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"Aye," Aulay agreed. What he'd been able to see had seemed bad.
"And this is from her head hitting the mast?" Rory asked with disbelief.
"As far as we ken," Aulay answered.
"It was a pretty bad storm here," Alick said, and then told Aulay, "Apparently, it mostly bypassed Buchanan keep. All they got there was a bit o' wind and some drizzle."
Aulay merely nodded. That happened sometimes.
"It must have been more than pretty bad for her to take this much damage," Rory said grimly.
Aulay grunted. "The mast was probably bobbing around on the water like a cork in rapids."
"What the devil was she doing strapped to a mast?" Uncle Acair asked with disgust, moving up on the other side of the bed to peer at her.
"Mayhap to keep her from falling overboard in the storm," Alick said, repeating his earlier suggestion.
"Making her stay below deck would ha'e done the job just as well, and wouldn't have left her bobbing around the ocean with her head pounding on the wood over and over," Geordie pointed out with displeasure.
"Ye say she spoke when ye first found her?" Uncle Acair asked.
Aulay merely nodded. It was Alick who told them, "Aye, Aulay asked her name and said he'd send word to her family, but she did no' like that idea at all. She started jabbering on about cats and white ladies and someone trying to kill her. Aulay had to promise he would no' find her family until she was healthy and well again just to calm her."
That wasn't exactly true, but it was close enough for now, so Aulay didn't comment and simply shifted his attention to Rory as the man sighed and straightened.
"Well?" Aulay barked, not liking the grim expression on his brother's face. He'd seen it before, usually when Rory didn't expect a patient to survive whatever wound they'd taken.
"She's in a bad way, Aulay, but I'll do me best to help her," he said solemnly. "I'll need to cut away her hair to better see and clean the wound, and then I need boiled water, clean linens, and my medicinals."
"Did ye no' bring them?" Aulay asked with alarm.
"Aye, but I set them down on the table below when I saw ye were well. I did no' ken about the lass here."
"I'll get yer medicinals," Alick said, leaving the room.
"I'll start some water boiling and find some clean linens fer ye to use," Geordie offered, following Alick.
Silence fell in the room briefly, and then Uncle Acair glanced to him and commented, "So we've another lass on our hands with someone trying to kill her?"
"So it would seem," Aulay said with a shrug. It did appear to be becoming something of a habit with the Buchanan men. Two of his brothers now had married lasses whose lives had been in threat and whom they'd kept safe. He had to wonder if it would happen a third time, and if so, which brother would be lucky enough to win the beautiful lass in his bed. Shifting, he said, "'Twas hard to follow some o' what she said. But it sounded like she was being forced to marry someone who was no' her betrothed and who had killed his first wife, and she thought would kill her."
"And the cat and white lady?" Conran asked.
Aulay shrugged. "Mayhap her cat and a Lady White went down with the ship."
The men nodded as if that made sense, and then glanced back to the lass.
"If ye promised no' to find her family ere she was well again, we'll have to keep the promise," Uncle Acair said solemnly after a minute.
"Aye," Aulay said firmly. That was the only thing he was clear on here.
"But it should no' be too hard to find out what ship went down in the storm and learn who she is that way," Conran pointed out. "We need no' approach her family to find out at least that much."
"True," Aulay agreed, and then added sternly, "but no one learns that she is here and alive until I say so."
Conran nodded, and then they all glanced to the door as Alick rushed back in with Rory's bag o' weeds.
"Thank ye, Alick." Rory took the bag and then ordered, "All but Aulay can leave now."
When the other men nodded and turned to exit the room, Rory added, "Have Geordie bring the linens up with the water when 'tis boiled."
"Aye," was the answer from all three men.
Once they'd left, Aulay turned to Rory and raised his eyebrows. "What do ye want me to do?"
"Ye're going to help me shave her head."
He glanced to her beautiful black tresses with alarm.
"Just the back. I need to see the injuries to clean them. It'll grow back," Rory said as he retrieved a wicked-looking knife from his medicinals bag. Turning back to the lass, he added under his breath, "if she survives."
Aulay's chest tightened at that last part. It verified his earlier suspicion that Rory didn't think the lass had much of a chance. The thought made him turn his gaze to the wee, pale lass in the bed. She looked delicate and weak, but he was quite certain she wasn't. The pain she'd seemed to be suffering, and that she had withstood long enough to ensure he wouldn't deliver her to her family, suggested a woman with spirit and a good deal o
f inner strength. She'd survive, Aulay decided. He'd do everything in his power to make sure she did.
Chapter 2
She opened her eyes sleepily and peered curiously at the man who occupied the chair next to the bed. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, her mouth was barren of any moisture, and her entire body felt achy and weak, but that was on the periphery of her mind at the moment. Mostly, her attention was on the man next to her. He seemed familiar to her, although she wasn't sure how. No name came to mind when she looked at him, but he was handsome, with long auburn hair and what would have been an almost too pretty face if not for the scar that ran from forehead to chin next to his nose, nearly cleaving it in half.
Eyes narrowing, she examined the scar with interest. It looked like someone had taken an ax to his face. Or perhaps the tip of a sword. The scar was relatively straight, and it wasn't puckered or angry-looking; so must be five or six years old at least. She examined it for a moment longer, and then shifted her attention to the rest of the man. He was big, at least twice as wide as her in the shoulders. Truly, he had a beautiful chest from what she could see. He also had long, muscular legs, she noted as her gaze slid downward. The man wore a plaid that was presently in disarray and showing more leg than was absolutely proper.
But then there was little that was proper about the man. He shouldn't be in her room at all . . . unless he was her father, brother or husband. The man was definitely too young to be her father. As for brother, she glanced from his chest to his legs and mentally shook her head. The feelings she was having were not very filial at the moment, so she was guessing he was not her brother. At least, she hoped not.
That thought made her frown. Should she not know? It certainly seemed to her that she should know. But she didn't. She didn't even know her own name, she realized with sudden alarm and began searching her mind, trying to remember . . . something. Anything, really. But doing so merely made her head hurt. A lot.
