“There,” he whispered. “On the other side of that tree.”
Catherine turned both of her children to face her. “I want you to stay right here,” she told them. “Right by this stump. Nathan, hold your sister’s hand,” she instructed, putting Nora’s hand in his. “And don’t either of you follow me.”
“Mom!” Nathan hissed. “We have to leave! Whoever killed him might still be here!”
Catherine forced herself not to look around but kept her eyes on her children. “We don’t know that someone killed him. He could have had an accident. I have to go see,” she gently told them. “And if he is dead, then we’ll leave. We’ll go tell the authorities.”
She hesitated only long enough to make sure they stayed put, then turned and walked toward the tree Nathan had pointed to. It took all of Catherine’s willpower to make her legs move. She’d never seen a dead body other than in a casket, and those had looked rather tranquil, as if they were sleeping.
Was the dead man bloody? Gruesome? Ravaged by wild animals? No. Nathan had poked him. He wouldn’t have stayed around long enough to do that if the man had been mutilated.
Catherine stopped just before the tree and looked to make sure her children hadn’t followed. Nora was clinging to Nathan, who was hugging her back, both of them staring at Catherine with wide, terrified eyes. She smiled assurance, turned back to the tree, took a deep breath, and stepped around it.
Well, she definitely wasn’t looking at a log. It was a man, all right, and he certainly did appear dead.
Catherine leaned around the tree to see her children in the strengthening sunrise. “I’m just going to check if he’s alive,” she told them, so they wouldn’t panic when she moved out of sight.
“Mommy!” Nora wailed. “Come back!”
“It’s okay, sweetie. Nothing bad is going to happen. You and Nathan just wait one more minute.”
Catherine turned back to the half-naked man and stepped closer, picked up the stick Nathan must have used to poke him, and held it like a club. She took another step closer, studying him.
He was a huge man, well over six feet tall, with dark auburn hair and several days’
growth of beard shadowing the harsh planes of his face. He was wrapped in a length of plaid cloth, cinched around his waist with a wide leather belt. There was another, different-colored plaid lying beside him.
Catherine took a quick step back when she noticed the long sword clutched in his left hand, half covered with leaves and the edge of the plaid blanket he was wearing.
A sword?
The man looked like Mel Gibson inBraveheart, only scarier.
She crept closer and slowly bent down, keeping her stick poised to strike. She reached out and touched his shoulder, only to gasp at the realization that he was warm.
Not dead. Unconscious.
Catherine scanned his body and saw the blood seeping through the cloth on his right side. She also noticed several scratches on both his arms and legs, some of them deep.
Only half of his broad chest was covered by the cloth, and she could see a large gash on his right shoulder. There was a bruise on his left cheek and another one on his temple.
He’d been in some sort of fight. She leaned forward, still careful not to touch him, and saw a good deal of blood covering the ground.
“Mommy!” Nora shouted.
Catherine stood up and leaned past the tree. “I’m okay, sweetie. And he’s not dead, he’s unconscious. He’s bleeding quite badly, though.”
“Then come back, Mom,” Nathan hissed. “We gotta leave before he wakes up.”
Catherine looked back at the man. If she didn’t stop that bleeding, he never was going to wake up. She looked back at her children.
“Nathan, I want you to go get that old wheelbarrow from behind the outhouse and bring it here. Nora, walk over to me and stand next to this tree.”
“No!” Nora cried, shrinking back.
“It’s okay,” Catherine assured her, holding out her hand for her to come. “He can’t hurt us. He’s just a poor wounded man who needs our help. Go, Nathan,” she said more firmly. “He’s bleeding to death.”
Nathan urged his sister forward, then turned and ran back down the hill to the outhouse.
Nora walked over slowly, her eyes rounded in apprehension.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetie,” Catherine said softly. “Come see for yourself.
He’s just a man.”
Nora finally reached the tree and sidled up to it, hugging it for protection, and peered at the ground behind Catherine.
“See?” Catherine said. “He can’t hurt you.”
“He… he’s big,” Nora whispered.
“Yes, he is. And he’s hurt real bad, baby, and we have to help him.”
Nora looked up at her mother. “Can’t we call an ambulance?”
“I’d have to run down the mountain to call one, and he could die before an ambulance can get here. We have to take care of him ourselves,” Catherine explained, turning back to the man. She set down her stick and started loosening his belt enough to slide it out of the way. “Now that you see there’s nothing to be afraid of, can you do me a favor, Nora?”
“Wh-what?”
“Can you run back to the cabin and get me a towel?”
“The blue one?” the little girl asked.
“The blue one would be just fine,” Catherine assured her, carefully peeling back the sticky cloth. “And grab a couple pairs of my wool socks and bring them also,” she called to the retreating girl.
She looked back at the man. He was covered head-to-toe with dirt and leaves, and his skin, even his tanned face, was ashen.
Catherine slowly lifted the cloth away from his right side, sucking in her breath at the sight of the ugly gash just above his hip bone. It was about six inches long, and deep, the skin pulled wide as blood slowly oozed from it.
“Well, mister, we may have found you just in time,” she whispered, gently prodding the cut to see if anything more than blood was involved. No organs or intestines popped out, and Catherine blew a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t up to performing internal surgery, but her many years assisting her dad in his veterinary practice had left her capable of stitching closed a wound like this one.
“What’s the wheelbarrow for?” Nathan asked, pushing it over the bumpy roots of the large pine tree.
“To get him to the cabin,” Catherine explained, moving to shield Nathan’s view as she lifted the plaid to see if he had any other wounds. She dropped the cloth as if she’d been burned, bowing her head to keep Nathan from seeing her blush. Her daddy’s animal practice hadn’t prepared her for anything like this. The guy was a brute of a man and looked as if he had more testosterone than blood in his veins. In fact, that was probably all that was keeping him alive right now; his powerfully fit physical condition was compensating for losing so much blood.
“How are we going to get him in it?” Nathan asked, walking over and staring down at him. His eyes suddenly widened. “That’s a sword!” he said, reaching down to grasp it.
Catherine caught his hand. “Don’t touch it.”
Nathan stepped back and blinked at her. “What’s he doing with a sword? And he’s dressed funny.”
“I have no idea,” Catherine admitted. “Maybe there’s some sort of gathering in Pine Creek, where people dress in period clothes. You know, like when I took you and Nora to that Civil War reenactment last summer. This guy is dressed like an ancient warrior.
Maybe there’s a Scottish festival going on.”
“Here’s the towel, Mommy. What’s the socks for?”
Catherine took the towel from Nora, placed it under the plaid, and slid his belt down to hold it over the wound. “He’s in shock, sweetie, and his body temperature is dropping.
Here,” she said, handing one pair of socks to Nathan. “Put these on his feet.”
She carefully pried the sword from the man’s left hand, slipped one of the socks over his fist, then slipped the other one over his right hand.