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I straightened, fear lighting through me, “Where’s Janice?”
Both men stiffened. They exchanged glances that were far more alarmed than I wanted to see. Cade had the needle and thread, but he paused, thread held taut, tugging his skin together.
“I’ve got this,” Cade said. “Go get your mother.”
The conflict on Derrick’s face wrenched at me and I glanced at the pile of pinkish linens littering the floor. I tried to keep my voice strong and confident as I found my feet again. “I can help him.”
He did not need to know that I was useless when it came to blood. It was an effort, but I shoved my queasiness aside and moved to take his place by the cot. Cade gave me the barest nod of support.
“There, see? I’m not dying today. Go get your mother out of that house before someone else does.”
With a curse, Derrick turned for the portal. “Eucilla’s on her way. She should be here soon.”
“Good, we could use the backup,” Cade said, hissing through his teeth as he pulled the needle through his skin.
Derrick gave a brief nod, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turned and stepped through the portal. Water slipped around him, rippling and contorting for several seconds before going placid once more.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Show me how to help.”
If Cade was surprised by my insistence, it didn’t show on his face. Then again, I imagined he was in a great deal of pain so most of his expression was lost in a grimace as he pierced the needle through his skin. Each tear in his flesh welled with blood, sometimes leaking out the extreme edges to snake down his belly and onto the cot. A wave of giddiness overtook me as I peered down at the wound. There were, in fact, four claw marks rent into his side. One further back over his hip, as though he had rolled to escape the wolf.
I could only imagine his desperate flight through the woods and wondered how he managed to get away. There were other contusions and scrapes bruising his torso, and his shoulder looked like he scoured it over a craggy rock. The Leslie clan had not made his escape easy, that was certain.
“Take one of the clean linens and wipe some of the excess blood so I can see,” Cade said as he pulled the thread through, tightening another stitch.
My one good hand shook as I found another linen in the kit and moved to do as he said. He was a lean man, well-made but without the athletic proportions Derrick flaunted, and his skin was hot enough I could feel the warmth through the cloth. Not surprising given the degree of his injury, but deeply worrisome. If the wounds became infected, if he fell to fever, there was very little I could do to help.
Even less with the runestone in place.
We worked in silence for several minutes, Cade carefully sewing, me gently wiping blood from the area. There was no sound in the cursed room, not even the ticking of a clock, so I heard whenever his breath hitched. My shoulders ached with tension, and I peeked at him, not liking the pallid grey in his face or the shadows around his eyes.
He was midway through the third gash when he finally spoke. “How did you harm yourself?”
I frowned at him. He was bleeding everywhere and he wanted to know about my hand?
“That doesn’t matter. You’ve a fourth gash, did you see it?”
“Barely. But I feel it well enough. You’ll have to do that one.”
I swallowed down my unease. “I’ve never…”
“Never sewed up a man before?” Cade asked wryly. “No, I suspect you haven’t. But if we wait for Derrick, we risk infection. And I haven’t any more pain reducers to take, so the quicker this is done the better.”
“What about magic? You’re a Healer, aren’t you?”
He flicked his gaze to mine and for a moment he had the same expression Derrick gave when I asked something that should be common knowledge. “What do you think was in the vial I took?”
Blushing, I glanced at the kit with its neat row of vials lining the top. “Oh.”
"I can’t mend myself at the drop of a hat. My magic will help speed the healing process, but the manual labor has to be put in too.”
Letting go of a shaky breath, I gave him the barest nod and privately blessed him for not mentioning Bess or Martin, or that I ought to know this. Fighting for a more clinical mindset, I wiped another trail of blood that threatened to slide into his navel. He had lost a lot of blood and I imagined he ought to have passed out by now. I wondered if that vial he’d taken was keeping him alert.
Not wanting to shed further light on my ignorance, I bit my lip and shoved the question aside.
“You tried to use magic, didn’t you." Statement, not a question.
