Torches appeared in several hands, bestowing ample illumination.
It was all too horrible. Thank goodness she hadn’t eaten anything earlier. If she had, it would have come right back up as she pried apart the ragged edges and began removing bits of cloth and broken metal links from Winston’s flesh. “Make sure you get it all, Mary. Every bit of it. Every little speck.”
“Aye, my lady.” She sounded as shaken and nervous as Beth felt.
Winston awoke with a moan and began to thrash about with amazing strength, considering.
“Hold him down,” Beth ordered.
Rough hands gripped his limbs to still his movements.
Mary turned and reached toward her husband’s face.
“Mary, don’t touch him,” Beth cautioned.
The blonde hastily jerked her hands back without making contact.
“Keep working on Miles. You can comfort Winston when you’re finished.”
Mary hesitated, clearly wanting to abandon her gory ministrations in favor of sitting and holding her husband’s hand.
Someone moved to Beth’s side.
When she looked up, she found stony, silent Adam glaring at the other woman.
Mary cast one last longing look at Winston, who seemed ignorant of all around him save the pain, then returned to her ministrations.
Unlike Winston, Miles neither moved nor made a sound while Mary tended the worst of his wounds.
Mary’s gaze met Beth’s.
That couldn’t be a good sign.
“Stitch it,” Beth told her, “then move on to the next.” She glanced around. “Where’s Marcus?”
“Here, my lady.” He peered around Adam, her things still clutched in his arms.
“Set that stuff on the table.”
He hurriedly obeyed.
“Now open the bottle of ibuprofen. That one there.” She had to tell him how since plastic pill bottles with childproof caps were foreign to him. Ibuprofen was a pain reliever, a fever reducer, and an anti-inflammatory. With these wounds, Beth assumed the men would need all three.
“Shake out two caplets.” She glanced around. “Would someone please bring me some water for him to drink?”
Winston looked up at her through glazed eyes. “You are Lord Robert’s woman,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yes. I mean, aye. You have suffered some serious injuries, Winston. But I’m going to do everything I can to help you. All right?”
He nodded weakly.
“Good. Marcus is going to put some things in your mouth. I want you to swallow them with the water he gives you next. Don’t chew them. Just swallow.”
He did, then lost consciousness again.
Thank goodness. She didn’t think she could poke a needle through his skin with him awake and watching.
“Okay. I’m ready for the honey, a needle and thread, Edward.”
Edward diligently produced them.
“I can do this,” Beth whispered to herself.
“Aye, my lady,” Adam said with confidence. “You can.”
Time blurred as she painstakingly stitched Winston’s thigh, then moved on to the next wound.
Clean. Apply honey. Stitch. Then move on to the next.
Clean. Apply honey. Then stitch.
Once the more serious injuries were taken care of, she treated the rest of his abrasions the same way without sewing them.
She applied antibiotic ointment to every minor cut and scrape, rapidly depleting her small supply. She would’ve applied it to the harsher wounds, too, but the ointment’s directions advised against applying it to open wounds.
Bandages followed. The larger wounds she bound with clean cloth torn into fairly neat strips. The smaller wounds she covered with either butterfly closures or adhesive bandages.
The odd tubes of ointment, plastic containers, and adhesive strips all sparked curiosity in her audience. Thankfully, the men were either too smart or too courteous to interrupt her work.
Adam’s quiet, protective presence was no doubt responsible for that. Though she supposed concern for their friends could’ve kept them silent as well.
When at last she and Mary had done all they could, Beth stepped back.
Miles had not roused once. Considering all of the crud she had dug out of Winston’s mangled flesh, she feared infection and fever were unavoidable and thought she should try to get some ibuprofen into the other man as well. Antibiotics would have been far better. Unfortunately, Fosterly lacked both a qualified physician and a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.
Beth used a mortar and pestle Maude produced to crush two caplets into a powder. After mixing it with water, she raised Miles’s head a bit and dribbled several bitter drops between his lips.
No response.
Mary reached down and massaged his throat until—miracle of miracles—he swallowed.
Beth smiled. “It worked. Do it again.”
Together they coaxed him into swallowing it all.
Stepping back, Beth stared down at the two fallen men.
“Now what, my lady?” Marcus voiced the question that hovered on the tips of all tongues.
She sighed. “Now, we wait.”
Wait for fevers to rise? Wait for them to slip into comas? Wait for death to claim them?