shift.

And then he sat and waited. And waited.