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Aulay raised his claymore, but it felt like his own arms dragged him towards the ground. He felt a lot of liquid squelching in his left shoe, the side where his wound ached as though an invisible beast was gnashing its teeth against his flesh. Everything became blurry and swam.

But Jenny’s face was so worried and so scared, that it hurt him even more than his wound. Nae. He could not have that. He had to save her.

“Clann Domnhnaill!” he roared as he sprinted towards the man, his bloodied claymore glistening.

The man pushed Jenny to the side and slashed low, aiming to cut Aulay’s gut open, and he barely managed to deflect the blow. But he was too weak. The man knew it, too, and he grinned.

Then he changed his grip and hammered the blunt end of the hilt into Aulay’s face. Bone cracked under his eye, and the world exploded in pain. He was struck dumb for a moment, then another hit came to his stomach, knocking all the air out of him. And then his back collapsed, struck with something cold and hard, and he knew he’d fallen.

When the tip of the sword glistened over his head, he knew this was the end. But he didn’t want it to end, not when he’d just found Jenny. Not when she’d said she’d stay with him and marry him.

Nae, God, please, dinna take me yet…

Through his blurry vision, he saw Jenny’s figure come behind his enemy and knock something against his head. The enemy turned to her, swinging the sword.

Then came another figure… He thought he heard Jenny cry out, “Colum, careful!”

There was the clunk of metal hitting metal, and pained grunts and the shuffle of wet sand.

And then there was nothing but hot, clammy darkness.

CHAPTER 30

Aulay’s forehead was still burning when Jenny laid her hand on it. Three days he’d been getting worse. Today, on the fourth day, he was as hot as a furnace, red-cheeked, delirious. She sat by his bed day and night, sick with worry.

She wiped a clean, wet linen cloth along his forehead, and he jerked and gave a small moan. It killed her to see him like this. Her MacZeus, almighty and powerful… He was now human. Vulnerable. Sick.

Dying.

Aulay blurred in front of her as tears filled her eyes. She slowly drew the cloth along his forehead again. Back on the island, she had let Colum cut her dress and had used the rag to stop Aulay’s bleeding. On the ship, there was a sort of first aid kit with somewhat clean cloth, and she’d used that, although it was not sterile.

Back on Islay, she and Bhatair had sterilized the wound, and she’d stitched it. It was quite deep, and it was a miracle the blade hadn’t penetrated a kidney, or he would have been dead from blood loss by now.

Still, he had lost a lot of blood. For a large man like him, it was bad. Back in her time, he’d have already gotten a blood transfusion, not to mention IV antibiotics, which would already have killed the infection.

The wound in Aulay’s side was the color of cherries, and pus oozed from it.

And there was not a damn thing she could do to help him except for sitting and praying and feeding him willow bark tea.

A knock at the door had her raising her head, which felt like it weighed a ton. “Come in,” she said.

Bhatair entered with Colum and Seoras. Behind them, Artur and other orphans lingered, trying to see past the three men. Bhatair walked towards Aulay with a glass jar in his hand. The dull, muddy liquid swayed as he walked, and black leeches wriggled.

“Any changes?” asked Bhatair as he placed the jar onto the chest that stood by the bed.

“You are not putting them on him,” she said.

“But, my lady—”

Bhatair’s shoulders rose. He’d looked shrunken and small ever since Aulay had gotten worse.

“He’s lost enough blood,” she hissed. “Any more and you will rob him of his last reserves.”

She knew she must sound like a cornered wild animal. And she had been unnecessarily harsh with him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “You don’t deserve me lashing out at you like this.”

Bhatair nodded. “Aye. ’Tis all right. Ye love him. Ye’re afraid for him. We all are.”