from the gaping wounds and down his bare legs, she had no idea how the hell she could ever make it right.
The man had just taken a vicious beating for her, one that could still leave him dead if they didn’t care for the wounds properly and infection set in. His back was torn apart.
They needed Annie, who was going to be at Glenfinnan, but that was at least another two or three days’ ride ahead of them at a fast clip, which they wouldn’t be taking now that Toran was injured.
“We need to go back home.” Dirk’s face was dark, his tone leaving no room to argue.
“Aye,” John agreed.
Jenny stared at her men in disbelief, stared at Toran and Archie who hovered over him. Toran had dropped to his knees, his head hanging low. They were right. They were only a day and a half into this journey and still further from their destination than they were from home.
“John, ride back to Cnàmhan Broch and get a wagon. We’ll quickly follow, but ye’ll be faster alone and can meet us upon the road.”
“Aye, Mistress.” John took off at a hard gallop.
Dirk let go of her then, and she bent to pick up Toran’s shirt, coat, and kilt. When he saw her intent to dress Toran, Dirk dismounted too and took the clothes from her.
“Allow me,” he said softly, and she did, for despite wearing men’s clothing, she’d never dressed a man in her life. She had no idea how to do it when he wasn’t injured, let alone when his back was split open.
Jenny’s stomach roiled as the men cleaned the slices in Toran’s back. They shredded strips from his shirt, binding them around his torso. They slipped his arms into his frock coat for added protection and belted his kilt into place, hoping for a sense of normalcy should they cross paths with any more redcoats. Though the graying pallor of his face was alarming.
Toran fainted as they dressed him. Then they gingerly lifted him up onto his own horse, facedown. They turned around on the road, the three of them taking turns riding ahead to scout for dragoons, while the others remained with Toran to see that he didn’t fall from the saddle.
When the sun fell, they made camp, forcing whisky down his throat. Jenny insisted on being the one to clean his back this time. She’d watched Annie often enough that she knew partly what to do. His shirt was stuck in places, and it took an effort not to scream herself as she peeled the blood-soaked fabric from his back.
She patted down his wounds with whisky on a scrap of clean linen while Dirk and Archie held him in place. Dirk tore an extra shirt of his into strips, and they wrapped Toran’s body with it. They didn’t bother with the frock coat again, simply wrapping him in an extra blanket.
The night was long, broken by Toran’s moans of pain. When it was clear none of them could sleep, they each took turns to force the whisky down Toran’s throat. When the faintest light of dawn arrived, they silently packed up camp and continued on their way. They just needed to get to Cnàmhan Broch, where they could care for him. The walls of her castle would keep them momentarily safe from any more bastard redcoats wanting to take out their anger.
Guilt ate at her. This was her fault.
They were halfway home when Dirk finally said, “Ye’ve got to stop blaming yourself, Jenny. Toran volunteered to take your punishment. Do ye know what would have happened if the dragoons had discovered ye were a lass? Far worse than what happened to him, and ye know it.”
She did know it. She could still feel Boyd’s hands pawing at her flesh, see the lecherous hunger in his eyes. The brutality of Toran’s beating was not lost on her, and neither was the fact that he’d saved her from something unspeakable. She involuntarily shuddered, recalling the horrific fate of Moire, Toran’s mother. The awfulness of what could have happened slammed into Jenny’s chest. A fresh wave of nausea was replaced by a slow-dawning ache of respect and admiration for Toran and what he’d done for her. How could she ever repay him for how he’d suffered?
The following morning they met the wagon along the road, and Toran was placed facedown in the back lined with blankets. Camdyn, who’d insisted on joining John and several guards for the return,