While Gregor situated Isobel onto the bed, Adwen moved to grab the robe I’d used after my bath our first evening here. He ripped it into large strips with ease, tossing them in Gregor’s direction before he moved to the bedside to look at the wound himself.
The clouds darkened the room immensely, and in an effort to be of some help, I went about lighting candles around the bed to provide them more light.
“’Tis no a deep wound, ’tis only that head wounds bleed a great deal. Keep the rags I gave ye pressed firmly against her head. I expect she will wake shortly.”
As if summoned, Isobel’s eyes fluttered open. Her kindness always right at the surface, she thought immediately of Cooper. “Ach, what happened to me? I’m sure I’ve frightened the little lad to death. Where is Cooper?”
Only then did I notice the sound of Cooper’s soft sobs as he stood shaking and pale in the corner. In all of the chaos, he’d gone unnoticed. I started to move toward him, but Gregor gripped at the side of my hand.
“I’ll talk to him, lass. Ye can work at stopping the bleeding.”
I did as he asked, but my hands trembled as I pressed the rags to the bloody wound. I looked out of the corner of my eye at Cooper to distract myself and found myself listening as Gregor gathered a crying Cooper into his arms.
“Come here, lad. Why are ye crying so? She’s all right now.”
“No.” Cooper’s voice shook as he spoke, and he had to stop between every word to gasp for air. “It’s. My. Fault. I…I asked her to go up…to the tower. I shouldn’t have…”
“Hush, lad. Isobel is no a child. If she believed herself well enough to go to the tower, then that was for her to decide. Ye have no blame in this. Ye heard her. She’s worried for ye. Why doona ye go and hold her hand? Show her that ye are all right and so is she.”
The bleeding had slowed, and I allowed myself to twist so that I could look at Gregor. He was visibly shaken—his eyes red from tears he held back, his forehead even more creased than usual.
Still, despite his worry, he’d recognized Cooper’s guilt and pushed aside his own feelings for a moment to comfort him. He would’ve made a wonderful father. My heart ached knowing that he would most likely never get the chance. No matter how disgruntled and rough Gregor could sometimes appear, there wasn’t a man alive with a kinder, more loyal heart.
By the time Gregor finished reassuring Cooper that all was well, the bleeding had slowed and Isobel managed a small smile as Cooper hesitantly moved toward the bed. She reached out a hand to him, encouraging him to climb up beside her.
“I’m all right, Cooper. ’Tis only a small scratch.”
Cooper nodded and wiped his nose, snuggling in to sit cross-legged beside her. He gave her his hand as he glanced up at me, a silent question in his eyes.
“She’s okay, Coop. See? Look.” Gently, I pulled the rag away to show him that the bleeding had stopped. With the blood no longer flowing, he could see that the wound wasn’t as deep as it first appeared and his breath shook as he allowed himself to exhale, relaxing a little.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my whole life, Aunt Jane.”
Isobel squeezed his hand in reassurance, but she said little. Deep or not, I was certain the fall had given her a wicked headache.
“I know, Coop. Why don’t you sit beside her while I go rinse these rags? Maybe tell her a story. She doesn’t need to sleep for a while.” I placed my hand on Isobel’s shoulders and leaned forward so she would be sure to hear me. “I’ll be back shortly. Just lay back here and listen to Cooper talk. Try not to go to sleep.”
I knew nothing of medicine, but after such a fall she was very likely to have a concussion, and I did know enough to see that she needed to be kept under close watch for the rest of the day.
Cooper hesitated a moment but, once he started talking, I stood and turned away from him. I could hear his quiet words retelling one of his Bebop’s favorite tales—something about a talking dinosaur who becomes lost while out searching for a very special meal for his mother.
No doubt, Isobel would be the one who felt lost by the end of Cooper’s story.
Amongst the chaos, and after ripping my robe to shreds to be used for Isobel’s wound, Adwen had slipped away. Bloodied rags in tow, I went in search of him.
I found him in the kitchen one level below where he stood throwing vegetables and fresh chicken carcasses into water.
“Making broth?”
He jumped at the sound of my voice and twisted toward me, his eyes focusing on the pile of rags I held. He moved to bring me a basin of water.
“Here, lass. Ye can clean them in here.” He sat the bucket in front of me, reaching forward to brush the side of my arm before returning to his work over the fire. “Aye, I’m making broth. ’Tis all I know to do. The warm brew seemed to soothe my mother’s cough some, allowing her to breathe if only for awhile.”
I plunged the rags into the water as I spoke, swishing them around as the water turned red. I looked up at him to keep from growing queasy. “Your mother?”