Authors: Silver James
Becca fought back
tears. They’d threatened to fall the entire journey but she was so close to
their destination, losing control was an eminent possibility. Each passing day
weighed heavily on her. She could feel what was happening to Ciaran’s body, the
fevers and pain that ravaged him. Would she be too late? He was gravely wounded
and ill. Her heart and soul were positive she was the only one who could save
him.
The sun was gone and
shadows lengthened in the murky dusk when the first MacDermot guard challenged
them. “Riordan MacDermot,” Riordan answered. “With Taidhg MacDonagh and
an
Taoiseac’s
lady.”
Becca and Riordan
had already passed the sentry, but Taidhg caught the measured look the man sent
after the girl. Taidhg had heard the talk in the barracks and at the table.
These were battle-hardened men, and they were none too sure of the MacDermot’s
choice for a mate. Her startling arrival, strange appearance, and behavior was
odd enough. Add the MacDermot’s reaction to her, and the whole affair left them
puzzled. With battle imminent, she was a distraction the troop did not need.
The three of them
rode into the encampment. Niall MacDonagh swept Riordan into a rough hug as
soon as the younger man stepped down from his horse. Niall nodded up at his
kinsman, Taidhg, and stared at Becca, finally recognizing her.
“What does she
here?” he demanded of Riordan, his voice harsh with accusation.
“
She
does
what she pleases,” Becca retorted. She swung off her horse with assured grace
as Niall stared at her mannish attire. He opened his mouth to chide her, but
she preempted him. “The countryside is unsettled. Three men were less likely to
draw attention than a woman and her escort. Where is he?” she demanded.
Flabbergasted, Niall
simply stepped back and pointed. A crude tent had been erected, and the shadowy
shape of a body was visible among a pile of furs and blankets. Becca let out a
little cry and rushed to Ciaran’s side.
Sweat left a sickly
sheen on his handsome face, now creased and wracked by pain. He thrashed about,
caught in a fevered nightmare. Becca laid a cool hand on his hot forehead.
“Rest easy, Ciaran. I’m here now.”
He grabbed her hand
and almost crushed it with his brute strength. She stroked his cheek with her
other hand. “Becca?” his voice grated out between dry, cracked lips.
“Shh,” she soothed.
“Everything will be fine now. I’m here to take care of you.”
“Nay,
muirnín
,”
his parched voice croaked. “
’
Tis no place for you. Who was fool enough
to bring you? Not Taidhg. He swore his life for you.”
Riordan slipped up
beside Becca and knelt down. “Twould be me, cousin,” he said in hushed tones.
“This one you have chosen has a mind of her own. Near a sennight ago, she awoke
and demanded we bring her to you.”
Niall sucked in a
deep breath. Ciaran had been wounded in a sneak attack just before dawn a
sennight ago. He stared at Becca, his expression thoughtful. “So the binding
goes both ways,” he muttered.
Ciaran grasped
Riordan’s arm in greeting. “
’
Tis glad I am that you are here, cousin.
Niall will have need of you. The O’Brien think to attack soon.” He turned
feverish eyes to Becca. “You are getting back on that horse and going home,” he
ordered with some semblance of his old authority.
Becca snorted, the inelegant
sound saying it all. “The hell I am,” she added for emphasis. Over her
shoulder, she called to the other man hovering at the tent flap. “Taidhg, get
the bag Siobhan packed for me from my saddle.”
She reached for the
blanket covering him, but Ciaran grabbed it. She pushed his hands away and
stripped it off. Tears filled her eyes when she saw the raw, gaping wound in
his side, just above the hipbone. The gash was an angry red, swollen and full
of pus. Becca hoped she’d arrived in time to stop the infection. When Taidhg
appeared with the bag, she gave him whispered instructions.
Within a few
minutes, a bucket of steaming water appeared at her elbow. She tossed in a cake
of soap and washed up. With hands as gentle as she could make them, she probed
the wound, ever conscious of each breath Ciaran sucked in. She winced each time
his muscles clinched and knotted or when his hands fisted to keep from pushing
hers away from him. Though deep, the wound hadn’t bled much. Becca was
grateful. No major arteries or veins were involved. The infection and the
attendant fever worried her. The wound must be cleaned and drained before she
could cauterize it. None of it would be pleasant for Ciaran. She glanced up to
find Niall guarding the entrance to the tent.
“Whiskey?” she asked
the captain of the guard. “Or something equally strong.” She wanted the strong
liquor for two reasons: first to get Ciaran roaring drunk so he wouldn’t feel
as much of the pain, and second to help disinfect the wound. Food mold was
still centuries away from being distilled into penicillin.
“You have to go
home, cailín,” Ciaran whispered to her. “I couldn’t bear it if aught happened
to you.”
“Nothing is going to
happen to me, Ciaran. And if I don’t kill this infection, you are going to die.
Where would I be then?” she retorted.
Ciaran smiled and
relaxed a little. That she’d considered life without him, and she didn’t want
him gone was a major stroke to his ego and gave him great comfort. He didn’t
want to admit how often in the past two months he’d almost mounted his horse
and ridden home to claim her fully. He worried she truly was fey and would
disappear before he could return.
While she waited for
the whiskey, Becca bathed his face and chest with a wet cloth. His men had
piled blankets and furs on him hoping to sweat out the fever. Becca knew this
fever had to be cooled rather than sweated. It was so high the fever itself
could kill him. As her hand trailed the cool water across his chest, his hand
found its way to her leg and rested on her thigh for a moment. It didn’t stay
still very long as caressed her.
“At ease,” Becca
ordered with a small giggle. “Is that all you ever think about?”
Ciaran cupped
himself and grinned at her. “
’
Tis too late, cailín, to make
an boidín
stand down.”
Becca glanced at his
erection. Her breath whistled sharply as she sucked it in. So that’s what had
poked her in the behind. She tried not to stare, but she couldn’t drag her gaze
away.
“Aye, look your fill
now, sweet Becca, for as soon as I am up, I’ll be burying him deep between your
legs.”
“You are up,” she
retorted, ignoring the little shiver of anticipation skittering up her spine.
“And you are in absolutely no shape to be putting that thing anywhere but back
to sleep.” She glanced over her shoulder after hearing a discreet cough. “Ah,
Niall,” she greeted the other man with relief. “
’
Tis about time. Pour
that stuff down his throat
’
til he can’t think anymore.” She haphazardly
threw a blanket over his midsection and stood up. Ciaran groaned and reached
for her. She danced away from his hand. “I’ll be back when you are good and
drunk,” she informed him. While the tone of her voice brooked no argument, her
eyes glinted with mischievous lights.
“I’m always good,
even when I’m drunk,” he shot back.
Niall dropped beside
Ciaran and propped him up. “Drink, Ciaran. I wouldn’t want her coming after me
with that sharp tongue of hers.”
Ciaran smiled,
remembering a different conversation with Niall concerning the same subject. “I
can’t think of anything more pleasant,” he mumbled around the mouth of the
wineskin Niall held to his lips.
Becca found Riordan
and Taidhg sitting at the fire. Riordan handed her his plate but she shook her
head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“
’
Tis as bad
as it looks, cailín,” Riordan stated, his worry leaking out in his voice.
Becca shook her
head. “It’s bad enough but I think he’ll live. I have much work to do tonight,
Riordan, and it will be hard on him. Niall is getting him drunk now so he won’t
feel as much of the pain. Can someone build a small fire closer to the tent?
I’ll need a continuous supply of hot water, and when it comes time to cauterize
the wound, I’ll need to heat the knife.”
Riordan and Taidhg
both grimaced at her words, but Taidhg stood to do her bidding.
“You seem
inordinately fascinated by hot water and soap,” Riordan mused.
“Heat and soap
cleanse,” she told him. “Both kill that which would fester in a wound.” Her
face was etched with fatigue as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. “That
which festers in a wound would kill a man.”
Riordan nodded.
Eachan had told him of her part in the birthing of the foal. He was not
surprised she was wise in the healing arts. Once again, he wondered where she’d
come from. In the dark midnights on their way to find the troop, he and Taidhg
often talked, speculating about her. Taidhg told him of her battered body and
the strange language she’d spoken when they’d found her; of Ciaran’s immediate
and possessive reaction to her. She acted like no other woman Riordan knew, and
there were still times strange words and phrases came out of her mouth.
As Aralt’s nephew,
under Brehon law, Riordan could have made claim to become clann chief when
Aralt died. Though his father’s acknowledged heir, Ciaran was still Aralt’s
bastard. Like Niall, though, Riordan recognized something in Ciaran so he
hadn’t pressed his claim, choosing instead to swear his fealty to his cousin.
Riordan stared into
the fire watching the crackling flames dance as he wondered. Was she a witch as
some in the castle believed? If so, he’d seen nothing but good magic come from
her hand. When he’d gazed upon Ciaran’s face earlier, Riordan would have sworn
the man wasn’t long for this world. Then he’d seen his cousin’s reaction to the
girl. A man near death could not evidence that much lust. Riordan grinned as he
remembered the first time he’d laid eyes on the girl. She’d had the same effect
on him.
A sudden burst of
song erupted from the tent, the words slurred and bawdy. Riordan and Becca
exchanged smug looks. Ciaran was rip-roaringly drunk.
“He’ll need to be,”
she murmured as much to herself as to Riordan. “What I must do tonight might
kill a lesser man.”
She stood up and
headed back to the tent, her steps measured and resolute. Riordan stayed where
he was, wishing for a bit of whiskey himself. It would not be the last time he
made that wish in the long night that followed.
Back in the tent,
Becca stared at Niall and Taidhg. Her gaze never wavered as her mouth formed a
tense line. “This will not be easy,” she told them. “What I have to do will
hurt him and though he is drunk, it will not be enough to block all the pain.
You will have to hold him down. Know that I seek only to save his life and
trust me to do what is necessary though you may not understand.” She gazed at
each man for a long moment, taking their measure. “Will you help me?” She held
her breath waiting for their answers.
“Aye, mistress,”
Taidhg replied without hesitation.
It took Niall longer
to reply. He scrutinized Becca with a hard eye. “What comes to him comes to
you, cailín,” he finally replied with a soft growl.
Becca wondered if
there was an implied threat in Niall’s words. If Ciaran died, would Niall kill
her? She blinked. With perfect clarity, she realized that if Ciaran died, she
wouldn’t want to live. Becca took a deep breath before nodding at the big
soldier to show she understood. “We begin.”
It was near dawn
when Becca finished, so exhausted she had trouble lifting her arms. Niall’s
cryptic statement made perfect sense now. She’d felt each slice of the knife as
she cut away dead and diseased flesh. Her muscles could recite each stitch
she’d taken in the muscles of his abdomen. She’d worked with tears streaming
down her cheeks as Ciaran moaned and thrashed. She’d almost passed out herself
when she’d finally cauterized the wound. Now, she wanted nothing more than to
fling herself down beside him, rest her head on his muscled shoulder and sleep
for a week.
Wearily, she washed
his blood from her hands, then packed the wound with an herb poultice. She
bandaged him and pulled the blankets up around him.
Though still
feverish, he was not as hot as he had been. The killing fever had broken at
last, and Ciaran finally slept peacefully.
Through the whole
ordeal, Niall watched her closely. Only he suspected the toll it had taken on
her. “Sleep, cailín,” he ordered, his voice gentle. “I’ll be here to watch over
the two of you.”
Becca gratefully
curled up beside Ciaran. Niall found her mantle and tossed it over her.
Surprised to find the MacDermot Knot pinned to it, he stared at Ciaran for a
long moment before gazing at the girl. The Knot had never left Ciaran’s
possession since he’d first received it. Upon assuming the position of
An
Taoiseac
, the Knot came to Ciaran even though Niall couldn’t recall Aralt
ever wearing the thing. Conversely, he couldn’t remember Ciaran ever without
it.
’
Twas most curious for sure. Niall could recite many
of the old tales, but he obviously didn’t know near enough.