Chapter Thirty
Angus scooped Meg out of my arms as though she weighed nothing.
“Pull back the bedclothes,” he ordered, sending me scrambling across the floor. “And you,” he said to Hank, who’d appeared in the doorway with a candle, “bring that in and light the others.”
Angus laid Meg on the bed and drew the covers over her pale, naked form. She rolled onto her right side, crying quietly. Her left cheek was bloodied, her eyelid ballooning. Blood trickled from her nose, and her lip was split.
“Where else did he hurt you, m’eudail?” Angus said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stroked the top of her head as though she were a child. She just wept.
“He kicked her in the ribs,” I said. “Hard.”
Angus swung his head around. “And what were you doing out there? You could have been hurt as well.”
“I was going to kill him.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
“I’m going to get Dr. McLean,” he said, standing up. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. It’s tucked in behind the—”
“I know where it is,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
Angus nodded and turned to Hank, who had by then lit the other candles.
“You—fetch some logs from the peat stack downstairs and get a fire going in here. And light the hall lamps. It’s going to be a long night.”
I ran down the stairs, feeling my way in the dark to where I knew there was a flashlight. I located the white metal tin with the red cross and knocked down the soap flakes in my haste to grab it. As I sprinted back upstairs, I passed Hank on his way down.
I sat on Meg’s bed, flipped open the lid, and soaked some cotton wool with iodine.
“Oh, Meg, I’m so sorry. This is going to sting,” I said, before dabbing the gash on her cheek. She didn’t so much as flinch.
Her left eye had shut completely in my short absence—the flesh above the socket had expanded and rolled over, creating a grotesque new lid. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth to the pillow, and, with a fresh wave of horror, I wondered if she’d lost any teeth.
Hank returned with an armful of logs.
“I have to get some compresses,” I said. “She’s swelling badly.”
I got two large metal bowls from the kitchen and took them out back, leaving the door wide open. I fell to my knees on the frozen ground and scooped up snow, throwing it into one of the bowls and punching it down until ice crystals formed and tore at my knuckles. When I couldn’t pack it any harder, I ran back inside, pausing just long enough to kick the door shut with my bare foot. I paused at the sink to fill the second bowl with water, set it on top of the first, and dropped a pile of clean rags into it.
When I appeared in the doorway with the stacked bowls, Hank turned his head, but otherwise didn’t move. He’d managed to get a small fire going and stood awkwardly in front of it.
“Hank, the hall lamps,” I said.
He sprang into action.
I set the bowls on the bedside table, wrung out a cloth, and draped it across Meg’s forehead. I folded another and laid it on her cheek, right under her eye.
Then I sat beside her, stroking her tangled hair and making shushing noises until I realized my fingers were sticky with blood. When I investigated, I found that a chunk of her hair was missing, leaving a patch of bright red scalp exposed.
I cleaned that as well, before covering it with yet another cold cloth. Meg didn’t react to any of it.
As I waited for Angus to return with the doctor, there was nothing I could do but sit with her, swapping out the compresses when they were no longer cold and watching the water turn pink. I’d never felt so helpless in all my life.
—
Dr. McLean banished everyone while he examined Meg, so the rest of us went downstairs to wait. As far as I could tell, Ellis had slept through the entire thing. That, or he was dead, but I saw no reason to check. If he was dead, he’d still be dead in the morning.
Hank and I sat by the dampened fire. Angus lit a lamp and paced. He’d pulled on a sweater before heading out into the night, but I knew Hank had already seen his scars. They were impossible to miss.
When Dr. McLean finally emerged from the stairwell, I leapt to my feet.
“How is she?”
The doctor set his bag on the floor and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve given her morphine, so for the moment she’s comfortable, but she’s taken a very serious beating. Do you happen to know the brute responsible?”
“Aye,” said Angus. “And he’s taken a wee beating himself.”
“Will she be all right?” I asked.
“She has a concussion, a great number of contusions, bruising of the spleen and kidney, and at least three cracked ribs. She lost the top molars on the left side, and the bicuspids are loose, although they might take hold again.”
“We need to call an ambulance,” I said. “Surely she needs to go to the hospital.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree,” said Dr. McLean. “But under the circumstances, if there’s any possibility she can be cared for here, I think that would be preferable.”
“What circumstances?” asked Angus.
“The hospital is in Inverness,” the doctor explained, “which is suffering from a fuel shortage and an outbreak of respiratory illness. Chest congestion is the last thing the poor girl needs with cracked ribs, so I’d strongly prefer not to expose her. But if you do keep her here, you’ll need to watch her very closely.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
After a pause, I realized everyone was staring at me. I turned to Angus.
“I know you’re busy elsewhere during the day, but between Anna and me, I’m sure we can manage. Maybe Rhona can come back for a while.”
“Maddie,” Hank said slowly. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing…Angus?”
It was the first time I’d addressed him by his Christian name in front of anyone else. He looked hard into my eyes.
“Maddie…” Hank said in the background.
“Please,” I said to Angus. “The doctor said she’d be better off here, and I’ll hold up my end. I promise.”
He turned to Dr. McLean and nodded. “She’ll stay here.”