After helping Errol into a chair, she placed the logs in the fire, thankful they were there and that she wouldn’t have to waste time collecting wood. Once she had the fire started, she moved to the one bed in the small space. The throws were old, but they would do. She pulled them off the bed and brought them outside to shake them out.
She kenned she should do the same to the mattress, but there wasn’t any time. Errol had been bleeding quite heavily since he was first cut, and the bleeding got worse the longer they rode. She was scared that he wouldn’t be able to stay astride his horse if they had to ride much longer.
After she remade the bed, ensuring to put one of the throws down for Errol to lay on, she helped him to the bed.
He laid down with a grunt, a wince distorting his face.
Moira was certain he was hurt even more than he was telling her.
They needed clean water but didn’t have any other than the filled skins they carried. They would have to do for now. She would look for fresh water after she took care of Errol.
She looked around the bothy to see what type of supplies had beenleft behind, hoping there were items of use for their situation. She found a stack of folded linens, and pulled a couple from the middle and shook them out. Since they were covered for the most part by the linens surrounding them, they were the cleanest of the bunch.
From her satchel she pulled out a needle and thread. Thankful to Seema for handing them to her afore they parted.
“Just in case,” she had said with a sad smile.
Moira thought she was being silly.
Until now.
She shivered at the thought of how much danger they were in. Afore they were attacked, Moira saw their journey as an adventure. Danger never crossed her mind.
Now she realized how wrong she’d been.
Looking through the cupboard, she found a few bottles of ale. Not kenning how long they’d been here, she wouldn’t drink them, but she could use them to clean Errol’s wounds. She grabbed one and after dragging a small table near the bed, she placed all the items she’d gathered atop it.
Errol caught her hand. “Lass, I will be fine. I just need to rest a bit.”
He reminded her of Seema. She’d uttered those exact words at the inn.
“I agree, ye will be fine. Howe’er ye still need stitches, though I must warn ye. At home, sewing was no’ an interest of mine, so these may no’ be pretty, but they will staunch the bleeding to be sure.”
He gave her a small smile. “I am no’ the least bit surprised that ye found no interest in sewing.”
“Watch it,” she warned. “I may be tempted to punch ye in yer arm for yer teasing.”
“Duly noted. In my bag is a skin of ale, can ye get it? I think I’d like a swallow afore ye start.”
She did as he asked and handed him the skin. With a grunt, he pulled himself into a sitting position and took a long pull. After he wasdone, he met her eyes.
“I’m ready,” he said, lying back in the bed.
Cutting away the remnants of his bloody sleeve, she revealed the wound. It was deep but the slice was clean.
“This may burn,” she warned as she poured the ale on the cut.
Errol hissed through his clenched teeth but said naught and remained still.
Moira was thankful it wasn’t a jagged cut. Her sewing skills were not aught to be proud of. But with no other choice available she set to work threading the needle, and afore starting, she said, “I apologize.”
His eyes clashed with hers. “Dinnae. I am thankful for yer assistance.”
Biting her lip, she wiped away the blood as best as she could, then pierced his flesh with the needle, drawing it through to the other side. She couldn’t help but cringe each time she repeated the action.
Errol watched her with a pained expression but said naught.
She began to hum. An old tune her mother used to sing to her when she was a wee lass. She didn’t ken why, but it released some of the tension filling the room. Even Errol, for all that he was going through, seemed to relax a bit, which made the process easier.
