Gow
Satisfied Ghalla and Tremaine were out of the way for the moment, Isabel slumped into a chair beside her father’s bed, took his good hand and kept vigil in a fog of exhaustion. Fanny brought water from the ewer and pressed a wet cloth to his cracked lips. He seemed to want to drink but most of the water dribbled down his chin.
Darroch stood in the open doorway with legs braced and arms folded—the stone-faced protector.
Minutes later, Coira barreled past him. She fell to her knees at Isabel’s feet. “Praise the Lord ye’ve returned, my lady,” she sobbed. “That Nellis woman is a witch. She’s put the fear o’ the devil in us all and even cats avoid her brat.”
Isabel cupped her faithful servant’s tear-streaked face. “’Tis good to see ye again, and dinna worry, we’ll put things back to rights.”
Coira struggled to her feet and glanced back at Darroch. “Is this mon…?”
Isabel smiled. “Aye. My husband.”
Her maid beamed. “’Tis true what they say, then—ye willna be obliged to wed the brat?”
“Not while I have breath in my body,” Darroch assured her.
A flush stole into Coira’s face. “And a braw body it is,” she whispered to Isabel.
Now it was Isabel’s turn to blush. “Ye’re too cheeky, but ye’re right. Listen, we havena told anyone else this, except Uncle Boyd, but we believe Ghalla contrived to have us both think we’d been jilted.”
Coira snarled. “I might have kent it. She’ll do anything to make sure that cruel worm becomes chief.”
Isabel’s grief resurfaced as she looked at her stricken father. “We’ve sent for the surgeon.”
Coira shook her head. “If the Nellis woman had allowed the village healer to treat him when he first returned, it need ne’er have come to this.”
“We canna dwell on that now. There are things to see to. Ye perhaps saw a wee lass with red curls?”
“Aye, with Blue outside the door.”
“She’s our daughter, and she’ll need care while we tend to my father.”
Coira glanced at Darroch. “O’ course. I’ll get her fed and take her to yer chamber.”
“Ye’ll have to take Blue,” Darroch explained. “She doesna go anywhere without the dog.” He hesitated before continuing. “And she only speaks to the hound.”
“Only to the hound?” she parroted.
“Aye.”
Boyd’s arrival with two of his men saved them from further explanations. “All is in readiness,” her uncle declared. “We deemed the kitchen the most suitable place. Plenty of hot water and…”
The words stuck in his throat as he motioned his men to lift his brother-by-marriage.
Isabel struggled out of the chair, overwhelmed by a vision of her father being carved up like a side of venison. “Nay, ye canna do it in the kitchen.”
Darroch took her into his arms. “’Tis the best place,” he said calmly. “I’ll go with them.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Nay. Kyla needs ye. Go with Coira and take care of our daughter.”
“Ye’ve done all ye can,” Fanny agreed. “’Tis up to us now.”
Isabel’s heart urged her to insist, but her mind knew they were right. She watched them carry her father away, nestled like a limp doll in the beefy arms of a burly warrior, and wondered if it was the last time she’d see him alive.
*
Darroch guessed from his manner of speech that Gow was a lowlander by birth, but Boyd expressed confidence in the man, so he kept his thoughts about lowland folk to himself. He’d never actually encountered anyone with hair redder than his own, and the voluminous orange beard rendered it difficult to tell if the mountain of a man was young or old.
As he’d predicted, Gow was a blacksmith by trade, but had apparently performed amputations before and wasn’t squeamish about the prospect of taking off his chief’s arm. As if to prove the point, he proudly stuck a stunted index finger in the air as he dug his saw and pincers out of his leather apron. “Ma own handiwork,” he boasted.
Once Rory had been laid out on the scarred butcher block table, a discussion ensued about the best way to render the patient oblivious to pain.
“’Tis evident he’s been drugged,” Fanny said, “but we dinna ken what Ghalla administered, and I suspect she’ll nay be truthful if we ask her.”
“I’ve heard of healers who use laudanum,” Boyd suggested. “There might be some in the Still Room.”
“I’ve a flagon of dwale somewhere,” the cook shouted from the scullery. “Though ’tis a while since I put my hand on it.”
“We’ve used whisky at Dun Scaith,” Darroch offered.
Gow wiggled his shortened finger. “Had to keep ma wits about me when this happened, so I didna take but a few swigs o’ whisky.”
Darroch tried but failed to imagine a man sawing off his own finger after imbibing “a few swigs” of whisky.
Fanny touched the back of her hand to Rory’s forehead. “Again, we dinna ken what Ghalla used, and we canna wait much longer else he die while we’re blethering. He’s ice cold.”
Darroch nodded to Boyd. “There’s four of us to hold him down. I say we proceed.”
Hearing no objection, he pressed his weight to Rory’s right hip and thigh; Boyd held down his left side, while his men each took a shoulder.
The cook bustled in, wiping a carving knife on her apron, and handed it to Gow. Darroch offered up a prayer of thanks Isabel wasn’t present as the knife sliced into flesh.
Jaw clenched, Fanny worked tirelessly to stem the blood. Gow’s breathing became more labored as he methodically cut flesh, snipped sinew and sawed bone. The cook sobbed quietly.
Rory was so heavily drugged he only writhed and whimpered pathetically. Darroch was reluctantly grateful the MacRain chief seemed to feel little pain, even when the blacksmith cauterized the stump.
“I dinna ken what sort o’ devil’s brew she used,” Fanny muttered more than once. “It might kill him if the amputation doesna.”
As the hours crawled by, Darroch fixed his thoughts on one bright ray of sunshine in the whole gory mess—when explaining matters to Coira, Isabel had called Kyla our daughter.
*
Anxious and exhausted, Isabel’s relief upon entering her own chamber was enormous, especially since Kyla had willingly accompanied her and Coira. The lass had even slipped her hand into Isabel’s without hesitation.
Of course, Blue had come too. Kyla laughed when he leapt onto Isabel’s bed and she immediately followed his example.
“I’ll go find her some dresses,” Coira said.
Kyla’s smile turned to a frown as she folded her arms across her chest and glowered.
Isabel thought again about insisting the lass speak her wishes, but she was too tired and too worried about her father to embark on such a campaign. “And perhaps some boy’s clothing too, for riding and such.”
Coira nodded and left.
Kyla immediately turned her attention back to Blue, and Isabel joined them on the bed, acknowledging she’d given in too easily.
She stared up at the rafters, until she heard bairn and dog snoring softly. She allowed her eyelids to flutter closed. Just for a wee nap.