Page 131 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Bring me more bandages. Clean ones."

Elinor moved through the great hall with purpose, her hands already stained with blood from the first wave of wounded. The space had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary—tables pushed together to serve as surgical beds, linens torn into strips for bandages, the castle's healer directing operations with grim efficiency.

"Me lady." One of the kitchen maids appeared at her elbow, arms full of clean cloth. "Cook says there's more if ye need it."

"We'll need it. Trust me." Elinor took the bandages, already moving toward where a young clansman sat clutching his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers. "Let me see."

"It's nae so bad, me lady." But his face was pale, his voice shaky.

"Let me be the judge of that." Elinor gently pried his hand away, examining the wound. Deep, but clean. The arrow had gone straight through the meat of his forearm, missing bone. "You're lucky. This should heal well if we keep it clean."

She worked quickly, washing the wound with boiled water mixed with herbs the healer had prepared. The young man hissed through his teeth but didn't pull away.

"You did well out there," Elinor said, keeping her voice steady, conversational. She'd learned quickly that talking helped—distracted from the pain, kept them focused on something other than the battle they'd just survived. "What's your name?"

"Finn, me lady."

"Well, Finn, you're very brave." She began wrapping the bandage, making sure it was tight enough to staunch the bleeding but not so tight it would cut off circulation. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, me lady."

Seventeen. God, he was barely more than a boy.

"Do you have family in the castle?"

"Me ma and two sisters. They're in the kitchens helpin' Cook." His eyes were bright with tears he was trying not to shed. "I wanted tae make them proud. Show them I could defend our home."

"I'm sure they're very proud." Elinor tied off the bandage, checking her work. "There. Keep this clean and dry. Come back if it starts to smell strange or if the pain gets worse. Understood?"

"Aye, me lady. Thank ye."

He moved away, making room for the next wounded man. Elinor took a deep breath, steeling herself, then moved to help.

The wounded kept coming. Some with minor injuries, cuts and bruises that would heal quickly. Others with more serious wounds—deep gashes, broken bones, burns from the boiling oil.

Elinor worked until her hands were numb and her back ached from bending over. She'd never done anything like that before, her father certainly hadn't prepared her for tending battle wounds. But the healer was patient, showing her what to do, and Elinor found she had a knack for it.

Or maybe she was just good at not fainting at the sight of blood.

"Me lady." Ainsley appeared beside her, looking worried. "Ye should rest. Ye've been at this fer hours."

"Has it been hours?" Elinor glanced toward the windows, surprised to see the sun had climbed higher. "I didn't notice."

"Aye. And the battle's quieted outside. They're regroupin' or somethin'." Ainsley held out a cup of water. "At least drink somethin'. Ye'll be nay good tae anyone if ye collapse."

Elinor accepted the water gratefully, draining half the cup before she realized how thirsty she'd been. "Thank you. Has there been any word from David?"

"Nae since the battle started. But that's probably good news, aye? Means he's still out there fightin'."

Or it meant he was too busy, or too injured, to send word. But Elinor pushed that thought away. She couldn't afford to think like that. Couldn't afford to let fear paralyze her when there was work to be done.

"I'm going to check the stores," she told Ainsley. "Make sure we have enough supplies. If they come again⁠—"

"They will come again," the healer interjected, overhearing. "Langley didnae bring two hundred men just fer one assault. He'll be back."

"Then we need to be ready." Elinor set down the cup. "Ainsley, stay here and help where you can. I'll be back shortly."