Highlander Most Wanted

chapter 16





Genevieve hesitated at Bowen’s chamber door. It was closed, and she wondered if she would even be permitted entrance. Brodie had looked at her with suspicion, but surely he didn’t believe she had anything to do with Bowen’s injuries.

Thrusting her chin up and scolding herself for being the coward she so easily labeled Patrick, she knocked softly at the door. There was a long moment of waiting, and she was debating whether to knock again when it opened the barest crack and Brodie stood frowning at her.

She thought to explain her presence, when he swung the door wider and motioned her inside.

“Have you any skill at healing?” Brodie asked as she stepped through the doorway.

She paused, blowing out her breath. “It depends on what he has need of. I’ve never done any stitching, and I have no knowledge of poultices or drams.”

Brodie’s lips pressed together in consternation. “He has need of stitching for one of his wounds, certainly, and I would give him something to make him less restless, to ease his pain so the stitching can be done, but I do not trust a McHugh healer with his life.”

Her hand went automatically to rub at the ragged scar on her face. “Nay,” she agreed quietly. “I’d not have the McHugh healer stitch him, either.”

As she spoke, she moved toward the bed, where another Montgomery soldier stood guard. Bowen lay there, eyes closed, but he fidgeted even in unconsciousness. His tunic had been removed, and she could see a ragged cut to his chest. The flesh lay open and was still bleeding, though the soldier wiped at it with cloths.

“Think you are up to the task?” Brodie asked. “Your hands are smaller and you would perhaps be more adept at a needle and thread than I or one of the other men.”

She swallowed hard, still staring at the open wound. Then she squared her shoulders. “Aye, I have skill with a needle and thread. Surely ’tis not more difficult than laying stitch to material. I can sew a tight seam. But I dare not sink needle into his flesh if he’s had nothing to calm him.”

“I’ll have the materials you need fetched to the chamber. If we give him enough ale, it will dull his senses enough for you to do the task.”

Genevieve wasn’t as convinced as Brodie was, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t want to anger the warrior, and if he saw no use for her, ’twas likely he’d bar her from Bowen’s chamber.

Brodie pulled a chair from the window and positioned it directly beside the bed before motioning for Genevieve to sit. He gave terse instructions to the warrior attending Bowen, and then quit the room abruptly.

Genevieve leaned forward, her hand going to Bowen’s forehead in an automatic gesture of comfort. He shifted beneath her touch and then quieted, rubbing against her palm.

“Bowen, are you feeling any pain?” she asked.

“He’s remained unconscious, mistress,” the warrior explained.

Genevieve turned her gaze on the warrior. “Aye, I know it. I’m trying to determine if he’s aware of anything happening around him.”

The warrior fell silent, abashed by her response.

She took the cloth that lay on Bowen’s chest and gently wiped at the blood still seeping from the wound. Upon further inspection, she found a long gash in his upper arm, though it wasn’t as deep or flayed open as the one on his chest.

Remembering the chain mail covering Bowen’s chest, she realized that the sword must have sliced through armor and flesh. Thank God he’d been somewhat protected. With a cut this deep, the blow would most certainly have been fatal were it not for the protective covering that was sliced through.

“Has the wound been washed?” she asked, taking note of the dry cloth stained only with blood.

The warrior looked uncomfortable. “Nay, mistress. We were concerned only with halting the bleeding.”

She nodded. “ ’Tis good, that. But fetch me water from the basin so that I may cleanse it before we set needle to flesh. It will help to remove any dirt or part of the armor that is embedded.”

Looking relieved to be assigned a duty other than standing within Genevieve’s view, the warrior hastened to fetch the pitcher by the window.

A moment later, he returned with a fresh cloth. He plunged it inside the clay jug and wrung it out, extending it toward Genevieve.

“By what name are you called, warrior?” she asked as she carefully began to cleanse the inside of the wound.

“Geoffrey, mistress.”

“My thanks for your aid, Geoffrey.”

He looked surprised by her thank-you, and he nodded solemnly.

Before long, Brodie returned with one of the Armstrong warriors. They both carried supplies in their hands, and Geoffrey scrambled to make way for them.

“I brought needle and strong thread, suitable for stitching. Deaglan prepared a dram for Brodie, so that he’s not combative when you apply the needle.”

Genevieve sent Brodie a grateful look. She knew well the threat a man could pose when he was in his right head. One delirious with pain and only half conscious wasn’t someone she wanted to risk placing herself in the path of.

She rose to allow the two men access to Bowen and hovered on the perimeter while they coaxed the potion down Bowen’s throat.

When Brodie was satisfied that Bowen had taken all that he would, he took a step back and directed his attention to Genevieve.

“Give it a few moments to take effect before you set yourself to your task. Geoffrey, Deaglan, and I will remain to ensure that Bowen is still for the entirety of you tending the wound.”

“You are kind,” Genevieve said quietly.

Brodie stared at her a long moment. “And you are unused to such, are you not?”

She flushed and turned away, refusing to voice her agreement, though he well knew the answer to his own question.

“I know that Bowen champions you,” Brodie continued. “You needn’t worry that while he is recovering I’ll allow any harm to come to you.”

Guilt gripped her chest, tightening until it was hard to breathe. Bowen must not have discussed his concerns with Brodie, or the Armstrong warrior would not be so gallant toward her. What would he do once he learned the terrible truth that Bowen had discovered just minutes before the attack?

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out, praying that her guilt wasn’t clearly written on her face.

He gestured for her to take her seat next to Bowen, but cautioned her to wait a moment longer, until he was certain Bowen had succumbed to the effects of the potion.

She settled down, wondering how she’d ever control the shaking of her hands. Fear, such a constant companion, had risen sharply at the thought of discovery. Brodie Armstrong would loathe the very sight of her. He’d likely think she deserved whatever fate befell her at the hands of the McHughs—if he didn’t decide to exact justice for his sister on his own.

She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, concentrating her entire will on calming her scattered nerves.

After a time, Bowen quieted and ceased his restless fidgeting and turning. His breathing became shallow and his head lolled to the side, his body going lax.

Brodie leaned over, pushing at Bowen, attempting to rouse a response, and when Bowen remained still and silent he nodded at Genevieve.

She sucked in a deep breath and took up the needle and thread held out to her by Deaglan. After making certain a sturdy knot was at the end of the thread, she tentatively put the needle to the middle of the wound and pinched the flesh together with her free hand.

Warily, she watched for any reaction from Bowen and then, holding her breath, she plunged the needle into his flesh, pushing it through to the other side of the wound.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t so much as flinch.

Leaning forward, she focused intently on her task, setting stitches close together to effectively seal the wound. She barely even breathed the entire time she sewed together one side. By the time she reached the edge, sweat rolled down her temples and dampened the tendrils of hair at her nape.

She tied off the knot at the end, making several loops so it would hold, and then she rethreaded the needle to begin again where she’d started at the center.

It was long, painstaking work. Not a word was spoken as she diligently concentrated on each stitch. Blood oozed from the end as she neared the other edge, and Brodie reached over to dab it away so she could quickly seal the rest.

When she finished, she sat back with a deep sigh. Her shoulders ached from the effort and her neck was stiff. Her fingers shook as she finished tying the last knot. Then she severed the thread, the arduous task at last completed.

“ ’Tis a fine job you’ve done, mistress,” Deaglan praised.

She nodded, too tired to speak. For a long moment, she stared at Bowen’s still closed eyes, and then she finally turned to Brodie.

“I’ll have need of binding to wrap his arm. ’Tis not deep enough to require stitching, but if ’tis not bound tightly enough, the flesh will not heal properly.”

Brodie quickly handed her several long strips of linen, and Geoffrey lifted Bowen’s arm so she could wind them around the wound.

When the bandaging had been completed, Genevieve sat back with a satisfied sigh. “ ’Tis done. Now it is up to him to heal. Perhaps ’tis best to prepare more of the dram so that he can rest comfortably in the coming hours.”

“Aye, I’ll see it done,” Deaglan said.

“Now, ’tis time for you to rest, Genevieve,” Brodie said. “I’ll escort you to your chamber and post a man outside if it makes you feel more secure.”

She hesitated, glancing back at Bowen. She had no right to ask what she was about to, but that did not deter her.

“I would prefer to remain here if ’tis permissible. I would see him through the night and ensure that he does naught to tear his stitching. If he takes a fever, he’ll need constant care.”

Brodie frowned a moment, as he and the other warriors exchanged glances. Then, as if reaching a decision, he nodded.

“Aye, if that is your wish, then you may remain in Bowen’s chamber. Deaglan and Geoffrey will remain close in case you have need of anything. You only have to call out. I’ll oft check in on his progress, but now I have matters of the clan to attend to. There are dead to bury and traitors to ferret out.”

She glanced up in alarm. “There are more?”

“I know not,” Brodie said grimly. “You spoke of one who tried to plunge his dirk into Bowen’s back. If there was one, there may well be others.”

She nodded her understanding even as dread gripped her heart. McHugh Keep was already hostile enough for her. She’d named Bowen’s betrayer, and if more were uncovered, she’d likely receive the blame for the consequences.