“It had to ha’e been bandits,” Alick said suddenly. “Who else would want to hurt our Saidh?”
Greer peered at his wife, his arms tightening instinctively around her. His mind was stuck on Dougall’s comment about the bandits raping her. The idea was an appalling one: this strong, passionate woman held down and raped by a group of filthy bandits. He was quite sure Geordie was right and Saidh would gut a villain or two did they try, but if there were a lot of them, or they took her by surprise, or if they even just got lucky, she could have been overcome.
He shuddered at the thought, suspecting that for a woman as strong and proud as Saidh, such an attack would leave her broken in spirit as well as body. Greer would rather suffer the tortures of hell than witness such an eventuality.
“There.”
Greer glanced around at Rory’s weary comment to see that he’d finished not only sewing the injuries closed, but had bandaged her as well while Greer was lost in his thoughts.
“Ye can lay her down, now,” Rory said as he shifted off of her and got off the bed.
Greer hesitated, oddly reluctant to let her go, but then sighed and lay her gently back on the bed, only to stiffen and frown when he saw the state the bed was in. While someone had thought to push the furs down the bed and out of the way, both the upper and lower linen were now soaked with blood and the water with the smelly tincture in it.
“Hey!” Alpin cried in surprise when Greer suddenly scooped Saidh and the top linen off the bed, leaving him uncovered.
“The bed has to be changed ere ye both sleep,” Greer announced as he turned and strode across the room. “Bundle yerself up in the furs and come sit by the fire until ’tis done.”
“Alick—” Aulay began.
“I’ll fetch some maids to change the bed,” Alick said before Aulay could finish giving the order.
Greer merely grunted a “thanks” as he settled in one of the chairs by the fire and arranged Saidh in his lap. He wasn’t leaving her side until she was up and about and well again, and then he would only leave her side if at least two of his men—no four, four of his men were there to guard her. He wasn’t going to risk losing his bride again. Today was the last day she would suffer harm in any way.
Saidh opened her eyes with a little sigh and peered at the sleeping boy beside her. Alpin, she realized. Lying on his side facing her and sound asleep. The boy looked sweet as could be in repose. One could almost forget the pain in the arse he could be when awake, she thought, and smiled faintly, only to frown in the next moment as it occurred to her to wonder what the boy was doing in her bed.
“Oh, there ye are. Ye’re awake.”
Saidh followed that voice to the woman seated in a chair on Alpin’s side of the bed. Lady MacDonnell was leaning forward in the seat, beaming at her as if she’d just done something incredibly clever by opening her eyes.
“M’lady,” Saidh said uncertainly, and then her eyes widened slightly as her gaze slid past the woman and she took note that she wasn’t in her room, but the master bedchamber.
“I thought we’d agreed ye’d call me Aunt Tilda,” Lady MacDonnell said gently and then tilted her head and frowned slightly. “Ye look confused, dearling.”
“I—aye, I am,” Saidh admitted almost apologetically. “Why am I—” She started to turn on her back, intending to sit up, but stopped abruptly when her movement sent pain shooting through her arm and chest. She glanced toward the shoulder where the pain seemed to be situated, but all she could see was the heavy cloth of what she guessed was a sleeping gown.
“Oh dear, I fear that knock ye took to the head may ha’e done some damage,” Lady MacDonnell said, sounding concerned.
Saidh glanced to her with amazement. “Knock to the head?”
“Aye. Yer brother, competent as I am sure he is, was so busy tending yer shoulder he ne’er e’en looked to see if there was aught else wrong with ye. It was my Helen who found the bump on yer head. Ye must ha’e hit it as ye fell from yer mount,” she added with a frown. “I can’t imagine that whoever shot ye troubled themselves to then kosh ye in the head too.”
“Shot,” Saidh breathed, her memory returning. Someone had shot an arrow into her as she was heading back to the castle. She’d woken up here in the master bedchamber where Rory had forced the arrow through her back and . . . well, she must have fainted. She didn’t recall anything after that.
“Are ye remembering now?” Aunt Tilda asked with concern. “Ye look as if ye might be.”
“Aye,” Saidh smiled at her weakly and relaxed back onto her uninjured side in the bed. “Someone shot me with an arrow as I was returning to the keep and Rory removed it.”
“Good, good.” Aunt Tilda smiled and sat back in her seat again. “Head wounds can be so tricky and then ye’ve slept fer so long . . . for a moment I feared it had done some permanent damage.”
“How long was I sleeping?” Saidh asked curiously.
“Three nights and two days,” Lady MacDonnell said solemnly. “This is the third morning, and I can tell ye we’ve all been worried sick. Why, Greer refused to leave yer side the first two nights and days. Last night, though, I insisted he go find some sleep. As I pointed out, it would do little good if ye woke up only to have him drop across ye with exhaustion and relief the minute ye opened yer eyes. I promised to send for him though if ye woke while he was no’ here, so I guess I’d best—”
“Nay! Wait,” Saidh protested when Lady MacDonnell stood and moved toward the door. When she paused and glanced back with surprise, Saidh hesitated, but then flushed and admitted, “I ha’e to relieve meself and I’d rather—”