"Ilsa," he whispered.
She waited, but he said no more and did not open his eyes. As carefully as she was able--terrified he would move and she would not be able to stop his fall from his precarious resting place--she checked him for broken bones. Ilsa finally decided he had miraculously escaped that fate and sat back on her heels to plan what to do next.
"I could ride back to Clachthrom and get help," she said and then looked around. "Nay, that willnae serve. Ye move at all and ye could fetch up at the bottom of this rise. The rocks down there are monkillers for certain."
One glance up the rise revealed that the climb was not as easy a one as she had thought. Desperation and some skill at climbing had caused her to underestimate the challenge. Although she could get back up and down again, she had no idea of how she could get Diarmot up that steep rocky ridge. There was nothing to secure him to while she went to get help, either.
"Dinnae ye move, dinnae e'en twitch," she ordered her unconscious husband and then started to climb back up to the horses.
When she reached the top, she studied what tools she had at hand. They were few, but very useful. Diarmot clearly planned for every need when he rode out to tend to his lands.
Securing one end of a coil of rope to her horse, Ilsa gently lowered the rest over the ledge. She wrapped a blanket and her cloak around her neck, and climbed back down the hill. As soon as she reached Diarmot, she hurriedly tied the other end of the rope around him beneath his arms so that she no longer needed to worry that, at any moment, he could move and fall the rest of the way down the slope. She tied the blanket so that it covered his back and used her cloak to wrap his head for she knew that his journey back up the hill would be rough.
Although she ached to somehow direct his body up the rise, to try to prevent every bump he would suffer, she knew that was impossible. Not only did she need both hands to climb, but Rose would need to be coaxed to pull Diarmot up. Ilsa climbed down a few more feet to retrieve Diarmot's sword from where it had caught between two rocks and returned it to his scabbard. As best as she could, she pushed and pulled his limp body until he was seated, his blanket-covered back against the rocks.
Once back up with the horses, Ilsa took a moment to catch her breath, then grasped hold of Rose's reins. "Now, lass, step gently and let us pull Diarmot back to safety with as much care as we can."
When Ilsa judged Diarmot reaching the top, she moved to the edge to look over, then went back to Rose to lead her mare along another few steps. Ilsa had to go back and forth twice more before she was able to get a grip on Diarmot.
Urging Rose to move and cursing Diarmot for being so big, Ilsa finally got her husband onto the ground several feet away from the edge. She untied the rope around him and Rose, tethered Rose and, after taking her cloak off Diarmot's head, sat down beside him.
"I cannae just leave ye here," she said, staring at Diarmot's chest and taking comfort in the way it rose and fell with each breath he took. "Ye are helpless and tisnae only the ones who wanted ye dead one needs to worry about. I could just set here and wait for someone to come looking for me." A quick glance up at the dark clouds on the horizon made her shake her head. "Nay, no time for that. I am going to have to think of some way to drag ye back to Clachthrom myself. Or," she frowned at the horses, looked back at Diarmot, and cursed.
"Nay, I cannae get ye on the back of one of the horses." She patted his chest, holding her hand over his heart for a moment to savor its steady beat, then untied the blanket she had used to protect his back, spreading it out beneath him.
The slowly increasing wind and the chill it carried told Ilsa she could not rest long. She stumbled to her feet, spread her own blanket over Diarmot, and fetched the small axe from where it hung on his saddle. Ignoring the increasing damage to her hands, she cut what wood she needed to make a rough litter. She used the lacings from his boots to lash it together. After she had used the rope to attach the litter to her horse, she stood and looked down at Diarmot.
"I will confess, love, that, at this precise moment, I truly dinnae appreciate that fine strong body of yours," she muttered. "I have spent my whole life surrounded by braw oafs," she grumbled as she grasped the blanket he was on top of and pulled him toward the litter, inch by arm-wrenching inch, "but where are they now, I ask ye? Are they here to help me get your carcass on the litter?