ONCE BITTEN
Hannah jolted awake and banged her head against the stone. A sharp pain arrowed down one side of her neck. She hadn’t been asleep, just dozing, but the noise of some creature moving about close by had put an end to that. It sounded bigger and bolder than a rat.
Gooseflesh marched up her spine when she heard a strident screech followed by growling and a strange chattering. She hoped she was mistaken, but instinct told her there was more than one animal, and they were coming closer.
A wolf howled, far away. The eerie noises stopped abruptly, but began again soon after. Evidently, whatever was approaching feared wolves. She searched her memory, trying to think of animals that foraged at night.
She recalled her uncle’s steward organising nighttime shooting expeditions to hunt down badgers when they stole chickens from the tenant farmers. The men recounted tales of how vicious the badgers were when cornered.
Hail Mary, Hannah began, clinging to the solace of the prayer her mother had taught her. When she espied a pair of glowing eyes fixed on her…then another…and another, the prayer became a desperate chant.
Now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Amen. Morgan, Morgan, Morgan.
Of all the destinies she’d imagined, being attacked by badgers had never entered her mind. If they devoured chickens they must also eat people. Despite the chill, she broke out in a sweat.
When the boldest badger came close enough for her to make out white stripes on his head and sharp fangs bared for attack, her body and mind stiffened. She made the sign of her Savior across her body and prayed death would come quickly. “Fare-thee-well, Morgan Pendray,” she croaked. “I love ye.”
“Hannah, Hannah.”
She blinked rapidly. Fear had rendered her witless. Morgan couldn’t be here, calling her name.
“Hannah, if you’re under the bridge, stay perfectly still.”
“I couldna move if I wished to,” she whispered to the phantom Morgan, digging her fingernails deeper into her thighs. The glowing eyes suddenly turned away. A banshee was sliding down the bank from the bridge, waving its arms and howling like a wolf. The badgers growled and screamed, but then the din grew fainter and the glowing eyes disappeared.
Inexplicably, Morgan was kneeling beside her, holding her, telling her she was safe, and all she could do was cling to the sleeves of his buffcoat and sob with relief.
~~~
Reasonably sure the badgers had fled after he’d stormed down the bank, Morgan peered into the blackness under the bridge. His hopes dimmed when he didn’t see Hannah, but then he heard a whimpering sound and saw that she was wedged tight, as if she’d tried to melt into the stone. Her terror broke his heart.
He lay down his pistol, thankful the howling had been enough to frighten off the animals, and gathered Hannah into his embrace. “You’re safe now, my love,” he crooned. “I’m here.”
Without warning, she went limp in his arms. He feared he’d crushed the life out of her, but when he tried to pull away she clung to him. “Morgan,” she murmured, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. “I thought ne’er to see ye…”
She cried out a warning and drew away. Too late he turned to see what had alarmed her. He lost his balance and flailed at the snarling badger he’d assumed had fled. He cursed his carelessness when the enraged creature sank its teeth into his hand. The loud drumming of his heart had deafened him to the approaching danger. Anger threatened to render him paralytic as he struggled to loosen the animal’s death grip on his fingers. Nausea swamped him when sharp teeth crushed bone.
A deafening crack echoed in his ears, and the animal loosed its hold, falling dead beside him. Seized by an uncontrollable trembling, Morgan narrowed his eyes at his bloodied fingers, then looked up.
Breasts heaving, Hannah stood over him, a pistol in her grip. He couldn’t understand what had happened, but didn’t fight her when she pushed him over and forced his hand into the waters of a stream. What he was doing there he didn’t precisely recall. “’Twill be all right,” she told him over and over.
He smiled, trusting the angel who’d come to his rescue, whoever she was. “Aye,” he agreed.
“Stay awake,” a voice urged as a swirling mist enveloped him, “the water will cleanse the wound, and ease the pain.”
“I will,” he murmured obediently. “I feel no pain.”
~~~
Hannah gulped air, relieved Morgan had drifted into oblivion. Lying witless like a sleeping babe with one hand in the water, he might feel no pain now, but he surely would later. The index finger of his right hand dangled by a sliver of bone. Two others bore the imprint of the badger’s teeth.
Grimacing, she kicked the lifeless body away from Morgan, confident the scent of death would deter the others. It took several hefty kicks to move the heavy creature, but she cried out her elation when a clump of yarrow sprang back to life after the animal’s body rolled over it. She hastily plucked several stems of the plant often used by army surgeons to tend wounds.
She glanced at the pistol, lying where she’d dropped it on the bank, and thanked the Lord God Almighty for her uncle’s insistence she practice shooting. There wasn’t time to search Morgan’s knapsack for powder and shot now. Reloading the weapon would have to wait until she was sure she’d done everything possible to save him.
She’d tended wounded men before, but now Morgan’s life depended on her remaining calm. Her first instinct had been correct, she reasoned. The cold water of the Gairn would wash away any poison in the animal’s bite. But the first grey streaks of dawn showed his life blood flowing out into the river. She had to act quickly to staunch the flow and the yarrow would help.
Morgan’s horse had run off during the badger attack, but he was back now, nibbling the sweet grasses near the river. Cautioning the steed to keep his eyes to himself, she pulled her tunic and shift over her head, then slipped the beloved chemise off her shoulders. Clad in naught but goatskin boots, she retrieved the shawl Esther had given her and wrapped it around her shivering body, knotting it at her breasts. The damage to Morgan’s hand was so severe, she might need the shift and the chemise for bandages.
The costly linen didn’t tear easily, but the effort served to calm her racing heart and steady her trembling hands. She was sweating by the time she knelt beside him and lifted his hand out of the water, careful to keep the almost severed finger from detaching altogether. Her belly roiled as she acknowledged the pain he would suffer. It was unlikely the finger could be saved. She inhaled deeply and settled his hand on the shift spread out on her lap, using it to dab the wounds dry.
Her breathing faltered when he opened his eyes and looked at her. She wasn’t sure if he knew who she was until he lifted his good hand and traced a finger across the top of the shawl knotted across her breasts. “Are we back at the inn?” he asked.
“Aye, my love,” she replied, swallowing her heartbreak at the memory of an unforgettable night safe in his warm embrace. “Sleep now.”
He smiled, licked his lips and closed his eyes.
She pounded the yarrow plants with a rock and gingerly padded the pulp around his mangled fingers, then dipped the first dressing in the water and bound the severed finger, forcing herself to remain calm. The linen promptly turned blood red, but she worked quickly, winding strip after strip around his wounds, until his hand was completely swathed and only one or two spots of blood stained the bandages. She was reminded of engravings her uncle had in his library—Roman gladiator slaves whose only protection in the arena was the cestus, leather strips bound around their hands. Pray God her efforts would protect Morgan.
The next challenge was to keep him warm. She eyed the pile of straw, lying only a few feet away. It might as well have been a mile. Morgan was too heavy for her to drag. She lifted his bandaged hand and tucked it into the front of his buffcoat, then scurried to the straw, gathered as much as she could in her arms and dumped it next to where he lay. Breathless, she knelt beside him. “Good thing ye canna see me cavortin’ aboot clad in naught but ma shawl,” she jested, pondering how to get him to move onto the straw. Nothing for it but to tuck it beneath him.
Lifting him enough to drag the strap of the knapsack off his body was exhausting. Finally satisfied she’d shoved as much straw as she could under him, she untied the shawl, covered him and hastily shrugged her damp shift and tunic back on. “Ye’ve missed a golden opportunity to see me naked, Captain Morgan Pendray,” she teased.
Her heart raced when he grinned like an imbecile and muttered, “It’s Major Pendray now.”