Chapter 8
"Darack!" Mairiana yelled. Panic raging through her, she banged her fist against the door. Horrified, she'd listened to the sounds of battle just outside the door—the sword clangs and men's yells. Had Darack bested them? If so, why wouldn't he answer her? He'd told her to keep the door locked, but what if he was injured? She would have to open it and see if he needed help.
"Darack! Answer me!" When he didn't, she quietly unlocked the door and cautiously peered out. He lay on the bloody deck beside two of Alec's men, all of them unmoving.
"Nay!" Her heart slamming into her throat, she ran to Darack and dropped to her knees. "Darack! Oh good heavens! Please don't let him be dead," she prayed, touching his face, feeling for his breath or any sign of life. She stilled her trembling hands enough to feel his breath gusting against her fingers. "Thank God." She glanced around the deck but saw no one. "Help!" she yelled. "Captain Madding!"
A crewman ran toward her. "What happened here?"
"A sword fight. Can you get help? My guard still lives. He needs a surgeon or healer."
"I'll be right back."
While she waited, she pressed her hands against Darack's warm skin, feeling his heartbeat and reassuring herself he still lived. But he was bleeding and she knew naught about injuries.
Moments later, three crewman carried Darack into the cabin, the captain following. "What happened?" he asked.
"I heard my guard being attacked outside the door." In fact, she'd heard four men's voices out there, besides Darack's. But she knew not what happened to the other two, unless Darack had thrown them into the sea. She had heard vanishing screams.
"Your guard?" Captain Madding's bushy white brows formed a frown. "He told me he's your husband."
"Oh." Mairiana didn't know Darack had told him that. "Aye, he is. We only married yesterday, but prior to that, he was my guard."
Captain Madding nodded, though his gaze remained wary. "He left the other men dead on the deck."
"I'm certain he had no choice. He was protecting me and himself. 'Twas self-defense." She moved toward Darack. The men had placed him on the suspended cot which swung slightly with the roll of the waves. One of the crewmen cut the left sleeve of Darack's blue doublet.
When Mairiana saw that his shirt was completely drenched in blood, panic blasted through her. "Oh good lord." She was not a healer… had never even assisted a healer. She had led a sheltered life, but this did not stop her from ripping at Darack's shirt sleeve so she could see the cut on his upper arm better. "Oh, saints! 'Tis a deep cut. He will need stitches. Do you have a surgeon on board?"
"My first mate performs surgeon duties. He has stitched me up a few times," Captain Madding said.
The captain looked healthy; maybe the first mate knew what he was doing. "Can you send him in, please?"
"Aye. I'll tell him to come quickly." Captain Madding exited the cabin, along with the three men who'd carried Darack in.
Now she was alone with him, and he was unresponsive.
"Darack, wake up, please," she begged.
He didn't move or make a sound. Had he lost so much blood, or had he been knocked out?
"God, help me," she whispered. "What am I supposed to do?" Her eyes searching his body, she opened his doublet and saw that blood drenched his side as well. "Oh no, not another cut."
She ripped his shirt open, revealing another gash at the bottom of his rib cage, on the side of his body. Blood oozed from it.
Icy horror consumed her and tears filled her eyes.
He had to be stitched up soon and the bleeding stopped. She ripped open his shirt to check for more injuries to his vitals but found none.
"Darack?" She touched his head, examining it to see if he had an injury there. Upon touching the back of his head, her fingers came away bloody. "Oh, good heavens," she whispered. How many more injuries did he have? She checked his legs and thankfully found no cuts there. Afraid she might hurt him, she did not want to turn him onto his side to check his back. Besides, she was unsure she had the strength to do this alone. Darack was tall and heavy with muscle.
The door burst open and a disheveled, gray-haired man with a scraggly beard entered carrying a satchel. He appeared the furthest thing from a surgeon she'd ever seen. She prayed he knew what he was doing.
"A good day to you, m'lady." He gave a brief bow. "I'm Sully. Cap'n says for me to stitch up your husband," he said.
Every time someone called Darack her husband, a flush of heat and pride filled her. And each time the description felt more real. "Aye, Sully. A pleasure to meet you. I'm Mairiana and this is Darack. Do you know a lot about injuries?"
"I've seen a few." His words did not inspire confidence.
