Page 24 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tav walked with a slow, deliberate pace, shoulders hunched more than usual against the thinning light. The village was quieter now, quieter than it should have been at that hour. The lanterns above the stalls flickered, casting warped shadows over rough wood and canvas. Somewhere to his left, a woman laughed, shrill and sudden, and he startled like a hunted thing before forcing himself to keep walking.

He hated that. The way his body still reacted before his thoughts caught up. The twitch in his right hand. The way his eyes scanned for exits even when he told himself there was no need. But tonight was not about fear. He had to be useful.

The market hadn't closed yet, by some miracle. A few vendors lingered, calling out half-heartedly to the last dribble of customers, their tired voices lilting through the air like smoke. Tav moved past stalls selling dried meats, grain, medicinal roots he didn’t recognize. He paused at one where a woman stood beside a few baskets of dried fruits and sachets of clean water.

"How much fer two o’ the meat packets and four sachets?" he asked, voice hoarse from lack of use.

The woman eyed him for a moment, her gaze dropping to the bandage peeking out from under the rolled sleeve of his shirt. Pity. Or suspicion. Or both. She muttered a price and he handed over the coin, trying not to grimace as he shifted the small pack on his shoulder.

He had to be better by the time they left.

The air was damp, faintly metallic. Tav inhaled through his nose, slow and steady, as if the simple act might settle the dull pulse of discomfort radiating from his side. It didn’t.

The healer’s place was tucked behind a crooked alley, marked only by a faded symbol scrawled in charcoal above the doorframe. He knocked once, and then twice more. After a moment, the door opened, revealing a narrow man in robes stained with the color of old tea leaves.

“Evening,” Tav said, trying for polite. “I’m here tae treat a wound. On me side. Can ye help me?”

The healer’s gaze dropped immediately to the spot in question. “Aye. Come on in.”

Tav stepped inside and exhaled. The room was dim and full of stale herbs, dust motes catching in the single line of light that slipped through a crack in the shutters. There was a low bench along one wall, a table cluttered with jars and cloth, and a kettle steaming over a small brazier.

He sat on the edge of the bench and pulled up his shirt. The healer knelt beside him, inspecting the bandage before slowly peeling it back.

“Are ye using anything on it?” the man asked, peeling back the last layer of bandage.

“Aye,” he flinched. “Yarrow, pine resin and comfrey.”

Tav clenched his jaw, as he felt the air on his exposed wound. The wound—originally a clean, shallow cut—looked angrier now. Reddened at the edges, the skin around it taut. A trace of cloudy discharge had soaked through the bandage, and the flesh beneath looked as though it had been irritated by more than movement.

“That daesnae look good,” Tav said, voice quieter.

“Nay,” the healer murmured. “It daesnae.”

For a long moment, the man didn’t speak. He reached for a cloth, dipped it in something sharp-smelling, and began to clean the wound with practiced care. Tav flinched.

“Is it infected?”

“Nae yet,” the healer replied, though his voice was less certain than Tav liked. “But it’s resisting the balm ye’ve been using. That worries me.”

Tav swallowed. “What daes that mean?”

The healer didn’t answer immediately. He reached for a small jar, twisted it open, and began dabbing on a new, thicker ointment that left a burning sting in its wake.

“It could mean many things,” the man said finally. “Yer body might be weakened from whatever else ye’ve endured. Or something foreign was introduced intae the wound when it was made. Poison, perhaps. Unclean iron. Did the blade feel... odd? Cold? Burned?”

Tav searched his memory. He saw the glint of the blade, the flicker of movement, the heat of his own panic. “It happened too fast. I dinnae ken.”

“Ye need tae keep this clean. Twice a day, at least. And use this new salve each time.” The healer wrapped fresh linen over the wound, tighter than Tav expected. “If it gets worse... if there’s fever or spreading... come back immediately.”

Tav nodded, even as the dread in his chest coiled tighter.

“I dinnae have much time,” he said. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

The healer looked at him then. Really looked. “Then ye’ll have tae decide what’s more important… travelling, or healing.”

He stood stiffly, the pain a slow roar beneath his ribs, and took the small jar of ointment the healer pressed into his hands. He murmured thanks, more out of habit than conviction, and left. Outside, the air felt different. Thicker. Like something pressing down on him from above.