She felt Rory’s gaze bore into her. “What is it yer plannin’ on doin’?”
“I don’t have a choice; the wound has to be cauterized.” Ali’s stomach lurched at the thought of what she had to do. “I’ll have to seal the wound together. Burn it.”
“I ken what you meant, lass,” he commented dryly.
“Nay!” Iain shouted.
“Aye, lad.” Fergus nodded. “The lass is right. I’ve seen it done before.” He turned to Ali. “Do you think you can manage, because I ken I canna’ do it.”
“Yes, but not if he’s awake,” she admitted. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of him suffering, and her being the cause.
“Do it now,” Rory ordered.
Ali’s head jerked up. “I told you, I can’t, not while you’re awake. Just drink that damn stuff.”
“It won’t work, Aileanna,” he said. Her name rolled off his tongue, his tone soothing.
Heat unfurled in her belly as though he caressed her.
“He speaks the truth, lass,” the older man said, sympathy in his eyes.
“Get my sword, Fergus.”
Ali’s gaze flew to Rory. “No…no,” she repeated when Fergus tried to press the weapon into her hand. “For God’s sake, I can’t. And certainly not with this. I can barely lift it,” she protested.
Rory let out a ragged breath. “Give her my dirk.”
Ali wrapped her arms around her waist, and shook her head. She was furious at what he wanted her to do. He was wide awake, for God’s sake. She walked to the hearth and swiped a tear from her cheek. She heard Fergus coming toward her. Taking her hand, he placed the knife in her palm. He rubbed her shoulder and bent his head to her ear. “You can do it, lass. The fairies wouldna’ have sent you if you couldna’.
“Yer the only one who can save him.”
Chapter 3
Fairies. Only you can save him. The words echoed in Ali’s head. She turned to gape at Fergus. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The big man shot a furtive glance over his shoulder before saying, “Hush, you canna’ let the laird ken what I’ve told you.”
“Know…know what? That you think I’ve been sent by fairies?” she hissed.
“Och, now, lass, doona’ fash yerself,” Fergus pleaded, keeping his voice low.
“I’m holding a knife, preparing to cauterize the wound of a man who is wide awake, and you’re telling me I’ve been sent by fairies…fairies…for God’s sake. And you expect me to stay calm?” She glared at him.
“Aye.” He grimaced. “Please, lass, I promise I’ll explain everythin’ to you once ’tis over.”
Ali’s brain swirled with images and emotion, panic leading the way. She felt like she’d been tossed into another world where everything she knew didn’t matter, and her confidence plummeted. She didn’t trust her abilities, not here, not now. She wanted to run as far and as fast from Dunvegan as she could. Part of her hoped it was a nightmare and that she’d wake up, but she knew it wasn’t. Just as she knew the man in the bed was real, and beautiful, and strong. So unlike anyone she’d ever met before. And she couldn’t run away and leave him to bleed to death.
Ali glanced over her shoulder at Rory. His eyes locked with hers. He gave her a weak but encouraging smile, as though somehow he sensed her distress. She knew then she wasn’t going to leave him—not yet.
“You have no choice, lass, it has to be done,” he said quietly.
Ali gave him a brisk nod. He was right. Fairies aside, no one else was stepping up to volunteer for the job. The sooner it was done the better—for both of them. She thrust the knife into the flames, letting out a yelp of pain when the handle heated along with the blade.
“Fergus, did you no’ wrap the hilt?” Rory growled.
Sheepishly, the older man shook his head and retrieved the knife. “Sorry, lass.” He dug through a battered chest and found a piece of leather and a cloth to wrap around the metal shaft before reheating it over the flame.
After handing it to Ali, he went to stand behind Rory. She shook her head and pointed to where she wanted him. “I need you to hold the wound together while I sear it closed.”
The man paled.
“Iain, it would be better if you sit behind your brother and hold him by his shoulders,” she advised the younger MacLeod, whose mouth was set in a grim line. “Right about there, Fergus.” She motioned once more to the side of the bed, grateful he would shield Rory’s face from her line of sight. “Now press the edges together. No…no, I don’t want to burn you. All right, much better.” She tried to ignore Rory’s agonized curse.
In an effort to center herself, Ali closed her eyes, only to find herself back in the operating room with a panicked Drew, her supervisor and ex-boyfriend, yelling accusations at her, the equipment flatlining—a young mother dead.
“Lass, are you all right?” Fergus’s tone was gruff with concern.
“Yes…yes, I’m fine.” I will be. I have to be. You didn’t make the mistake, the little voice in her head reminded her. Drew did. You’re a good doctor, no matter what he said. Heat leeched from the red-hot steel blade to Ali’s palm. A stinging reminder of where she was, and what she had to do.
Before she lost her nerve, Ali lowered the blade to the wound. The sizzling sound was quickly drowned out by Rory’s shout of pain. His body jerked, then went still. Ali gagged as the smell of burnt flesh assaulted her nostrils. She pressed a fist to her mouth, and Fergus gently removed the knife from her trembling hand.
“Yer a brave lass,” Mrs. Mac crooned, wrapping a comforting arm around Ali. “Come, I think you could use some lookin’ after now.” The woman gently guided her away from the bed.
“But…I…” she began to protest, looking to where Rory lay unconscious in the bed, his blue-black hair a sharp contrast to his paper white skin, his full sensuous lips pulled into a thin line of pain.
“Fergus and Iain will watch over him fer now. I’ve prepared a hot bath fer you and laid out a change of clothes.”
There was nothing else she could do for him, other than pray the wound didn’t become infected. If it did, Ali didn’t know if she’d be able to save him. “Thank you.” Exhausted, her muscles aching, Ali allowed herself to be led away.
Mrs. Mac opened the door to an adjoining room. “’Twas the Lady Brianna’s. Come,” she said when Ali hesitated in the doorway of a room twice the size of Rory’s. The four-poster bed covered in maroon satin looked inviting, but it was the large wooden tub-like structure in front of a blazing fire that drew her in. She inhaled the lavender-scented water in an effort to alleviate the acrid smell that still invaded her senses. “Lovely.” Ali sighed. Her gaze took in the pastoral tapestries that lined the walls and covered the floors. “What a beautiful room.”
“Aye, the laird spared no expense when it came to his lady.”
“He must have loved her very much.” Ali tried to ignore the tightening in her chest when she stated the obvious.
“Aye, that he did,” the older woman said. “He’s had a hard time of it.”
“When…when did she die?” Ali asked.
“’Tis been almost two years.”
She hesitated before asking her next question. “How did she die?” Afraid she already knew the answer.
“In