He was back to complimenting her and rebuking her in the same breath. “Had I told you my plans, you would have stopped me,” she said frankly. “I took you along this road, de Wolfe. It was my duty to protect you when I sensed danger. You do not know these lands; I do. I know what these people are capable of and I could not… I would not….”
She trailed off, unable to finish. Gaetan didn’t say anything after that. He had his hand on her leg, which was covered with those leather trousers she liked to wear, even beneath the cotes he had given her. In truth, he didn’t trust himself to speak because he still wasn’t over the shock of seeing her risk her life for him and his men. Never in his life had he met a woman of such bravery, but in that bravery there had been great danger. Now, she had an arrow through her thigh, anchoring her to the horse. He could see that it was embedded fairly deeply and he pushed aside any emotion he was feeling to logically address the injury.
But it was a struggle.
“It will cause you more pain if I try to pull it out and I am not entirely sure I can because of the way it is embedded in the mare,” he said, hating the fact that he was starting to feel queasy at the sight of her with an arrow in her. “I am going to break the shaft and then we will lift you off of it.”
Ghislaine was looking at him steadily, pale-faced, with beads of sweat on her upper lip, but her expression was one of faith. Total faith. Gaetan locked eyes with her and, at that moment, something changed for him. This strong noble woman had been trying to do the right thing since nearly the moment they met. Not including their brief encounter on the battlefield, she had been trying to help men she didn’t even know save their comrade. Her motives weren’t entirely altruistic; she wanted to be rid of a half-brother who had made her life miserable. But more than once, she had gone above the call of duty to help men who were, in theory, her enemy.
But not anymore.
At this moment, she had proven herself to him.
“We need more hands to help, Gate,” Aramis said, his voice tense. “I can lift her up but we must have more hands to steady both her and the leg.”
Gaetan could see his point. He turned to see de Moray standing behind them, sword in hand and legs braced, prepared for anything that might come charging out at them. Back on the road beneath the canopy of trees, he could see his men on horseback and several bodies on the ground. There was still some fighting going on but, as he watched, Jathan and Luc de Lara came shooting out of the chaos, heading in their direction.
Jathan and Luc were on them quickly but their rush caused the injured mare to dance about nervously and Ghislaine gasped in pain as Aramis tried to hold both her and the horse steady. Gaetan, too, was trying to keep the mare from moving around as Luc and Jathan rushed up to see her injury.
“I cannot remove this arrow, as it is embedded in the horse,” Gaetan explained to them, quickly. “It has her pinned. I am going to break the shaft and then we will try to lift her off of it. Luc, get on her other side and prepare to help lift her up on my command. Jathan, find something to stanch the blood flow. We will need to bind the wound.”
The priest, pale-faced with the rush of battle, went running back to his horse to collect bandages from his saddlebags as Gaetan prepared to break the shaft. He looked up at Aramis to see if the man had Ghislaine properly braced.
“Do not let her move,” he told Aramis quietly, steadily. “Hold her fast. Luc, help him steady her while I break this.”
Ghislaine had her head turned away, hearing Gaetan’s words. She had never been more terrified in her life. She was in excruciating pain as she felt hands on her left leg and thigh, holding it still, while Aramis wrapped his enormous arms around her to keep her from bolting once Gaetan jostled the arrow. They’d all had their share of wounds enough to know how painful something like this was, so once Aramis nodded briefly to Gaetan to signal he had a good grip on the lady, Gaetan went quickly to work.
Grasping the shaft of the arrow just above her thigh, he snapped the shaft in half. As Ghislaine bit off her cries of pain, he took hold of her right leg and, with Aramis shifting his grip and lifting, pulled her leg off the arrow that was still stuck into the side of the horse. Ghislaine screamed in pain as they did so, made worse by the fact that it wasn’t a clean removal; something had her leg stuck to the arrow so the first attempt at removal was only partial. Gaetan had to grasp hold of the underside of the arrow to hold it steady and had his men lift again, this time with de Moray’s help, to pull her right leg completely off of the shaft. Finally, her leg came free.
Aramis handed her down to Gaetan, who cradled her against his chest as Jathan rushed up with a wad of boiled linen and a bladder of wine that was part of their provisions. As Luc and Marc went to work removing the remainder of the arrow from the poor little mare, Aramis went to assist Gaetan and Jathan in wrapping the lady’s leg. Aramis took a close look at the wound before he let the priest put bandages on it.
“’Tis a dirty wound, Gate,” he said grimly. “I can see bits of her cote and other debris in it. It must be cleaned.”
Gaetan shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “We must get her to safety before we clean the wound. Douse it with the wine and wrap it. We must get out of here.”
Aramis knew that; they all did. He eyed Ghislaine, who was trying very hard to be brave, before taking the wine bladder and dousing the liquid onto the wound. It was the only thing they had to clean it at the moment but the sting of the alcohol had Ghislaine biting off her screams in her hand. It was horrific battlefield medicine. With great haste, Aramis and Jathan then proceeded to bind the leg tightly as the rest of the knights began trickling down the road.
“How is the lady?” Téo asked, pulling his worn horse to a nervous halt.
Aramis was binding the leg so tightly that Ghislaine was weeping softly in pain, hand over her face and her head against Gaetan’s shoulder. Gaetan turned to glance at Téo, an expression on his face that suggested he was becoming ill.
“Injured,” he said simply. “The arrow has been removed but the wound must be tended. We cannot do that here. Has the fighting stopped?”
Téo nodded. “For the most part,” he said. “St. Hèver and Wellesbourne are dispatching the wounded, but many of those fools ran off. They will return for their dead and we do not want to be here when they come back.”
“Agreed. Is anyone injured?”
“Only the lady.”
Gaetan was relieved, at least in the aspect that none of his men had been wounded. “De Moray!” he barked.
Marc appeared at his side. “Aye, Gate?”
“The mare?”