Chapter Four
“Very well done, Elwynna! ‘Tis only been a few moons of training, but you have caught on quite well. Your healing skills come to you naturally.”
Crinkling her nose, Elwynna looked down at the boar carcass she had been using to practice her stitching skills. The last row was about as clean and straight a stitch job as possible, still it was not as good as Maggie’s work. “Are you certain? ‘Tis not as well-done as your stitching,” she said to Maggie as she pushed the sharp bone needle through the thick boar hide once more.
Maggie waved off her modest words and smiled. “Nonsense. Any warrior in the village would be pleased with that stitching job. And your knowledge of herbs has improved daily. The last salve you made was perfect. You must give yourself more credit, sister. Ráth Mór is a big tuath and having two healers will be a blessing.”
The door to their home opened suddenly and Àdhamh sauntered in with his tunic slung casually over his bare shoulder, and even though it was cursed cold outside, his chest was covered with sweat from practicing with the other warriors. His bright hazel eyes flashed at his wife as he held a piece of dry meat in his hand, tearing off a piece of the savory pork with his teeth. When his eyes locked on his wife’s stitching work, a grin spread across his face and he came closer. “Those are some fine stitches, Elwynna. You are learning quickly,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead.
“See? I told you. You are truly improving, Elwynna.” Maggie gripped her sister’s hand in reassurance before turning to collect her healing items, packing them into a satchel. She had a few visits to make and found the satchel much easier to carry than the awkward basket she sometimes preferred.
“Well, my thanks,” Elwynna responded with a sigh. “I suppose ‘tis good enough. I am only glad to finally feel of use in more… appropriate ways,” her voice faded off sadly.
Maggie frowned. Elwynna had not learned to do aught in the war camp with her father, aside from pleasuring the warriors against her will. Maggie knew it was still a great source of pain for her sister by marriage. She had low confidence at times and felt desperate to learn a trade, being much harder on herself than necessary.
Before Maggie could think what to say to make Elwynna feel better, Àdhamh silently strode up to his wife and wrapped her wee body in his strong arms, showing her just how valuable she was to him. Her brother was a wonderful husband, just as Maggie always knew he would be. For a large, powerful man, he was tender and kind; just what Elwynna needed.
Suddenly feeling like an interloper in her own home again, Maggie silently swept up her satchel and crept out the front door. She knew they would never mean to make her feel out of place, but Maggie had been feeling like she truly did not belong anywhere lately. She wanted to be a brave lass like Aislin, or an outspoken lass like Elwynna, who could walk into any room and make companions. Maggie cursed herself a coward. She needed adventure and she wanted love. Neither seemed within reach with her lack of survival skills and her inability to speak to men.
It was already evening and the sun was beginning its decent across the sky, streaking the earth with beautiful hues of coral, purple and pink. ‘Twas such a beautiful sight that it took her breath away. She sighed, longing to see the world and do something more with her life.
A light wind grazed her ear while she walked, causing gooseflesh to rise across her skin. She was wearing a long, dark blue wool gown and a plaid cloak lined with fur, but still, she felt chilled to the bone. With little of her day left, she still had a few sick or injured villagers to check on before she had to return home for the evening meal.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she heard a commotion from behind her. Men were shouting and, fearing a fight was about to break out, Maggie looked over her shoulder, wondering if she should stay to break it up or run like the coward she was. When men fought, injuries would follow. As the healer, she would prefer to prevent anyone from becoming hurt. But as a small lass, she knew if large men intended to brawl, she could do naught to stop it.
Her eyes widened when she saw the men who shouted. They were not arguing, but they did seem in a panic. Brennain was standing with his father and their king, Tuathal. Why was Brennain back so soon? He and Flynn had left only the morning before for another of their journeys, and yet, as much as she strained her neck to see better, she saw no evidence of Flynn.
Brennain was waving his arms frantically as he discussed something with the other men. A few of his words drifted to her on the wind and her heart began to beat in overtime when she heard her name jumbled within his words.
“Flynn and I… one of Mal’s men… an arrow… he is hurt… alone in a hut… need Maggie!”
She gasped and clutched her chest as the pieces of his story started to make sense in her mind. As much as she hoped it was not true, it sounded as if Flynn had been injured and they needed her help. Flynn was out there somewhere, alone, and must have been gravely injured for Brennain to be so frantic.
Without further consideration, her feet began to travel toward Brennain at a run. She could not breath and her heart ached. Poor Flynn! He was such a braw warrior. To think of him injured did something to her stomach. It twisted and writhed in fear with every step closer to the men.
“Maggie!” Brennain shouted when he saw her running toward him. “Lass, Flynn needs your help. He is gravely injured!”
“Maggie,” she heard the deep voice of her king from behind her and she turned quickly, almost stunned by the hesitant tone in his voice. “You must go to him. Elwynna is trained well enough to help in your absence, aye?”
Maggie’s mouth was agape, her blonde hair whipping wildly about her face in the wind. All she could do was nod her head. Aye, Elwynna could manage here alone. All Maggie could think of was Flynn and how badly he needed her. As a healer, all other thoughts or fears for herself vanished as she mentally prepared in her mind. She had her satchel still clutched in her hands. She never left home without all her salves, tinctures, clean linens, bone needles and thread for wounds. She was always prepared and at this moment, she was relieved to be ready to depart immediately.
A sudden need to command the situation came over her, just as it always did when someone was in need. “Aye. I am ready,” she nodded to Brennain and shoved her satchel into his hands so he could tie it to his horse.
Then she turned to King Tuathal. “Please tell my brother I had to depart. I will return as soon as I am able. Elwynna must tend to the men I was preparing to visit this evening.”
Before she could evade or duck, Flynn’s father scooped her up into his strong arms and almost squeezed the air from her lungs. “My thanks, sweet Maggie. Go to him. Save my son.”
Looking up into his big hazel eyes, she gulped nervously and licked her lips. Words escaped her. All she could do was nod and pray to the gods she did not let him down. She wanted to screech with repressed fear at being handled so roughly by a large man, but she had to take a deep breath when he released her and remind herself that he was simply worried for his son. He was not a threat to her.
Her father had been a large man and he would be affectionate in one moment and cruel in the next, oftentimes taking his anger out on her and her mother. Àdhamh had been safe from his rage, being the coveted son that he was, but to her father, lassies were only needed for a few reasons, and easily discarded. Though Àdhamh had never seen their father hurt her or their mama, he knew it happened and did all he could to protect them. But as a wee lad, he could not do much against the stronger man. It was a relief when he finally died, but not before he killed their mother and did irrevocable damage to Maggie. She was not certain if she could ever trust a man again. And being grabbed so abruptly by the huge Brocc Mac Greine had almost made her panic… almost. But she held herself together, remembering that Flynn needed her and the man was only frightened.
“Let us go,” she said shakily, her confidence waning slightly after her jolt of fear.
“Aye,” Brennain grunted as he wrapped his huge hands around her waist and hoisted her most unceremoniously onto the back of his horse.
She screeched and flailed to get free. “What are you doing?” she wailed, trying frantically to dismount.
He jumped up on the horse behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist. “You said you were ready to leave,” Brennain said, incredulously.
“Not upon your horse!” she cried! Panic consumed her, and her ears began to ring. She could not, would not, tolerate being alone with Brennain for several hours, pushed so closely to his body. The very thought terrorized her.
To her surprise, he gentled his grip and leaned closer to her ear, calmly speaking to her as if she was a frightened doe. “Lass. I know you fear men. I do not know why, but I have seen it on your face. You need not fear me. I vow on my brother’s life that I shall keep you safe and would never violate you. ‘Tis only a few hours to get there and Flynn’s life is at stake. ‘Tis faster for us to ride this way. Can you please trust in me? For Flynn?”
For Flynn. Aye. Suddenly, she realized that she would face all her fears and do aught possible for Flynn. She hardly knew the man and still felt fear at the thought of being alone with either of them, but she had to take her chances to save the life of a wounded man. A man she was inexplicably drawn to, unlike any other man in her entire life. It was an odd thing to long to know a man and yet be afraid of getting too close. But right now, all that mattered was that his life was in danger and only she could save him.
“Aye,” she nodded and swallowed hard, stiffening her back so she did not touch Brennain more than necessary. “For Flynn,” she agreed.
With a grunt and a nod, Brennain made a sound to his horse that made the brown animal take off like the wind. It was too late to look back or change her mind. Maggie must be brave and face her fears. For Flynn.
* * * *
Brennain drove his horse so hard, Maggie felt bad for the poor beast. Normally she would speak up for the defenseless animal, but in truth, she knew they could not spare a moment. Aside from the description of their encounter and the wound, Brennain had remained focused and silent. As promised, he had kept his hands to himself, with only the necessary grip around her waist to keep her from falling to her death.
According to Brennain, a man from the enemy camp had heard Flynn coughing. The man must have been a scout, for he was up in a tree and shot Flynn in the side with an arrow. The arrow did not go all the way through and was currently still lodged inside his body. Maggie had assured him that he did the right thing leaving the arrow. Without a practiced healer, removing an arrow could be deadly. The tip, usually made of flint or bronze, was only held to the shaft by a string of gut. But when lodged in a body, the gut string softened, and the arrowhead could easily become separated from the shaft and forever lodged in the body of the victim, which usually resulted in infection and, subsequently, death. It would be most painful for Flynn, but if Maggie could widen the wound and remove the entire arrow intact, Flynn had a much better chance of survival as long as no major organs had been punctured.
To leave Flynn must have been a hard decision for Brennain, but it had been the right one. Flynn’s body would not have withstood the hours of jostling on a horse. Especially if he was also ill, as his brother indicated. A shiver ran up her spine when she imagined Flynn all alone with an arrow lodged in his body and an illness weakening him. It was a bleak situation. Not many survived an arrow wound, but she would give her all to saving Flynn. At least he was inside a hut, safely hidden away in the woods. She only prayed he was still alive when they reached him.
“The hut is just through those trees,” Brennain finally said after hours of silence. Her entire body ached; eventually she had given up on staying rigid. Her back and backside had gotten much too sore and she had allowed herself to sag against Brennain for support, proud of herself for even that small show of bravery. She would need to hold onto that bravery to get her through the next few days. She knew that Flynn would take several days, if not sennights, to heal well enough to travel. It scared her to think of being away from Àdhamh for so long, but she had a job to do.
Within moments, the thatched roof showed through the gaps in the trees, no smoke coming from the top. It was likely very cold in the hut, and another wave of fear and pity grabbed at her for the man hopefully still living within its walls.
As they approached the front, Maggie briefly took in the crumbling white lime-washed walls illuminated in the darkness. Based on the position of the moon hanging high above sharing its dim light with the earth below, it was likely not quite midnight and hopefully, as fast as Brennain rode, Flynn had not been alone longer than ten hours.
Brennain tied up his horse hastily, clearly in a hurry to check on his brother’s wellbeing. The poor animal was exhausted and Maggie made a vow to feed the sweet creature a carrot, or any treat she could find her, in the morning. For now, no force in the world could keep her away from Flynn.
Her hands shook as she untied her satchel from the horse’s saddle, saying another prayer that she did not open that door to find Flynn already gone. It was a likely possibility and she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked over to the door. One more deep breath, and she slowly opened the door, forgetting to release the breath she now held in her lungs while her eyes adjusted to the blackness within.
As morbid as it was, her first instinct was to take a tentative sniff of the air. If Flynn had perished, the smell of death may already linger. Blessedly, she smelled nothing untoward and took a few more steps into the darkness.
Aside from the thin stream of bluish moonlight casting across one section of the earthen floor, Maggie could see nothing else. Fortunately, Brennain came in behind her and maneuvered his way around her to the hearth, clearly knowing the layout of this hut.
“He is in the bed straight ahead of you, Maggie. I will light a fire,” he grunted, lifting three large logs in his hands and hoisting them into the hearth. With a nod, she silently continued to step slowly forward with her hands out in front of her in case she should stumble.
When her shins gently banged into something solid, she knew she had found the bed and saw its shadowy outline in front of her, but not much else. A sudden burst of light filled the room and Maggie took a deep breath when she saw Flynn’s still form, lying in the bed directly in front of her. Her heart almost came up into her throat as fear chilled her blood. He looked pale as death. His lower body was covered in furs but from the waist up, he was exposed and lying flat on his back, a strip of linen tied around the wound.
“I had to cut the shaft off so I could at least bind the wound. I hope I did all right,” she heard Brennain murmur as he came up behind her to observe his brother. “With the long shaft intact, I could not attempt to stop the bleeding. I did not know what else to do.”
Maggie reached out and touched Flynn’s throat, praying she found a pulse. A sigh left her body and she hunched her shoulders. “He lives. His pulse is faint, but he lives. With the location of the wound…” She paused and leaned forward to unravel the now-bloodied linen from his lower side, close to the ribs, swallowing hard as her fingers skimmed over the ridges of his tight muscles. She had cared for many large-muscled men before. Muscles never impressed her much, neither had any man. And yet, even near death, Flynn was absolute perfection, with his tapered waist and rippled abdominal muscles covered in a smattering of dark hair. She had seen him without his tunic before, but it never seemed to stop taking her breath away.
Concentrate, Maggie. “Aye, you did well to try to stop the bleeding, and you left enough shaft for me to pull on when I remove it. It appears no major organs have been struck. However, we must pray the arrow is not lodged in his bone.” She narrowed her eyes and ran her fingers down his ribs gently, but knew she would have to dig into the wound before she knew for certain.
“What must you do to get it out?” Brennain asked tentatively.
“I must enlarge the wound site. I cannot pull it out without the risk of losing the arrowhead within his body. That would mean almost certain death. I will have to reach in and pull the arrowhead out with the shaft. Pray he stays unconscious. This shall be excruciating.”
Brennain stepped closer and knelt next to her, looking at his brother’s still, pale face. “Have you done this before, lass?” His worried green eyes flickered to hers before settling back on his brother. Flynn’s strong jaw was covered in a few days’ worth of dark scruff and she longed to run her fingers through it, but stifled the urge.
“Aye, only once.”
“Did the man survive?” Brennain asked cautiously, and held his breath as he awaited her answer.
A frown marred Maggie’s face and she pushed her blonde hair behind her ear as she shook her head. “Nay. Few survive this sort of wound, Brennain. An arrow is a particularly deadly weapon because the arrowhead often gets lodged inside the body and causes a blood infection. ‘Tis why I must remove it all. I cannot promise he will survive,” she whispered.
“I know you will do aught you can, Maggie. We both trust you. Flynn, he… he cares for you, lass. I know he does. See that you save him so mayhap he can tell you someday.”
His words made her heart pound in her chest. Brennain must be mistaken. Flynn had never shown her a single moment of interest or tenderness. He was guarded and secretive, walking this world like a silent wind, coming and going without notice to most. Only, she noticed. She knew when he was home and when he was away. And though she feared his presence at times, when he was gone, she felt his absence like an aching void.
Looking at him now, so vulnerable and in need of her aid, she knew she would never forgive herself if she lost him, even if she had no control over his fate. Slipping her satchel off her shoulder, she began to rummage through her healing supplies. She would need some ale to clean the wound, a knife, and forceps.
When she pulled the forceps out of her bag, Brennain grabbed her arm and furrowed his brow. “What will you use these for?” he asked incredulously.
Maggie felt her ire rise. Brennain had already questioned her need to boil the linens, and she was tired of defending her advanced knowledge of medicine. She had trained with the best during her fosterage from the young age of seven and healing was the only thing in her entire life she was certain of. She would reassure Brennain one last time, and then she would continue to save his brother, never accepting his questioning of her practices again.
“Brennain,” she said, with an irritated puff of breath. “I am twenty summers in age. I fostered with our village healer in Alba at the age of seven. I oversaw every herbal remedy, every surgery, every stitch she did for ten and two years. She trained in her younger years on a foreign land where the medical knowledge was advanced and proven. I have skills you shall not find anywhere else in Ériu, I can assure you of that. Have you dragged me all the way to your brother’s side, only to pester me and scrutinize my every move?”
Her temper threatened to flare in a way it never had before and still, she flinched, expecting him to serve her a blow for speaking so boldly to him. ‘Tis what her papa would have done to her mother had she spoken to him thusly. Pulling away slightly and covering her face with her forearm was an instinct she had honed over the years. Her arm had blocked many a strike in her life. He could hit her if he wished, but she could not allow him to continue to berate her skills.
To her surprise, his face softened and a frown formed on his lips. He looked so very much like his brother, it made her heart ache and her patience wane. She needed to get started on saving Flynn, but she had to wait for him to lay his punishment upon her first.
“Lass,” Brennain whispered, and gently touched her raised forearm. She flinched and jerked back from his touch. “I will not hit you. I do not know what sort of men you have grown up with, but real men do not hurt women.”
“All men hurt women,” she murmured, keeping her arm raised.
“Does Àdhamh hurt you? Tell me now and I will stop it.”
She shook her head adamantly in refusal. “Nay, my brother has never struck me. He protects me. He is different.”
He just stared at her, wide-eyed and mouth agape as he shook his head repeatedly in denial. “I do not know what horrors you have lived, Maggie, but I will not ever hurt you and neither would my brother. You are safe. As for my questioning your skills, I am sorry. I shall never do so again, I give you my vow. Now, please, save Flynn.”
Realizing he was not going to strike her and wanting to truly believe his promise, she slowly put her arm down. He most likely only promised not to hurt her so she could help his brother, but for now she had to take his word.
Nodding her head slowly, she looked at Flynn one more time before pouring the ale over the wound site. “The ale shall kill any threat of infection. It cleanses the wound,” she said calmly, for Brennain’s sake.
Flynn awoke with a howl and began to thrash. Curse it. She knew ale stung terribly. She had used it on herself more than once and not a single man she ever used it on did not at least grit his teeth. She had hoped he was deeply unconscious enough to avoid the pain.
“Flynn,” Brennain said calmly, and gripped his brother’s shoulders. “’Tis only me and Maggie. She is here to help you! You must calm down, brother!”
Flynn gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, but he nodded slightly in understanding.
“Maggie,” he whispered, and shivers ran up her spine. He spoke her name like it was a prayer.
Brennain looked at her knowingly and raised his brow, as if affirming his statement earlier that Flynn had feelings for her. She felt herself flush, but refused to allow her emotions to overwhelm her mind. She had a job to do.
“Flynn, I can help you; it will hurt but you must be still.” She shifted to her right, rummaging through her satchel once more before pulling out a tincture.
Holding it up for Brennain to look at, she mouthed, “Poppy Juice” to him, and he nodded as he took it from her. Everyone knew that the juice of poppy seeds could numb the pain of even the largest man if given in the right amounts. Many healers used it to put their injured to sleep before a major procedure, such as this.
“I am giving you poppy juice, Flynn. You must drink it,” she ordered, giving him no chance to refuse. It was a foul and bitter liquid, she knew, but it was better than the pain he would feel if he refused it.
It seemed even in his pain, he knew he must do it, for he nodded his head and opened his mouth, allowing Brennain to slowly pour the liquid down his throat. When Maggie decided he had had enough, she took the small jug from Brennain with a nod and set it aside.
“Comfort him until it takes effect,” she whispered in Brennain’s ear. “Once he is asleep I can work.”
“How are you feeling, brother?” Brennain asked awkwardly, and grimaced, knowing his question was ridiculous.
“Like I have an arrow… in my ribs…” he coughed and groaned, reaching to clutch his side in pain, but Maggie grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She had simply meant to prevent him from touching his wound, but the moment her hand held his, he calmed and opened his eyes for the first time since their arrival. His piercing green eyes bore into hers and when he looked at their clenched hands, he squeezed hers in return and forced a smile. “My thanks for coming all this way, Maggie,” he croaked with a hoarseness in his voice, before coughing again and averting his gaze.
“Brennain said you are also ill. I have just the thing for that cough. We must control it or you shall only suffer further.” Searching her bag, she pulled out a small clay jug, shook its contents and smiled. “’Tis a mixture of honey and féithleann, an herb to help with a cough.” Pulling the wooden stopper from the top, she swirled the contents once more and held it up to Flynn’s lips.
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her and she wondered what he must be thinking. Did he wish to question her the way his brother had? Unlike his brother, if he did have reservations, he was unwilling to speak them. Taking the small jug from her hands, his fingers brushed hers as he drank of its contents.
“There you are, Flynn. I believe it tastes much better than the poppy juice, as well. Between the two, hopefully, much of your discomfort will be eased.”
Licking his lips and clearly enjoying the sweet honey flavor, he tilted his head back and yawned. The poppy juice was quickly taking effect and she sighed in relief.
“My thanks, Maggie,” he sighed, and reached for her hand once more, gripping it weakly as the juice pulled him into the darkness. “It was indeed sweet, but not as sweet as you are, lass.” His eyes closed and she knew she had a few hours before he awakened again.
His words touched her heart, but she did her best to disregard them. Men always complimented her in such a way after she eased their pain with poppy juice. It made their eyes heavy and their tongues loose, often resulting in quick praise for the lass who eased their pain.
Grabbing her knife, clean linens, and forceps, she looked warily at Brennain. “Let us see if he still feels that way when he awakens in a few hours,” she mumbled lowly, before making her first cut into his flesh.