Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,70
his expression grim.
Ailish stepped to the bedside and clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a gasp. A jagged cut with the impression of the links of his mail ran from his shoulder to the top of his flank. “Good heavens, he’s been flayed.”
“He’d be dead if it weren’t for his armor.” Davy examined the minced flesh. “I’ve no choice but to cauterize it.”
James growled. “I’ll be fine.”
Ailish lightly patted the cloth around the seeping wound. “I’m afraid Davy is right.”
The Black Douglas muttered a shocking string of curses while Father Clive crossed himself, muttering Hail Marys.
“Can the men bed down in the nave?” Ailish asked, drawing the priest’s attention away while Davy set a poker in the fire. “Have you any food to spare?”
“A bit of bread and cheese.”
“Perfect.” She strode to the door and beckoned one of the men. “Please help Father Clive serve the meal.”
By the time Ailish had cleaned the wound as best she could, everyone had eaten, the poker had grown red hot and James was sound asleep.
“I’ll need all of you to hold him down,” said Davy, retrieving the rod from the fire. “And stay clear of this iron unless you want a branding.”
Ailish moved to the head of the bed, ready to hold down a shoulder.
“You’d best stand back, m’lady.”
“But I want to help.”
Davy eyed her. “He’ll need you after.”
Standing against the wall, Ailish gripped the cloth between her fists, wanting to look away, but unable to do so.
“I’ll make this quick,” said Davy as James bucked.
“You bloody backstabbing, pustule-sucking maggot!” the big man shrieked as the poker singed his flesh, the stench of the smoke burning Ailish’s nostrils. He thrashed so violently, three of the men lost their grips. “Damn ye and your filthy spawn! Every last one of ye!”
Bellowing like a bull in the castrating pen, he dropped to the mattress, his breath ragged.
Davy stood back. “That went well, I’d reckon.”
“You cannot be serious.” Ailish moved to the bedside and examined the damage. “He’s half-dead. Far worse than he was afore you branded him.”
“Aye, but he’ll be much better off, in a day or two,” said Davy. “Come men, we’d best head for our pallets.”
Ailish moved a chair beside James’ unmoving form. “I’m staying here.”
Father Clive tiptoed forward and bent over the wound. “The bleeding has ebbed.”
“Thank heavens for small mercies.”
“I’ll make up a pallet for myself in the sacristy.”
She nodded.
“Is there anything else you need, m’lady?”
Though she hadn’t told him she was highborn, Davy had used the courtesy. She grasped the priest’s hand. “It is of utmost importance that you tell no one of our presence here. Understood?”
He offered a kindly smile. “I believe that is why it is called sanctuary. Your need for shelter is as sacred as your confession.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Searing pain gnawed at James’ shoulder as he tried to roll to his side. With a grunt, he decided it might be best to remain where he lay on his belly.
Beside him, Ailish slept in a chair, her arms folded on the bed, cradling her head. The amber glow of the fire danced on her face, making her look like an angel. Her lips slightly parted, the fan of dark lashes contrasting against her ivory skin. He brushed an errant lock of silky hair away from her cheek.
James would suffer a hundred brands with a fire poker if it meant keeping this woman safe from harm.
Stirring, Ailish opened her eyes. “You’re awake?”
He tried not to grimace. “For the moment.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve done battle with the devil and lost.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Stay right where you are, lass.” He raised his head enough to glance about the chamber. “Where are the others?”
“Father Clive is in the sacristy and the rest have made up pallets in the nave.”
“Good.”
“Davy’s worried the priest will notify Sir Ralph of our presence.”
“Nay. We can trust him.”
“I thought so, too. But how can you be so certain?”
“I’ve been here before. With Lamberton. I reckon I was about seventeen years of age.”
“He’s for the Bruce, then?”
“He’s for Scotland. He and many other Scottish priests on the borders have been usurped.”
“He mentioned as much.” Ailish brushed cool fingers across James’ forehead. “Davy told me the pair of you went without sleep.”
“Did he?”
“Thank you for riding to my rescue. I almost feared—” Shaking her head, Ailish glanced away.
“What did you fear?”
“Being locked away in a cell for days on end with but a bit of bread and water muddles one’s mind. When I heard no