They glanced at each other, and Seonaid was not surprised to note the concern on the other man's face. She knew her own expression mirrored it.
"Blake!"
Seonaid glanced over Amaury's wide shoulders to see a short, curvaceous blonde rushing down the stairs toward them.
"What has happened?" she cried with alarm as she reached them and eyed Blake's bloodstained doublet. Then, before anyone could answer, she turned toward the servants gathering at the open keep door and roared, "Maude!"
"Aye, my lady?" A plain-faced servant started down the stairs at once.
"I shall need my medicinals!"
"Aye, my lady." The servant turned in midstep and flew back up into the keep.
Seonaid's gaze dropped to the man kneeling across from her, who grinned slightly.
"My wife, Emmalene," he explained.
"Ah. She ... er ... has a fine set of lungs for such a small woman," Seonaid commented, then winced as Lady Emmalene proved her words true with another bellow.
"Sebert!"
"Aye, my lady?" A male servant started down the stairs, only to turn and rush back up them when Lady Emmalene said, "Bandages!"
"Tell them to bring everything to the room Blake occupied on his last visit," Amaury ordered, slipping his arms under Blake and standing as he lifted him.
Seonaid scrambled to her feet and rushed along at the man's side as he carried her husband inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Seonaid watched as Amaury laid her husband on the bed; then she immediately moved forward, intending to remove Blake's tunic and doublet. But his friend started on it before she could. Telling herself that he was stronger and so would be quicker about it, Seonaid waited impatiently as the clothing was stripped away and Blake was eased onto his uninjured side.
Her mouth tightened when she got her first glimpse of the wound. It was an angry, jagged hole in the front that was echoed in the back. It looked ghastly.
"Here, m'lady." The servant Emmalene had sent for her medicinals rushed into the room, followed closely by the fellow who had been sent for bandages.
Emmalene accepted their offerings, then turned toward the bed.
"We'll need uisegebeatha," Seonaid said, then used the English word to prevent any confusion. "Whiskey. We'll need it to clean the wound."
Emmalene sent for the whiskey, then hesitated briefly before offering the medicinals and bandages to her.
As Blake's wife, Seonaid supposed it was her place to tend her husband, but she almost wished it wasn't; her stomach was roiling and she feared making a mistake. Considering this weak behavior, she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward to tend the task.
Seonaid had mended hundreds of wounds over the years, from small cuts that needed no more than a splash of whiskey and a bandage to major injuries like the one her husband sported. She could do this.
Seonaid sorted through the salves and other items Maude had brought in search of a needle and thread. Once she found them, she set to attempting to thread the needle, but much to her frustration, her hands--her very arms--were trembling so badly she could not manage the task.
"Emmalene, mayhap you should tend to stitching Blake up," Amaury suggested, apparently noting the problem. "Seonaid's muscles are worn from holding him in the saddle for so long, and her hands will tremble until they have had rest."
"Shall I?" Emmalene asked.
Seonaid handed over the thread and needle with relief. While her arms were weary from holding her husband, it was not entirely the source of her shaking. She was anxious and afraid for Blake. The injury was a deadly one, and she feared the ride here had been too long, allowing him to lose too much blood. He might not survive.
When the whiskey arrived, Seonaid poured it liberally over, and into, the wound, front and back. Blake did not even stir at the action. Had he been awake, he would have screamed in agony, for while the liquor cleaned a wound well enough, it was not called the fire of life for nothing.
Seonaid handed the whiskey back to Maude, then glanced past her, her attention drawn by a soft sob. There was a buxom blond servant standing by the door, crying softly. Seonaid eyed her for a moment, then asked her hostess, "Who is that?"
Emmalene turned to glance at the girl, then frowned and ordered, "Maude, you stay. The rest of the servants are to wait in the hall in case we need anything."
Once the other servants--including the teary blonde--had left, Em
malene turned back and set to stitching up Blake. She had neglected to answer Seonaid's question, but she let it go for now.
Once Emmalene had finished sewing up the wound, both front and back, Seonaid helped her spread a salve over the injury on both sides, then bandage him up.
"There," Emmalene said as they finished and both straightened.
"Will he live?" Amaury asked as he, Little George, and Aeldra moved closer to the bed.
Anxious to hear the answer, Seonaid waited for the other woman to speak. Seonaid herself felt his chances were poor, but they at least had some cause for hope. He'd lost a lot of blood and she'd almost feared he might die before they could stop the bleeding and stitch him up. But the fact that he had survived this far suggested to her that his chances were a little better than they had been on arriving. Every moment that passed with him still breathing made his chances better, but she feared she might be fooling herself and wanted to hear what Lady Emmalene had to say.
"He has lost a lot of blood," Emmalene said, her brow knitted with worry as she peered down at Blake's pale face. "But if he does not take a fever, he may survive."
Seonaid let her breath out on a whoosh. The possibility of infection hadn't even occurred to her. She would have to watch over him through the night. If Blake didn't show signs of fever by morning, he probably wouldn't have one.
"We will know better by morning," Lady Emmalene said, her thoughts obviously running along the same lines as Seonaid's.
Amaury gave an abrupt nod, then glanced to Seonaid, Aeldra, and Little George. "Have you eaten?"