Page 9 of A Highlander’s Heart

He huffed. “Yet, ye claim to have the skills to be a healer.”

She leaned into him, almost nose to nose. “I am through with yer remarks and complaints. I use the skills the Good Lord provided me with, and so—whatever happens to my patients, it’s His will, not mine.”

Meaning, perhaps it was God’s will that a bawbag like him would be felled by a little cut, and not a sword.

To his surprise—and probably Emma’s—Morgan burst into laughter. This tiny, adorable woman, one whom inspired many thoughts of what he could do to her wonderful body to keep her smiling, who had stood up to her laird on his behalf, now had no problem giving him the rough side of her tongue.

“Ye always have an answer, lass.”

She took a deep breath and graced him with a smile. “Aye. I generally do. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to examine yer cut to see how badly it is infected. Can ye turn on yer stomach for me?”

“Aye,” Morgan groaned. But it quickly became apparent that between the pain in his ribs and the weakness caused by his rising fever, he was unable to turn.

“I need to get one of the men to help me move ye,” Emma said as she shook her head.

Morgan grinned. “I’m sure any one of the warriors would be most pleased to stick a dirk in my side as they turn me for ye.”

“Nay. I am the healer and they know better than to even think about that.” With those words, she left the hut, hoping she was correct.

She stopped by the kitchen and asked the cook, Jemima, to fix her a tisane to help Morgan sleep once she was finished with poking and prodding his gash.

“Ye are taking good care of the Gunn warrior,” Jemima said, her brows raised.

Not caring for her comment, she said, “Ye ken any person brought into my hut that needs medical attention is taken care of the best I can.” She glared at the cook. “No matter who they are.”

Jemima nodded. “I ken lass. I was just fussing with ye. I will send in the tisane with one of the lasses after it steeps a bit.”

Emma grabbed a container of whisky in case the stubborn mon refused the tisane, and she left the kitchen. Perhaps a draught—or two, or more—would make him sleepy.

On the way, she decided she’d walk to the list where the men were training. She knew she would not be allowed to speak to anyone, but she could stand on the side until she caught Daniel’s attention, and then inform him of his captive’s condition. Ordinarily, Gregory would be available since he was the Second-in-Command and trainer, but he was off rescuing his kidnapped wife.

Eventually she caught Daniel’s eye. He walked over, a frown on his face. “What is it, lass? Is the Gunn giving ye trouble? I can always toss him into the dungeon.”

Emma almost stomped her foot in frustration, but since she was speaking with the laird, that was not a good idea. “I need one of yer warriors to help me. ’Tis necessary to turn my patient to look at the gash on the back of his leg. I cannot see it with the way he is laying.”

Daniel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I will send someone in.”

She thanked him, and returned to the healing hut. Morgan lay with his eyes closed, a slight flush on his face. She began to gather what she needed to clean up the gash and resew it. One of the kitchen maids brought the tisane in a wooden mug. It concerned her when, though he complained about the women’s medicine, his protests weren’t as vociferous as before and he mostly mumbled as he took the mug in a shaking fist.

She helped him to sit up slightly and swallow it, concerned by his weakness. Emma was just putting the empty container on the counter when the door to the healing hut opened and one of the warriors entered. “Ye need help with a patient? Do ye need me to toss him into the dungeon? He’s a Gunn, isn’t he?”

Emma just ignored his remarks. “Aye, he is a Gunn, and nay, I doona want ye to toss him into the dungeon. He has bruised ribs, but also a gash on the back of his leg. He’s starting a fever, so I need to clean the cut again and resew it. With him being a typically large warrior, I need help in turning him.” She gestured to Morgan, who now lay still on his bed with his eyes closed.

The warrior nodded and to Emma’s surprise, carefully handled their weakened patient as he turned him onto his stomach without much movement to his leg or pressure on his ribs.

Now that the wound was clearly visible, Emma sucked in a deep breath. As she’d feared, the gash was festering. She glanced at the warrior. “Thank ye. It will take me some time to clean him up and restitch the wound. I will see if I can find someone else to help me when I need him moved again. Unless you wish to wait?”

The warrior grunted and left the room.

Well, that wasn’t helpful. Her grumbles turned to gasps of concern when, as she began tugging at the stitches to remove them, Morgan screamed and then promptly passed out.

The heat radiating from his body was alarming. She had to work quickly to stop the infection and bring down the mon’s fever.

She hurried to the kitchen. “Jemima, I need one of the kitchen lads to assist me. I dinna want to keep the warrior who helped me from returning to the list while he waited for me to finish, so I told him I would get someone else to help.”

“Warrior?”

“Yes. I had Daniel send one in to turn the patient for me.”