Healer: By, Linda Windsor

Chapter Three

Despite the icy weather pelting the mountainside, Brenna was sweat soaked by the time she and Faol dragged the unconscious man into the shelter of her home—a cave, but no ordinary one.
    A crook in the entrance chamber, combined with the hide hung over the opening that separated the inner cave from the outer, cut the icy fingers of the wind off at the knuckle. The hot spring in the bowel of the mountain, a natural heat that drove them to the outer cave in summer, warmed the inner chamber.
    "Thank you, Father God," she said, grateful that the stranger still breathed after being dragged on his cloak up a rocky mountainside. The glorious warmth embraced them, even though she'd banked the fire early that morning.
    After covering the stranger with such blankets and skins as she had and propping his fine sword against the wall, Brenna stirred the coals on the hearth and added wood. Soon the fire's shadows danced on the walls and ceiling of the stone enclosure. As her aching fingers began to thaw, she watched the smoke swirl upward through a blackened fissure in the ceiling. Brenna could only guess where it existed.
    Her stomach growled, reminding her that she'd not eaten since that morning. Tempting as it was to stuff down one of the cold bannocks she'd baked on the hearth the night before, Brenna turned her attentions to her patient. The oat flatbread would have to wait. A long night awaited her, but undoubtedly it would be even longer for him.
    If he'd not bled too much already.
    The frontal shaft, fired dead on at close range, had gone clean through his shoulder. But the one fired deceitfully at his back had broken off. Upon cutting away his velvet tunic and the embroidered linen shirt beneath, both as princely as the gold ring on his right hand, Brenna removed the absorbent fungus she'd stripped from a nearby ash and applied to the wounds before she had moved him. Now his muscled flesh, mottled with dried, blackened blood, began to ooze fresh blood. The cold must have slowed the bleed, for the bruising appeared little worse than when she'd covered the wounds at the beginning of their journey.
    But now she knew the wounds needed to bleed freely to rid the body of contamination. And the broken shaft and arrowhead had to be removed, by whatever means necessary.
    She began to assemble what she'd need for the surgery. Ealga's tools, now Brenna's own. Hot, healing water from the spring. Poultices of wood sorrel and bugle. Strips of cloth rent from her late nurse's clothing.
What if he's an O'Byrne?
    The thought stopped Brenna in her tracks.
    Fine time to be thinking such a thing. Not that she had a choice. Enemy or nay, she couldn't let him freeze to death, now, could she?
She was a healer. He didn't wear the O'Bryne colors. And he was God's child as much as she.
Father, he and I are in Your capable hands. If he is my enemy, let me conquer him with Your love.
    Only in faith could Brenna bat down the doubts that curled like serpents about her resolve as she returned to her patient's side, ready to work. Fear was a lack of faith, Ealga said. And Brenna had faith. She was weaned on it by her nurse and Brother Martin, the hermit priest in the glen. Never mind that she'd led the life of a fugitive. Never mind that this man might be sworn to take her life. This was her duty. God would protect her for serving Him so. He would not fail her.
    As though sensing her troubled thoughts, Faol left his favorite place by the hearth and came to her. After studying both her and the patient's still face, the wolf began to lick the unconscious man's cheek.
    Brenna pushed the animal away affectionately. "Off with you now! You've done your part. Best leave his care to me."
    Instead of going back to his rug by the hearth, Faol dropped next to her patient—diligent, if not wholly obedient.
    "Silly pup," she fussed. "Now I have to clean my hands again."
    But she was Faol's mama, and he was her guardian and dear companion. Love welled in Brenna to the brim. And thank You, Father God, for my faithful, furry friend. I can't imagine life without him. Keep him safe and bless him with long life.
    Yet even as she prayed, she well knew that the wolf was hers for a time only. Like Ealga. She took a deep breath to break the vise closing on her heart.
    Faol cocked his head at her.
    "'Tis good for now, laddie," she whispered. Beyond that, Brenna could not bear to think, lest her fear of being alone again become unbearable. "Father God willing, we've a man's life to save."