He spoke, but Sawny could not make out the words. Everything was a blur.
His fever still raged, but it released its hold on Sawny enough for him to open his eyes into narrow slits. Even the dim light ached, as if it shot sparks against his eyeballs, and he squeezed them shut.
Dinna put too much effort into me, lad,Sawny thought grimly as his thoughts swam around his congested mind.I’m no’ long for this world.
The stones and the rag, however, were soothing, and Sawny was grateful for them. The sounds of shuffling in the cell departed with Addison, followed by the squealing door hinges of the door sealing him in again.
Sawny did not care. He slipped back to sleep.
When he opened his eyes next, the first thing Sawny noticed was the light was not as sharp and his vision was clearer. Much of the fog was gone.
For a moment, he forgot where he was and wondered why his bedding was so hard. Had his brother played a trick on him?
Then he was able to brush away the cobwebs that had formed in his head.
Nay. No bedding. Peat and stones. I’m in a gaol. I’m Kelso’s prisoner.
That was all his mind could recall, and even that made his temples throb.
The rag Addison brought him had fallen to the stones, and Sawny pressed it to his head again, wiping his face. It was damp, mostly because the stone cell itself was damp from the weeping stones, but refreshing nonetheless. He wiped at the grit in the corners of his eyes and blinked.
Still achy, but the vicious, burning pain behind his eyes was gone.
And so was his fever.
How long was I asleep?
Groaning, Sawny slowly pushed himself upright and lifted his gaze to the window slit, as if the answer could be found in the dull sun rays filtering through.
His stomach rumbled, and when he dropped his hand to his belly, he felt the wrapping around his waist.
His injury. His wound. The burn.
Inflammation and pus. That was why he’d been senseless for so long. How had that changed? How had it not killed him?
His mind flitted to the fitful memory of Addison at his side, the lad’s hands on his wound.
Sawny lifted his tunic to find fresh wrappings around his waist. Delicately peeling the linen from his side, he saw the ravages of his wound and the subsequent cautery were healing. The skin surrounding the scab was clear and no longer bright, angry pink. The scab was solid, not weeping, and . . . glistening. He touched his fingertip to the edges of the wound.
Sticky?
What had Addison done?
The lad’s efforts had been effective, it appeared to Sawny, because the wound was actually healing.
His fingertips followed the length of the wound from his side to his back, and the entire scab felt the same. Solid, not tender, and slightly sticky.
He dropped his tunic and rested the back of his head against the wall.
Addison had healed him. It was a miracle.
But for what? More torture?
The memories of the past several days slowly unfolded in his head.
Addison had healed him so Kelso could turn around and torture him for answers Sawny did not have about a letter he knew nothing about.
Even if he was more involved with the politicking that transpired behind closed doors, Kelso had to know he was not going to reveal anything. He was a MacDonald, after all!
