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“They both tell me my wound needs to be seared and I wanted to talk with Lady Fia first and see if she agrees,” Willard said, his young wife weeping softly by his bedside.
“The witch has befuddled him,” Marsh said. “Lloyd knows better what his wound needs.”
“You cannot be serious to think the wound should be seared now,” Fia said, shaking her head at the barrel-chested man who stood equal in height to her. His lips were nearly consumed by his bushy red beard that covered most of the lower portion of his full face and two thick, red braids hung from the sides of his head onto his shoulders.
“The wound needs closing before it turns putrid,” Lloyd said. “Then I’ll have no choice but to chop it off.”
Willard’s wife gasped. “Nay! Nay, you cannot take his leg.”
“Breda is right. You cannot take my leg,” Willard cried out.
“No one is chopping off your leg,” Fia assured the couple. “The wound will heal with proper care and rest.”
“There is no time for rest,” Marsh said. “He has his duties to see to. With the wound seared, he can return to his duties.”
“Tell me,” Fia said softly, as if speaking to an upset bairn, “what happens if the wound hides a bit of putrid in it and you sear it closed? What then?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I will tell you what will happen. It will fester and by the time it shows itself it will be too late. He will not lose his limb… he will lose his life. The wound does well. Leave it be so it may fully heal.”
Willard looked at Varrick. “Please. Please, my lord, I wish to do as Lady Fia says.”
“Aye! Aye!” Breda agreed through her tears.
“What say you, Lloyd?” Varrick asked.
The man scratched his beard, giving it thought. “Lady Fia might be right. I’ve seen enough seared limbs kill a man. It might do well to do it her way.”
Marsh glared at Lloyd as if the man had just betrayed him.
Varrick paid him no heed as he issued his decision. “Lady Fia will continue to tend Willard’s wound and instruct his wife how to care for it.” He turned to Fia. “I will wait outside until you are done. Lloyd. Marsh. Outside.”
“She has bewitched Willard and perhaps you as well,” Marsh accused, after stepping outside and not bothering to pull his hood up against the falling snow.
Lloyd raised his brow. “Easy, Marsh. Lady Fia made sense.”
“She is evil. She is a witch,” Marsh said, his face red with anger.
“I have seen witches work wonders on ill people,” Lloyd argued.
“And what ills have you seen them perform?” Marsh challenged.
Lloyd nodded. “True, I have seen what ills some of them could do, but Lady Fia did well by the wound. We should give her a chance, or do you forget Lord Varrick brought her here to help us?” He gave a nod to Varrick. “I hear you paid a hefty price for her, my lord.”
“A foolish one,” Marsh snapped.
“A necessary one,” Varrick corrected. “And why are you not with Ella, Marsh? Surely, she has missed you. And her time is not far off, is it?”
Marsh’s temper faded as he shook his head. “Two full moons and the bairn will arrive, God spare.”
“Go to her and worry not about other things. All will work out well,” Varrick assured him.
Marsh took his leave, his steps quick.
“Three bairns, he and Ella have lost,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “I hope this time proves differently. So, my lord, is it a healer or witch you wed and brought home to us?”
“You are the first one to question that, Lloyd.”
“You know as well as I do that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two. I suppose time will tell.” Lloyd said.
Fia stepped out of the cottage, catching their attention. “I believe all will go well with Willard. Breda took well to the instructions and will do what is needed to help her husband. Now for the others. Would you like to join us, Lloyd, and offer your opinion on how I have tended the wounded and ill so far?”
