‘Nothing is false here,’ Frederick said. ‘Our truce is true.’
‘My friend at my feet proves your lies.’
The man groaned, clutching his stomach. Sheonly had moments to spare him. She shoved herself forward and made it through the Lochmores, who were taken by surprise.
Rory lifted his sword and stared her straight in the eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
‘You point a sword at a woman?’ Frederick roared.
‘I point at an enemy.’
Ailsa had enough. ‘While you point that sword, he’s dying. I’m not a woman or an enemy right now, Lochmore.’ She indicated the pouch around her waist and spied the water bearer enter the room. ‘I am a healer and his only chance.’
This was ridiculous. She’d been ordered around enough tonight. Keeping her eyes on him, she moved around the sword, knelt and froze again as she felt the prick of a sword at her neck. She ignored it. She didn’t care, it wasn’t what concerned her. Whether she lived or died was a matter of fear, whether this man lived or died was up to her.
Shoving with all her weight to move his body on to his side, she retorted, ‘You can stab me all you want, but I will save this man.’
‘You harm him further and I’ll kill you.’
Save her from men who did not think! ‘Kill me all you want, but help me now!’ Anothershove, but he was too heavy. Damn them all. Another shove. Why wouldn’t they help?
A clatter of metal and Rory knelt at her side. ‘What do you need?’
She’d ask him later what changed his mind. For now, she’d take his help. ‘Turn him on his side, stick your fingers down his throat. We must rid him of the wine.’
There were complications when inducing vomiting, but those would have to wait. Rory shoved two fingers. It wasn’t enough. Grabbing the warmed water and salt, she forced it down the man’s throat. Waited, then pressed on his stomach.
Heaves of water, of wine, of food burst out. With a nod to Rory, she pressed again and he shoved his fingers deep. The man emptied his stomach again. Most of it was clear.
Pouring another goblet of hot water, she crushed and threw in mint and clove. Usually so careful with amounts, but now she went by instinct and haste. The man was losing consciousness.
‘Pull him up!’ she ordered Rory. ‘Drink this,’ she demanded and poured the contents down the man’s throat. A moment of relief when he swallowed. After vomiting, she needed to be alert for dehydration.
It would only take moments to know if what she’d done had worked. She glanced at Rory, whose considerable body was cradled around his friend, the look in his eyes and countenance too vulnerable for the crowd around them, and she drew herself taller to shield him. When that wasn’t enough, she gripped his arm tight until he looked at her and she showed him where to place his arms.
‘What is his name?’ she asked.
‘Paiden,’ he said and a wealth of information was in that said name. This wasn’t only a fellow comrade of Rory’s, this was his very dear friend.
Ailsa’s first fear was conquered, but there were more. Paiden not rousing being only one of them; Rory holding him and the men surrounding them was another. Here on the floor, her concentration on Paiden and Rory, she could believe there was no one else. But now...
‘He needs a bed.’
Rory shoved his arms under his friend and stopped. ‘Your gown.’
Ruined beyond any recognition. No matter, it wasn’t her best and the chemise was still good. ‘Cut it and secure it. I’ll look at the contents later.’
He drew a blade, and the cloth fell from her body. It was done.
Swiping the ruined cloth and standing on shaking legs, she ignored the murmurs and tense glares assaulting her and faced her father. He stood alone, his body ready to fight as he faced the room and not her.
‘Our guest needs a room,’ she announced. Chin raised, she waited until Rory and another man lifted Paiden from the floor, nodded to Hannah who now held the water, then walked slowly out the side doors and away from the crowd.
Chapter Six
Hours in this room passed as he watched the morning turn to late afternoon. Hours hearing his friend’s uneven breath, but nothing else. Even asleep Paiden usually talked, his limbs moving as though he was marching across Scotland.
Desperate to get some sleep, he’d been four years of age when he’d begged his mother to make Paiden sleep anywhere else but in his bed. It been a joke between them ever since. To see him still was unnatural.
