The Scot's Angel - Keira Montclair Page 0,13
cannot bear the pain…oh, Connor.”
Jamie came flying through the door with as loud a yell as he’d ever heard from the laird. “What the hell happened?”
Thorn backed away, unable to process all that transpired…filled with the ridiculous urge to run and hide.
This was his fault. All. His. Fault.
If he hadn’t shoved the door open, Sela Grant would have completed her task and come safely down from her perch. Instead, a careless act launched her into the air and she had a nasty injury.
More people poured into the great hall. Dyna burst in, and wailed at the sight of her mother on the floor. She knelt down next to Claray and put a hand to her mother’s shoulder. “Mama?”
Connor didn’t hesitate. He looked at Dyna and said, “You and Derric take ten guards and go for Aunt Jennie. ’Tis a bad break. Tell her we need her right away.”
Astra came in from outside, along with Claray’s other siblings, Morgan and Hagen. Wee Tora toddled over to the group and said, “Gaga.” This was the name she’d started to call her grandmother.
It felt like a sword through Thorn’s chest.
Astra scooped Tora up and made her way over to her sisters, Sylvi trailing behind her.
It was only when Nari came in that Thorn felt a slight easing in his chest. His friend made his way over to him—which was when he realized he’d slowly backed away from the group and was standing in a corner of the keep. “What happened?”
Thorn groaned and mumbled, “She fell. I opened the door too quickly and hit the ladder. I didn’t know anyone was back there.”
“Why was she up there again?” Connor asked, as if talking to no one. Thorn was too mesmerized by everything taking place in front of him to think of answering. Truth was he couldn’t. He had no idea why she’d climbed up the ladder, he only knew why she’d fallen.
Connor barked out his sons’ names in a hurry, “Hagen and Morgan, get the cot out of Grandpapa’s chamber and bring it out here.”
“Connor, you cannot touch me.”
He gritted his teeth. “Sela, I’ll not allow you to stay on the floor in the rushes. Gracie will help you move your leg.”
Merelda, who was totally mesmerized by the art of healing and worked as often as she could with her mother, studied the broken appendage, then looked at her mother. “The bone protrudes a bit. I wish we could see inside. I’m not sure how to push it in.”
“You’ll not be able to see, you must feel it with your fingertips,” Gracie said. “Get two pillows. We’ll cushion her leg before we move her to the cot, then we’ll elevate it. See if that helps. It’s already swelling, Sela. We may have to cut your stockings off under your skirt.”
“Do what you must.”
Connor leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek. “What happened, Sela?”
“I climbed the ladder to fix the bow, and someone came through the door and hit the ladder.”
“I told you I would do the climbing. You should have had someone guarding the door.”
Thorn let out a breath when he heard that pronouncement.
“Connor, what the hell difference would it have made who climbed the ladder? Someone flew in through the door and…” She paused to think for a moment, laying her head back among the rushes. “I shouldn’t have reached as far as I did. I should have had someone guard the door. I didn’t think. I thought I could get it done quickly before anyone came inside. I thought…” She lifted her head and then dropped it. “Connor,” she whispered, “the pain is horrible.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Once I get you settled, I’ll get you some of Papa’s uisge-beatha.”
Claray was sobbing now, her cheeks red, and Thorn felt another stab of horrible, sickening guilt. “’Twas all my fault, Papa. I’m so sorry. A spider jumped on me from one of the pine boughs, and I screamed. Thorn must have heard me and came inside…”
All faces turned to him, and he wished to turn away, hide in the bushes, and vomit everything out that he’d eaten in the last three days. When he was a bairn, he’d wanted nothing more than for people to notice him, but he’d never wished to be noticed like this.
Would Connor revoke his permission for him to court Claray?
He left his corner and stepped forward, each movement as hard as if he were running uphill in the heat of summer. “Your pardon, my laird. I