Page 9 of Hold Fast

Catriona looked momentarily confused, but she soon caught his meaning and her hand flew to her throat in shock.

“Ewan… nay. Nay!Nay!You cannae ask me to do that! I dinnae ken the first thing about stitching a wound like that!”

“There’s nae one else,” Angus said, meeting Ewan’s gaze across the bed.

“Cannae Fiona do it?” Cat protested.

Fiona had been standing by the hearth, supervising two maids in stirring the boiling linens. She crossed to the bed. “Nay, m’lady. My eyesight isnae what it used to be, and I dinnae trust myself with such a task.”

“Fenella, then.”

Fiona clucked her tongue sadly. “M’lady, Fenella is a butcher with a needle and thread and would tell you as much herself.”

“A maid then. Cannae you send for the seamstress? Ewan, please, I cannae–”

“There isnae time, Cat,” he said grimly.

She choked on a gasp, her mouth covered by her hands as tears coursed down her cheeks, cutting streaks through the bloody stains. She was panicking. Ewan knew the look well. He’d seen it in enough men before a battle, when they realized that all the training in the world hadn’t prepared them to actually run headfirst into a line of enemies with weapons drawn. He’d felt that panic himself. Hefeltit. Every day. Endlessly. Sometimes it felt like panic was his most constant companion.

He realized he was asking her the impossible, tasking her with sewing her twin back together to save him from the brink. But there was no other choice. He trusted no one else.

“Cat, it must be done, and there is nae one better to do it. You are the most skilled with a needle.”

“But he is my brother, nae an embroidered cushion! I cannae do it, Ewan! What if I make it worse?” Her voice had risen in pitch with every sentence until she was shrieking by the end.

He held her shoulders in his hands and shook her gently. She sucked in a breath and looked at him, her tears and the ruby red of Connor’s blood making her green eyes look otherworldly.

“Cat, you cannae make it any worse.” It was the truth. “You can do this. Youmustdo this.”

During his time as laird, Ewan had found that people responded better to kindness than threats, that if you made a personbelievethey could do something, they were generally more eager to prove you right. But he knew that no amount of encouragement from him would make Cat’s task any easier. There was no proving him right.

Cat squeezed her eyes tightly shut and more tears leaked through. But then, as if gathering her mettle, Cat opened her eyes and nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Ewan squeezed her shoulders. Over her shoulder, he met Fiona’s gaze.

“Has anyone told Rabbie?” he asked.

“Aye,” Fiona said. “He was fetched from the stables shortly after your arrival.”

“We’ll need him.”

Fiona nodded. “I will go bring him myself,” she said before hurrying out of the room.

Cat was fetching her needle, Fiona was fetching Rabbie, Kenneth and Angus were standing at the bedside and staring at Connor with tense expressions. So much stillness and yet so much movement at the same time.

But the wound would need to be thoroughly cleaned before Cat could stitch it. He asked for some of the boiled linens and watched as a maid lifted a steaming strip with a thin metal rod, holding it aloft as the heat rolled off the fabric. When it was cool, Ewan took it and cleaned as much debris as he could from Connor’s wound. Connor grimaced as the linen abraded the injury, but did not wake.

Catriona returned to the chamber with her hair pulled back in a tight braid, her sleeves tied up. Rabbie followed close on her heels, his face ashen. He didn’t say a word but went to the bed and took Connor’s hand in his, rubbing the back of his with gentle strokes.

“Can we give him something for the pain while I stitch him?” Cat asked. “A sleeping draught? Something?Anything?”

“I fear it would kill him after losing so much blood,” Ewan answered grimly.

“Let us hope I dinnae finish him off, then,” Cat whispered and crossed herself quickly.

Ewan climbed onto the bed behind Connor, drawing his brother up so that his back was pressed against Ewan’s chest. Ewan wrapped his arms tightly around Connor’s thin, still-boyish torso and nodded to his three brothers and David to take position around Connor’s legs.

Catriona’s hands trembled as she threaded the needle with whisky-soaked catgut. She took a deep breath and began to stitch. Connor bucked, yelling hoarsely as he arched against Ewan’s hold.