Page 63 of The Refuge

Before they arrived at the chamber that was their destination, Catrìona paused in the corridor and looked down at her gown. “We should change ere we go to the wounded, else we decorate our gowns with blood.”

“Aye, and quickly,” said Fia.

Once changed, they headed toward the first of two chambers Margaret had told them were set aside for the wounded. At the door, Catrìona took a deep breath and entered.

A dozen men lay on pallets waiting for the healers. Servants bustled about bringing water, clean linen and bandages. Not since the attack on the vale had Catrìona seen so many wounded. But at least these had a chance to heal.

Moans from the men echoed around the chamber.

In one corner, the king’s physic, a man of middle years with a nearly bald pate, bent over a warrior’s arm. On the other side of the room, Audra crouched low over her father.

Catrìona went toward her and Fia followed. The mormaer lay still, his eyes closed. Placing a hand on Audra’s shoulder, Catrìona asked, “How fares your father?”

Audra looked up, a small smile on her kind face, which Catrìona took as an attempt to be brave. “He is sleeping now and soon will be taken to the chamber they are preparing for him. He will stay in Dunfermline till he is well.” Brushing an errant strand of hair from Duff’s forehead, Audra’s brow wrinkled in concern. “The wound pains him much, but he refuses to admit it. After the king left, I asked the physic to give him a potion. When it wears off, I imagine he will be blustering about all the attention he is getting, but for now, it allows him to rest.”

“I am glad the news is good.” Then, pushing up her tunic sleeves, Catrìona asked, “How can we help?”

Audra eyed their practical tunics and linen aprons. “The servants have removed the old bandages and cleaned the wounds. The physic has directed the bandages be changed and the servants do that now. If you are up to it, you might help them, but the men like to hear a soft voice and have something to drink. Just to see your faces will cheer them.”

“Are the other ladies in the second chamber?” Fia asked.

“All save Isla,” replied Audra. “I will join you to help after I see how things are going there.”

Catrìona consulted with the king’s physic before he quit the room to go with Audra. She and Fia set about the work of helping to comfort the wounded and, where needed, apply clean bandages. The smell of blood was strong in Catrìona’s nostrils, but the grateful smiles of the men kept her working.

It was not long before the heat in the room caused the sweat to rise on her forehead. After she had seen to several men and asked the servants to bring them water to drink, she sat back on her heels and surveyed those yet to be tended. Spotting one she recognized, she looked over to Fia. “Is not that one of Rhodri’s archers?”

Fia raised her head from where she bent over a man’s shoulder and followed Catrìona’s gaze. “Aye, ’tis Brian.” Tying off the bandage she was working on, Fia rose and walked the short distance to where the archer lay, still wearing the green and brown colors favored by Rhodri’s men. “How are you, Brian?”

The archer slowly opened his eyes. “I am well, my lady. ’Tis only my arm that suffered a scratch. ’Twould have been worse but Rhodri’s arrow felled the Norman who sought to end my life. The French knight plucked me right from the tree, he did.”

“Has the wound been stitched?” Fia asked. At the man’s nod, she said, “The servants have gone but I can check to see if ’tis healing.”

Catrìona watched as Fia carefully lifted the bandage and then replaced it.

“It seems in good order,” her cousin said, smiling at the archer.

“’Tis only a wee scratch, lady. Were it not for the Welshman and his God-blessed bow, those Normans would have laid me open like a cod, me and many of the king’s men besides. Rhodri is as slippery as an eel and his aim deadly keen.”

Catrìona saw a smile spread across her cousin’s face.

“The bard is a wonder,” said Fia, lifting a cup of water to the man’s mouth. “A voice to soothe a wild beast and skill with a bow to bring one down. A man good at many things.”

“Aye, he is,” echoed the archer as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Aye, he is.”

Catrìona pushed to her feet, rubbing the cramp in her lower back and twisting her neck to relieve the stiffness. A feeling of being watched made her look toward the door where the golden-haired scribe stood staring at her, his expression unfathomable. Like the sunlight falling on the waters of Loch Lomond, his golden hair reflected the light coming through the window, almost shimmering.

“You make a very pretty picture, my lady. I would ask you to change my bandage but alas, ’tis already done.”

Fia snorted beneath her hand and Catrìona gave her cousin a sharp glance.

“I did not know you were wounded,” she said, worried he might still be hurt. But there was no evidence of a wound. He stood tall and straight, every bit the strong warrior, yet somehow he seemed a different man than when he left for Northumbria. There was an air of confidence about him she had not observed before.

“’Tis nothing, yet I would have made much of it to have your gentle hands wrapping linen about my leg.”

“If you could see the way I wrap bandages, you might reconsider.”

“Is Rhodri about?” Fia interjected, looking at Steinar.