Carefully, Makenna took the cloth from Dunlop and inspected the serious injury. Camus arrived and placed a large bag on the table. “What do you need first?” he asked.
Makenna kept her attention on the deep gash. “I’m going to need a compress made of ground ivy for his arm and head. I’ll need a needle, thread, and a candle to stitch his side.”
Camus began digging in his bag, removing the items. “What else?”
Makenna turned, swiftly looked around, and plucked the dagger sheathed in Colin’s belt. Colin saw her intentions and moved to help. Carefully, they cut away most of Sean’s clothing, trying not to cause him any more pain. By the time they were done, Camus had threaded the needle and was burning the tip in the candle’s flame.
Makenna took the needle and pierced the skin. She heaved a sigh of relief when Sean passed out from the pain. Realizing the soldier was no longer conscious, Colin gathered the men in the room into a huddle.
Quickly Mackenna made small stitches along the long gash and gave Camus further instructions. “When I’m done here, I’ll want to keep a poultice of marigold and John’s Wort over the incision. And include henbane, if you have any more. I’ll need one of your men, Colin, to bring in a bed and a more comfortable chair. It will be easier to take care of him here. Once he’s on the bed, Sean should not be moved again. I don’t want anything reopening that wound. Hopefully the poultice will keep down the pain and bleeding.” Out of her peripheral vision, Makenna saw heads nod as people began to execute her instructions.
“Will he be all right?”
The question came from one of the soldiers who had obviously carried his friend in by the amount of blood on him.
Makenna made the last stitch and tied it off. She stood up and looked the young man in the eye. “The wound is deep, and Sean is very weak. But he was strong and healthy prior to this. If we can avoid fever, he should make it.”
Colin ordered the man to help the others with the bed. Then he pulled her aside. For the moment, with the exception of Camus and Dunlop, who remained with Sean, they were alone.
“Tell me the truth. How does he fare?”
Makenna sighed and looked at the unconscious body. “I spoke in earnest before, though I might have given more hope than I should have concerning the fever. When it comes, I’ll give him a hot broth mixed with elder, yarrow, and peppermint.” She paused and looked up at Colin.
“How did it happen?” she asked, positive Colin had discovered how and why Sean had been injured.
“I assigned a few men to watch over the wall until it was complete for security. Bored, they began sparring. Sean heard a noise, was distracted, and did not deflect the dagger coming at him in the dark.”
Colin hated the dishonesty, but after what he just heard, he had no choice. Four men had tried to sneak through the incomplete portion of the wall. Sean was the first to attack, killing the initial invader. The other guards joined and the battle quickly ended. One attacker, in his last gurgles of breath, had laughed and let them know that MacCuaig was coming and he was after Makenna.
Makenna knew Colin was lying. She had witnessed Colin fighting to control his fury when speaking with his men. All three of the undamaged soldiers still had their daggers with them, and all the blades had been bloody. None of the men apologized either; something she would have expected if Sean’s wound had been caused by a friend. No, whoever did this was an enemy, but whose enemy—Colin’s or the clan’s?
She thought about calling Colin on his lie, but decided against it. For some reason, he did not want to tell her the truth, and she sensed it was not to be condescending or to be in control, but from a need to protect.
“Will you have to go? To check out that noise?” she asked, giving him a way to perpetuate his lie.
Colin’s brows shot up in surprise. “Aye, I…will,” he answered. Blue eyes searched hers for a moment, seeking an indication of whether she believed him or not.
The men returned and began assembling a bed, tightening the ropes before laying the mattress down. Warily, under Makenna’s watchful eye, they lifted Sean and placed him on the bedding. She quickly inspected the poultice bandage on his side and applied the ground ivy compress to his arm and forehead. The wounds were clean and the bleeding had stopped, at least for now.
“Camus, I need to go to my chambers and dress. I will return directly.”
Makenna headed toward the archway to exit the hall and entered the night air. Colin caught up with her and pulled her into his arms. Needing his strength, Makenna gave in to her desire to be held by him.
Things had been so tense between them, and Colin knew this embrace had not resolved whatever was wrong, but it felt good to hold her once more. After a long moment, he kissed her head and whispered into her hair, “Dunlop and I need to leave now. Gorten and Brodie will remain here and protect you. It should not take me more than a few days.”
Makenna nodded against his chest, soaking up his warmth. “Just you and Dunlop?”
“Aye, we should not be gone long. Few days at the most.”
Makenna wanted to say, “Take care. I love you,” but the words would not come out. She felt vulnerable and exposed enough just by his holding her heart.
After a while, Colin slipped Makenna out of his arms in preparation to leave. He looked down and was temporarily frozen. Her eyes had turned a deep forest green. Without thought, he closed his hand around the back of her head and brought her lips up close to his. “Oh, how I will miss you, Makenna.” Then Colin cupped her chin with his hands and kissed her.
His mouth came down on hers before Makenna could even think of moving. She wanted to fight the passionate onslaught, but she didn’t have the strength. A shudder passed through her, and she knew the ragged moan that had escaped was her own.
Colin meant only to give her a gentle kiss. Aye, he meant to say good-bye and remind her of what they once shared, but when Makenna’s arms went around his neck and her mouth opened to him, inviting him in, he found himself kissing her with a hunger akin to pain. Gathering her in his arms, he gave her a hot, searing kiss that held nothing back. Finally, he reluctantly eased himself away from her and disappeared through the gatehouse calling for his horse.
Makenna leaned back and released a joyful sigh. Sean was going to live.
The morning following the attack Sean had started running a fever. During the next twenty-four hours, it continued to grow. He fought drinking the tea and tried to hit anyone who came near him. More than once, Makenna was glad that she had learned to dodge and weave so well, though she never imagined applying the skill in such a way.
Camus came in and relieved her for short bursts, but his knowledge of medicines was only limited to what Makenna had taught him.
The summer he had first started teaching Makenna the ways of swordplay, she had gotten scraped a few times. Fortunately, a visiting nun had taught Makenna the healing properties of some herbs and how to apply them. Afraid that her father would discover her injuries, Makenna had begged Camus to keep the bag of herbs with him lest her father inquire why she would need such items. Camus had held them ever since.
The next two days Sean’s fever raged. He seemed to go through bouts of insanity either attempting to hit Makenna for trying to bury him under burning covers of flame, or lunging at her seeking a kiss while calling Makenna by a female’s name she had never heard before.
Near midnight of the fourth night following the attack, Sean’s head began to cool. He no longer burned her fingers to the touch. She stood and stretched and went to shake Camus, who was sleeping in a chair with his head propped up on the table. “Camus,” Makenna whispered, nudging her friend.
“Huh? What? He worse?”