Fyskar

Chapter 8

He had considered more than once her suggestion to find employment at a big house. Then he was reminded of his impediment at every turn. It would never work.

Miles passed underfoot as he left the highlands and the lowlands. It took him four weeks to walk and catch carts from the Hebrides to Bath with his two boys. His grandmother had provided him with enough to see him to the wall, but it became more difficult to afford substantial meals for the babes.

He exchanged his medical talents here and there for milk and mash. Some took pity on him, seeing a mute ward in a poor homespun dress who needed the help.

In the outskirts of Bath, exhausted and famished, Eoin found himself on the outside of a lopsided fence and open gate for a wheelwright's shop. The tinking thump of mallet against metal and the call of master to apprentice soothed his soul and promised a place to soothe his aching feet.

Eoin eased into the courtyard and found an out-of-the-way stack of crates to spread his skirts. He had to admit, stays were uncomfortable, but the skirts were much warmer than his kilt, if restrictive. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Albin and Callum were waking in the sling. This gave him a moment to pull out a canister of milk a farmer gave him that morning in exchange for a poultice for the poor cow's lame hoof. He poured the heavy cream off into a pair of small, long earthenware pots with fine spouts and cloth nipples.

The boys, over the past couple of months, had gained weight steadily. They were beginning to eat mashed foods when he could find some to provide them with. He knew they would be better off with a wet nurse, but he could neither afford the cost to place the children with one nor afford the time. His pressing goal was to escape the island and find a new home for himself and the boys. They were old enough to hold the pots for themselves, as long as they had a prop to rest against.

With a quick twist, he had their slings undone and had them set up amongst the crates. Rolling his shoulders, he enjoyed the sense of freedom from their weight for a moment. He got them settled in for their feeding when a sharp twang and a guttural scream caught his attention.

One of the apprentices was on the ground, bent over his hand. The wooden wheel had lost its metal band. The shine of silver snapped out at an odd angle. The wood smouldered, threatening to light.

The master bellowed for other assistants to help him douse the wheel before it was ruined. Meanwhile, the apprentice murmured in a wretched, crumpled heap. Eoin checked that Callum and Albin, quickly pulled from his basket his small bag of medical materials, and rushed to the assistant.

The man looked up at him, tears swamping deep brown eyes. The assistant tried his best to still his agony, facing what he perceived to be a woman. "Who are you? Where'd you come from?"

Eoin motioned for his hand. The assistant allowed him to see it. The young apothecary hated doing it, but he had to touch the man. "It's all right; it'll be all right. Let's get the blood to stop first," Eoin soothed the man's tension.

The apprentice stared in awe at Eoin. "You're a-!"

Eoin pinched at the gash in the man's hand, stalling the seeping red.

"Damn." The man crumpled over his inflamed extremity.

Eoin clamped down on the artery at the wrist to still the flow of blood and pushed the apprentice into a better position to continue work on the wound. "Keep it quiet if you want to keep your hand." Eoin spread a thick, cold balm with a coagulant across the pad of the young man's hand to staunch the flow. He placed a plaster and wrap around it in quick succession. "This needs to be sewn when it can be cleaned properly and the swelling has gone down."